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nahimjustfeelingit-writes · 9 days ago

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The Hoodoo Apprentice

Summary: Amelia packed her things and took a train to Clarksdale Mississippi to reunite with an old friend, Annie. Annie promised she’d teach Amelia the art of Hoodoo. After a month, Smoke and Stack return with a plan to open a Juke Joint.

Warnings: SMUT

Part Two

Elijah ‘Smokes’ truck rolled to a stop. He cut the engine, taking a moment to finish his cigarette before he entered the home he shared with Annie. He could smell her cooking from where he sat, mouth watering. He missed good ‘ol southern cooking, more specifically his wife’s cooking. Smoke tossed his cigarette bud and grabbed a bouquet of flowers that he purchased from Bo Chow before climbing out of his truck. Walking around to the back of the truck, he lifted the tarp and grabbed a wooden crate filled with Irish Beer and Italian Wine.

Smoke made the short walk to the house, ascending the front porch steps before sitting the crate down to open the door. He needed this. No more running away from his problems. He craved his wife in ways he couldn’t put into words. Smoke had a lot of making up to do, and he was a man of action and very few words.

Smoke could hear Ma Rainey playing from a phonograph in the drawing room. He went to let himself in but paused when he’d heard sensual laughter and soft moans. His body moved from the door, down the steps, and around towards the back of the house. He crept stealthily, slowing down when he’d heard his wife’s name in a voice laced with lust…

One hour before:

Amelia held a woven basked against her left hip while she picked a bundle of collards for dinner. Her curly ringlets swept over her face annoyingly. She blew hair from her lips after grabbing the last bit of collards. Amelia makes her way back to the house. She climbed the back steps and through the screen door.

Inside, Amelia looked at Annie who was busy preparing the catfish for frying.

“Got the collards. I’ll go wash ‘em.”

Annie held Amelia’s gaze, “Thank you, Lia.”

Amelia started rinsing the collards off. Annie found herself caught in a trance. Amelia was situated on her knees in front of a bucket of water on the back porch. The motion of Amelia’s hands. The way her curly auburn hair reminded her of cascading stems, twisted leaves, and red, lipstick-shaped flowers.

Annie broke the silence, “Busy day at the shop today.”

“Sure was. Made a good profit too.” Amelia replied.

“…Whatcha think of Smoke?”

Amelia wasn’t expecting that question from Annie. She glanced up through her lashes at her.

“He scares you?” Annie questioned.

Amelia gave Annie a half shrug, “I—He’s a little scary.”

Annie giggled, “A little?”

“He’s a gangster, Annie. Scary comes wit’ the job.” Amelia jokes.

“Smoke is tough, but deep, real deep…he’s a softy.”

Amelia smirked, “Sounds to me you’re his safe space.”

Annie finished prepping the catfish and checked on the frying oil. Amelia brought in the clean collards. Annie situated herself beside Amelia, helping her cut the collards. Amelia stole glances at Annie. Smoke’s coming back did affect Amelia. Ways she never imagined.

“Is this his favorite meal?” Amelia asked.

“Smoke love him some catfish and collards. Throw in some skillet cornbread you got ya’ self a sappy man. Feed him good and put his head between my bosom.”

Amelia laughed lightheartedly. She bumped her hip into Annie’s and Annie reclined her head against Amelia’s shoulder.

“He strikes me as a breast man—”

Amelia stopped herself from talking. She caught Annie smiling at her warmly. Visuals played over and over in her head of the way Smoke sucked on Annie’s bountiful breasts. Like he wanted to fit his entire mouth around all that heaviness.

“He an all up on me man…every inch of me.” Annie spoke with intensity.

Amelia was witnessing in real time the beautiful bond between them. A bond so strong.

“The way he looks at you, it’s just so…so…”

Amelia studied Annie’s face as she tried to convey her feelings.

“…So inspiring.”

Annie’s eyes fell to Amelia’s lips.

“…You saw us havin’ sex…didn’t you?”

Amelia turned away from Annie. She tried to think of a way to respond to her. Too embarrassed to admit it.

“It wasn’t my intention, Annie—I just…”

Annie’s hand pressed against Amelia’s back. Amelia peered into Annie’s eyes. The hand on her back dragged down to her hip and she found herself flesh against Annie. Just like she did Smoke in that Shack, Annie’s lips latched onto Amelia’s ear. Amelia held onto the wash basin to steady herself. Annie’s skillful lips kissing and nibbling on her ear made her legs all wobbly.

“…thing is, I saw ya’ watching, Amelia…I saw ya’ fingering my pussy…”

“Did Smoke—”

“Smoke don’t know nothin’.”

Annie forced Amelia to look at her with a tight hold on her jaw, so tight her lips puckered.

“What happened between us last night…I’ve been fightin’ all damn day to keep from touching ya’. Truth is…I can’t stop…and I won’t stop…”

Amelia melted. Annie stroked her pouty lips with her thumb before sinking it into Amelia’s mouth. Amelia sucked on Annie’s thumb, eyes closed, soft whimpers filling the room. Annie’s thumb slipped away, leaving behind a trail of spit.

“I–I can’t stop daydreaming ‘bout it, Annie. I want ya’ to taste me again…”

Amelia extended a hand and stroked Annie’s cheek with her fingertips. She got up on Annie, breast to breast, and slammed her lips into hers feverishly. The sound of frying oil popping and the insects of the night mingled with smacking lips and soft moans.

Annie groped Amelia’s thick behind through her dress.

“Fuck,” Amelia tongued Annie’s lips, “Let’s go to the room, look how wet I am for you…”

Amelia grabbed Annie’s left hand and snaked it between her legs. Annie stroked Amelia’s pussy through her panties. Soaking wet heat. Annie attacked Amelia’s neck while her fingers pinched her clit through the satin material.

Immediately, Annie could feel her own pussy cat dripping. She wanted so bad to bend Amelia over the wash basin, lift the back of her dress, and ravish her cooze until she cried. Cried for Annie to keep going, cried after each orgasm. Cried like a good little bitch.

Annie needed to stop. If she didn’t, she’d have to eat Amelia on every surface in that house.

“We gotta get this food cooking…”

Annie broke away from Amelia reluctantly. Amelia’s chest heaved up and down. She thumbed away spit from her bottom lip. Annie was right, Smoke could be here any minute. Annie started frying the catfish and Amelia busied herself with the collards. Still, she craved more from Annie.

Sneaky glances, bumping into each other, soft blues with its melancholy instrumental circulating throughout the small home, no matter how hard they tried, neither one of them could resist. Amelia swayed her hips to the rhythm, stirring the pot of collards just the same. Annie had just finished cooking all the catfish and now she was working on the skillet cornbread.

“Shit…”

Amelia glanced over at Annie mixing the cornbread batter. Some of the batter spilled over her hand and fell to the floor. Amelia watched Annie reach for a towel, but before she could use it to wipe her hand clean, Amelia appeared by her side, capturing Annie’s fingers in her mouth.

Annie was paralyzed with lust.

“Amelia…”

Her finger slipped from between Amelia’s pouty lips with a wet pop, “don’t want all that good batter to go to waste.”

Annie’s clit ached.

Amelia trailed Annie’s spit–covered finger down her neck until she circled it around her protruding nipples. Annie’s eyes glossed over with arousal at the sensation of Amelia’s stiff, brown nipples prominently visible through her khaki dress.

“Lia…they so hard…”

Annie regained control of her hands. She cupped Amelia’s breasts and caressed them in a circular motion. Amelia jutted her chest out for more, extending her neck and throwing her head back.

Annie exhales, “You so beautiful, Lia. So soft…so delicious…”

“Not as soft and sweet as you, Annie…”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Amelia stared deeply into her eyes, “A big, beautiful woman.”

She couldn’t take it anymore.

Buttons undone, Annie smoothed the opening of the khaki dress from Amelia’s satiny, chestnut skin. Her cup bra gave her melons extra lift, fleshy mounds like soft pillows. One by one, Annie released a breast, and she caved at the sight of Amelia’s wrinkled areola and hardened nipples.

Annie wasted no time flicking her tongue over each bud with speed. She circled her arms around Amelia’s waist and made love to her nipples with her teeth, lips, and tongue. Amelia chewed on the corner of her bottom lip, watching Annie move back and forth between each breast. She picked it up a notch and spit on her nipples before tweaking them.

“Annie, I’m so sticky between my legs…you’re making me so weak…” Amelia cooed.

Annie tugged on Amelia’s nipples while sucking on her neck.

“I bet that fat pussy is nice and messy…I know it taste good…”

Amelia whimpered when Annie went back to sucking her nipples. Annie forced one hand down the front of Amelia’s dress and wiggled her hand into her panties.

Annie popped a titty from her mouth, “Damn, wasn’t lying about how sticky you are…c’mon, quick…”

Annie quickly helped Amelia out of her dress and panties. She guided her to the back porch and pushed her down onto a chaise. Amelia didn’t have time to spread her legs and bring her feet up because Annie beat her to it.

“You seein’ this?” Annie questioned with a quiver.

Amelia dropped her hooded eyes down between her thighs. She couldn’t believe how soaked her folds are. Like a succulent storing water. Annie didn’t waste another minute. She smacked her lips and suckled Amelia’s pussy with urgency.

“You needed this pussy in ya’ mouth again look how good ya’ eating it, Annie…”

Amelia palmed Annie’s head. Annie strummed her clit with the tip of her tongue.

“Fuuuck…oh, shit,” Amelia moans, “Annie…Annie…Annie…”

Annie’s magical hands shoved Amelia’s thighs back to open her up more. She slurped and lapped at her pussy lips and deeper. Not once did she come up for air. Annie dragged her nails down the back of Amelia’s thighs.

“I’m finna’ cum…”

Amelia stuck two fingers in her mouth to suppress her cries of pleasure. Annie sucked her clit like she was sucking the sweetest juices off. Amelia closed her thighs around Annie’s head.

Smoke remained in the shadows of the Mississippi night and surrounded by evergreen. He had a tight grip on the flowers he’d gotten for Annie. Smoke watched with a twitch of his eyes. Perfectly round and perfectly shaped breasts with brown nipples bounced back and forth. The face of his wife hidden between buttery smooth thighs. The sound of a tongue and the smell of pussy.

His muscles were stiff. Obsidian eyes unblinking. The sharpness of his jaw clenched. Smoke felt all the blood in his veins rush to his dick. Amelia’s face caught the light of the night and it was whimsical. She stroked Annie’s hair affectionately while riding her tongue.

Smoke sensed it. He had a good feeling that Amelia and Annie were fooling around. Now that his suspicions were confirmed, he didn’t know how to handle the way his body felt. A mixture of lust and envy. Lust for the both of them. Lust to taste Amelia off of his wife’s tongue. Lust to join.

Envy because what’s his is on her knees bringing another woman to climax. Envy because whatever they shared, he wanted a piece of. Smoke’s free hand grabbed onto his thick print and squeezed. Tweed material itched his palm. Fuck, he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. Fuck, he wanted to release his big dick and play with it. The desperation lining his face and the way his tongue smoothed over his teeth, these women sent shockwaves of pleasure through him.

“Annie! I’m cummin’ for you!”

Smoke’s nostrils flared.

“Cum for me, good girl!” Annie praised.

Smoke couldn’t believe the way his dick bulged out.

There was soft laughter followed by Annie surfacing with a wet face and brown eyes drunk with arousal. Amelia cupped her face and flicked her tongue with Annie’s.

“Thank you for that,” Annie kissed Amelia.

“Always,” Amelia spoke against her lips.

They both stood and Annie helped Amelia with her dress. Smoke tip toed away from the yard and pressed his back against the side of the house. He rocked his head back, glancing up at the starry sky. The throb in his dick and balls wouldn’t go away. Kissing his teeth, he drew another cigarette and lit it. His hands shook slightly as he brought it to his full lips.

Amelia.

Her beauty reminded him of a fairy. Something ethereal and magical. Hypnotic. He’d felt it immensely the moment he laid eyes on her. Whatever it is, Annie was under her spell. He’d never known his wife to enjoy some pussy. He had to get himself together before he walked into that house. Shouldn’t be so hard, especially for a gangster with a reputation for violence.

Smoke remained outside for another ten minutes before making his way to the front of the house. He climbed the stairs and twisted the door knob. The door swung open with a creak.

Annie was busy in the kitchen while Amelia plates the table. She wore a different dress, a brightly colored floral dress with a lace–trimmed collar and sleeves. Her long, curly hair was styled in a chic and classic updo with pins. Smoke could tell it was a rush job, because some of the curls framed her face. Amelia’s eyes flicked to Smoke.

Annie looked radiant. She changed into a crushed velvet, dark green dress with chandelier earrings that matched. Her heels click–clacked against the floor boards. Amelia bent over to pick up a cloth that had fallen and the way her backside spread beneath her dress, Smoke’s dick pressed painfully against the seam of his pants. Annie caught his eye and she smiled brightly before making her way over to him. She was wearing her good bra. Those big titties bounced with each step she took.

Smoke gave her a faint smile, holding up the bouquet of flowers. Annie pressed a hand against her bosom and pouted her bottom lip.

“Smoke, these are beautiful!”

Annie accepted the flowers and puckered her lips for a kiss.

“They’re so pretty, Annie,” Amelia said with an elated voice.

Smoke accepted a kiss and then he slipped Annie some tongue. Annie tried to pull away but Smoke placed one strong hand on the back of her neck to keep her tongue in his mouth. The sweet twang of Amelia’s pussy still lingered. Smoke groaned in Annie’s mouth.

Amelia watched them intently while placing silverware on the table. She was absorbed in their intimacy. Smoke caught her eye, staring at her with intensity. Amelia broke her gaze and stroked hair from her face.

He growled.

“Behave,” Annie swatted his bicep, “Dinner is ready. Go clean ya’ hands first.”

Annie turned and Smoke tracked her hips with his eyes.

“Cut all that switchin’ out for I give our guest here a lil’ show.”

That seemed to peak Amelia’s interest. She tried to conceal a smile behind her hand.

“Down, boy,” Annie eyed Smoke up and down.

“Ain’t no boy…”

Smoke tried to stick his fingers in the cornbread. Annie slapped his hand away.

“Go wash ya’ hands, Elijah!”

Smoke pecked Annie’s cheek.

He disappeared to the wash basin.

“Bring anymore wine?” Annie asked.

“Did. It’s on the porch. I’ll go grab some—”

“I got it, Smoke. While you finish washin’ ya’ hands?”

Amelia appeared next to him with an eager smile. Smoke had to collect himself from getting lost in those doe eyes fringed with long lashes.

The very eyes his wife got lost in with a mouth full of pussy.

“Uh, no need, doll. They heavy…”

Smoke wiped his hands on a towel and slipped past Amelia, catching a whiff of her perfume.

Sweet like peaches.

Smoke eyed the table set up, noticing only three plates.

“Shit, forgot to tell ya’ll Stack comin’.”

“No biggie. I’ll put a plate out for ‘em.” Annie replied.

Smoke walked over the threshold and picked up the wooden crate filled with wine and beer. Amelia set up a place for Stack. She walked over to grab an extra chair, but Smoke picked it up before she could. Amelia looked up at him.

“No need, let a man do it.” Smoke said.

“‘Course,” Amelia sauntered back to the table.

Smoke grabbed a bottle of wine.

I’ll put it in the icebox. I know how much you like it chilled.”

Annie brought the food over on serving trays.

Knock knock knock

The door opened.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Annie said with a laugh.

Amelia’s eyes danced between both men.

Staring at them both, she could tell they were physically identical.

This Stack man just entered the home with a jovial smile filled with deep dimples and golds on his teeth. His eyes sparkled with mischief and foolery.

Amelia gawked at him.

But…their personalities…their auras…vastly different.

Stack removed his red fedora.

“Annie! Sup witcha, woman?!”

“Stack.” Annie said with a smile.

She opened her arms and Stack hugged her tightly.

“Big bro,” Stack dabbed Smoke before pulling him in for a one–armed hug. They did a slick handshake and glided back into a snap, “Woooo, good to see ya’.”

“Just saw ya’ earlier,” Smoke said.

Stack took off his suit jacket and hung it on a coat rack near the front door. His playful, lively eyes fell on Amelia.

Amelia gave Stack a shy wave. Stack strode forward, dapper gait drawing her in.

“Well, well,” Stack nibbled on the toothpick between his teeth and dragged his eyes over Amelia’s frame from head to toe with a tilt of his head, “Who this here, Annie?”

“My friend, Amelia,” Annie’s arm circled Amelia’s waist, “She came all this way from New Orleans to work wit’ me. I’m teachin’ her all I know about hoodoo.”

“She talk?” Stack questions with his brows pinched together and a twitch of his upper lip.

Smoke chuckled low, shaking his head at his brothers antics, “Chill now, Stack.”

“I’m only askin’.”

Stack held his hand out in greeting. Amelia eyed his hand with a slight lift of her brow before extending her hand with the back facing up. Stack wrapped his fingers around her.

“Amelia, huh?

“That’s right.”

Stack pushed the toothpick between his teeth to the side of his mouth. Cute little voice. Sounding like a princess in those fairytales.

“So, you do talk?”

Stack removed his toothpick and leaned in. With her hand still within his grasp, Stack puckered his plump lips and pecked Amelia’s hand like a true gentleman.

“Nice to meet ya’ gorgeous. Hope the Delta treatin’ you right.”

“Is. Thanks to Annie.”

Amelia smiled brightly. Stack stroked the back of her hand with his thumb before finally letting her go. Amelia fiddled with her fingers, darting her eyes away bashfully before swaying over to the table.

Smoke caught his brother’s eye.

Annie cleared her throat.

“Oh, let me clean these hands off.” Stack said.

He walked past the table, rubbing his hands together and licking his lips at the sight of all the food. Smoke pulled out Annie’s chair, and with one hand he pulled out Amelia’s chair. She curtsied before taking her seat. Stack finally joined them, unbuttoning the sleeves to his white shirt and rolling them up his forearms.

“Catfish, collard greens, cornbread, DAMN.”

They each took turns filling their plates.

“Amelia cooked the collards,” Annie shot her friend a look followed by a smile.

“Did she now? Let’s see what we got here…”

Stack and Smoke forked the collards in unison, not even realizing it. Amelia’s eyes danced between them with fascination. Smoke chewed slowly, eyes fixed on Amelia. Stack chewed with his eyes closed, shook his head, followed by a hum of delight.

“Baby girl…you put ya’ foot in this! Gahdamn…”

Annie nudged Amelia with her elbow. Amelia beamed.

Smoke nodded his head before scraping the side of his upper teeth with his tongue.

“They good, Amelia. Real good.”

Amelia twirled the fork in her hand with pride.

“Thank you, Smoke,” She glanced over at his twin, “Stack…”

“Forgot the wine…”

Smoke stood.

“You put a beer in there, Smoke?!”

“I gotcha,” Smoke continued out onto the front porch to grab the drinks.

Stack scarfed down the collards first, fork scraping the plate. Smoke returned and opened the wine, pouring the ladies two glasses full. He unscrewed the cap on the beer for Stack, sliding it across the table where his twin brother caught it with precision.

“Everythang alright, Annie?” Stack asked.

“Better,” Annie locked eyes with her husband, “happy you two made it back in one piece.”

Smoke cut into his catfish with his fork. He added a little hot sauce to it.

“I bet Chicago is nice,” Amelia chimed in, “skyscrapers, broadway…”

“Look nice. Still just the same as the south.” Stack said.

“Did you two stop by to see Sammie?” Annie asked.

Smoke nodded his head, “He good. Still got that guitar we gave ‘em. Daddy doin’ right by ‘em.”

Amelia nibbled on her cornbread drizzled with honey and butter. Stack cleared his plate and sat back to enjoy his beer. He couldn’t help but stare at Amelia. She could feel his eyes on her, looking across the table at him with a piece of cornbread between her fingers and hovering over her pouty lips.

“Amelia. Got a last name?” Stack questions.

“Broussard.”

“Pretty…”

Amelia coaxed the piece of cornbread into her mouth with her tongue. Stack continued to lay on the charm with his deep dimples and attentive eyes. He took a swig of beer as he stared down Amelia like she was the only person who existed.

Smoke glanced between the two of them, fingers digging into his pocket for a cigarette. He grabbed his last one and lit it. Annie sipped her wine and smiled at her husband. Smoke caught her looking and winked at her. Annie placed her hand on his thigh, caressing it.

“We never crossed paths?” Stack questioned Amelia with an expression of betrayal.

“No, Stack,” Amelia giggled genuinely, “Never.”

“You sure,” Stack pointed at her with a finger decorated with a gold ring, “Damn shame. Can’t believe this my first time seeing ya’. Annie, you been keepin’ her to ya’ self?”

Annie gave Stack a coy smile and then locked eyes with Amelia. Both of them looked away quickly, but Smoke was paying attention. He knew everything. She definitely is keeping Amelia to herself. Smoke leaned in to whisper in Annie’s ear.

“You got explaining to do later, baby…”

Annie cocked her head back and dropped her eyes to Smoke’s lips.

“Not as much explaining as you do, Smoke.” She quipped with a roll of her eyes.

Stack filled Amelia’s mason jar with more wine.

“Thank you kindly.”

“Anytime…”

Stack swept his hands down the front of his chest slowly, Amelia shyly pulled her attention to the last bit of food on her plate.

She loved Stack’s energy.

It excites her.

Some time passed and Duke Ellington Orchestra filled the drawing room. While Annie perched her big booty on Smoke’s lap, Stack twirled Amelia around like a merry go round, her dress spinning as she moved. Stack could jive! Amelia grabbed both of his hands and flailed her legs, laughed at Stack’s silly faces, and shook her hips.

Annie tapped her foot to the music. Smoke bobbed his head. Annie’s gyrating in his lap awoke the beast. He looked up at her. Annie felt him poking her rump. She picked up the pace of her hips, teasing him more.

“Annie…”

“What? You sticking me in the ass wit’ that dick.”

“Keep movin’ on me I can’t help it.” Smoke whispered.

“I felt that,” Annie was referring to Smoke making his dick jump, “Elijah…”

There was warning in her voice.

Stack exhaled, wiping sweat from his grow. Amelia fanned herself. Stack held Amelia’s waist as they swayed, hips pressed to each other’s and twin smiles on their faces.

“You the best fuckin’ dancer I ever seen.” Stack said.

“Aren’t you sweet,” Amelia bopped Stack on the nose with her finger, “And you a good time.”

“I try. Gotta make the most outta life with all the other bullshit goin’ on.” Stack replied.

Amelia snaked her arms around Stack’s shoulders.

“You got the sweetest eyes…mind if I call you Princess?”

Amelia chewed on her bottom lip and smoothed her hands down Stack’s chest.

“How much Irish beer you drank?” Amelia asked with a teasing smile, “that liquor got you sweet on me.”

“Not enough,” Stack peeled away from Amelia, “Let me grab some mo’!”

Amelia shook her head at Stack.

Smoke and Annie were dancing now. Amelia took a seat to cool off and removed her shoes. She massaged her left heel and flexed her toes painted red. Stack sought her out and took a seat next to her with a new beer. He slouched in his seat and swung his legs.

Smoke and Annie shared a passionate kiss in the middle of a slow waltz.

Amelia moved her hands up the back of her legs while flexing her ankles. Stack’s eyes were focused on her movements, studying her pretty toes.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” Amelia teased.

“I’d take pictures of you any day. I got a camera back home.”

“So, photography ya’ hobby when you ain’t robbing banks and trains?”

Stack smirked with a single dimple.

“Sum’ like that. Whatchu like to do?”

Amelia pondered, “Reading. I love escaping from reality. Picture myself in a castle in the tallest tower…or going on an adventure…or falling in love…”

Stack studied Amelia. His beer was halfway through.

“We all need a lil’ break from the real, ya’ know?” Stack said.

“Yeah,” Amelia nudged Stack’a shoulder, “If ya’ ever need a good book to read, I’m ya’ girl.”

Stack licked his lips, “I’ll hold you to it, Princess.”

Stack and Smoke shared a cigarette on the front porch while talking closely to each other.

Annie and Amelia had just finished cleaning up. Amelia yawned into her hand. She felt lightweight and relaxed from all the wine.

“Had fun tonight?” Annie asked.

“It was wonderful, Annie. Best time in a long while.”

Amelia wiped her hands off with a towel while staring at the twins in deep concentration.

“Ya’ like Stack?”

Amelia looked at Annie, “He’s a good time. And he’s handsome.”

Annie glanced towards the door. Smoke and Stack had their backs turned. Annie slithered her way over to Amelia, dropping her head to her ear to whisper.

“Careful wit’ ‘em Moore men. They’ll turn your world upside down.”

Annie’s warm breath ghosted across Amelia’s cheek. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She kept her eyes forward.

“And it’s been a while since Nathaniel had ya’ right?”

Amelia clenched her thighs together.

Annie pecked Amelia on the cheek.

“Get you some rest. I’ll see ya’ in the morning.”

“Night, Annie.” Amelia said.

Annie disappeared into her room. Smoke heard the door shut and walked back inside followed by Stack. Stack shut the door behind him. Both men stared at Amelia. Smoke with an unreadable expression and Stack with a flirty smile. She looked away before heading to her room.

“I see ya’ later brother—”

“No, no, no. It’s late stay here.”

“I be aight—”

“Stack. Keep yo’ ass here, understand? Ya’ had too much to drink.”

Stack kissed his teeth, “Then where I’m a sleep, fool? On this hard as floor? In the truck? In your room—”

“Nigga—”

“You can sleep in my room.”

Smoke and Stack looked down at Amelia.

“There’s extra blankets and a pillow.”

“Hm,” Smoke eyed Amelia from head to toe, “See? Now ya’ got an excuse to stay.”

Smoke tapped Stack’s shoulder before backing away to his room. He left his twin brother and Amelia standing there.

Stack was wearing his white button shirt tucked into his pinstriped slacks. The first few buttons on his shirt were undone. A chain hung from his neck with a tiny circular dog tag from WWI. The same one Smoke wore.

“Well,” Stack ushered Amelia towards the room with his hand, “Lead the way, Princess.”

Amelia took slow strides towards the room. Inside, she grabbed extra blankets and one of the pillows from the bed.

“Aye, I got this,” Stack piled the blankets on the floor with the pillow, “I’ll give ya’ a second to change.”

Stack left the room and shut the door. Amelia opened the wardrobe in the room and picked out a lavender chemise with a matching robe. She undressed quickly, slipping on the chemise.

“Stack, you can come in,” Amelia climbed into bed.

The door opened and Stack peeked inside.

“All decent, Princess?”

“Yes,” Amelia slipped beneath the sheets.

Stack walked in, took off his shoes, and his shirt. Amelia chewed on her lip while her eyes swept over Stack’s burly frame. Bulging biceps, a thick yet toned torso, defined pecs. Stack tossed his shirt over a chair in the room and lowered to the floor. He was lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Amelia turned off the kerosene lamp, bathing the room in mostly darkness.

“Goodnight, Stack.” Amelia said.

“Sweet dreams, Princess.”

On the other side of the house, Annie watched her husband strip down to his underwear, the fabric of his boxer shorts riding up his well–muscled thighs. His mojo bag sat between his pecs along with dog tags that mirrored Stacks. He tied a pressing cap over his hair to make the brush wave style Stack did last longer.

Annie wore a champagne–colored night gown that left little support for her large and heavy breasts, but it was breathable. Her hair was wrapped in a white scarf. Smoke sat on the edge of the bed. Annie got onto her knees behind him, massaging his shoulders.

“What explaining I gotta do, Elijah?” Annie asked.

Smoke shut his eyes and licked his lips with one swipe of his tongue.

“You sure Amelia just your Hoodoo apprentice, baby?”

Annie huffed, “What? Whatchu mean?”

“Ya’ know what I mean, Annie.”

Annie paused.

“…Smoke…”

Smoke looked up at Annie over his shoulder. Annie couldn’t hold his gaze.

“…How you find out?” Annie questioned with a tremble of her voice.

Smoke didn’t respond right away.

“I heard ya’ name, baby. I heard her moaning ya’ name. Then I saw it…I saw you tongue deep in her cooze…”

Annie’s eyes darted to the floor. She slipped her hands away and sat back on her knees. Smoke stood from the bed, facing her.

“How many times?”

Smoke folded his arms over his chest.

Annie shut her eyes slow.

“Three.” She revealed.

Smoke cocked his head.

“You fuck her three times, Annie?”

“Yes…I did,” Annie fiddled with her fingers, “It just—”

“I neva knew you to cheat on me, let alone wit’ a woman?”

Smoke shook his head in disbelief.

What Annie did next surprised him.

She laughed. Smoke furrowed his brows.

“Oh, Elijah,” Annie shook her head between laughs, “You left me for seven years. What did you think I was gon’ do?”

“I came back to you! I love you!” Smoke fired back.

He lowered his voice.

“Stop. Just stop it, Smoke. Ya’ like it.”

“Huh?” Smoke curled his top lip.

“Ya’ heard me. That’s why ya’ kissed me like that before dinner. Ya’ wanted to taste her.”

Smoke shifted his head and shoulders.

“I coulda’ put a root on that dick but I didn’t. Don’t stand there all tough and shit. I know you.”

Annie stood, walking up to Smoke. She got in his face with her hands on her hips.

“Say it. Ya’ like it.” Annie pressed.

“Annie—”

Annie cut him off, “Ya’ wanna play games, I can play wit ya’. Admit to it, ya’ liked seeing me eat her pussy…ya’ liked the way she reacted to it…ya’ like me being wit’ another woman.”

Smoke growled. He wasn’t trying to give in. Annie pressed up on him, never backing down, eyes glued to his.

“Say. It. Nigga.” Annie pressed with sass.

Smoke clenched his jaw. Annie lowered her searing gaze down between her husband’s legs. She almost whimpered. Thick dick twisted to the side in his boxer shorts and poking out the bottom. A big dick.

“…Fine,” Smoke stared her in the eyes, “Yeah. Yeah. I liked it.”

Annie tilted her head, “Wasn’t so hard, now…was it?”

Smoke clenched his shaky hands.

“Shit,” Smoke glared at Annie, “The way you looked…”

Annie placed her hand on Smoke’s chest. She glided it down his body until she was cuffing his dick. It seemed to pulsate in her hand. Annie curled her fingers around his shaft through his boxer shorts. Smoke worried his brows and parted his full lips.

“How did I look, Papa?” Annie whispered seductively.

“So sexy…”

Smoke grabbed Annie’s face and pressed his lips against hers. Their tongues swirled in a sloppy manner. Smoke lowered the straps to her night gown and Annie pulled his boxer shorts down until it fell around his ankles. Smoke stepped out of them, standing before Annie in all his naked glory.

“You actin’ all upset. For what?”

Annie dropped to her knees. Smoke’s big dick was pointed out and curved to the left. Annie looked up at her husband and then wrapped a warm hand around him, stroking him with a twist of her wrist.

“Alls you had to do was be real wit’ me, Elijah.”

Annie tongued the pre cum from his tip. Smoke placed his hands on Annie’s shoulders. He bowed his head to watch her, bottom lip wedged between his teeth.

“You know I’m right,” Annie dragged her tongue along the side of his shaft, “Don’t ya’?”

“Yeah,” Smoke licked his lips, “Stop teasing me, baby…”

Annie wrapped her lips around Smoke’s big dick and fit him all the way down her throat. Annie began sucking, down to the base and back to the tip. She tightened her jaws and rolled her neck to get a good rhythm. Smoke groaned deeply, hand on Annie’s head. Smoke tilted her head back a little so he could fuck her throat with slow, deliberate strokes.

“Fuck, Annie…deep throat on you…”

She was sucking on his pipe and looking him dead in his eyes.

Annie’s sucking made loud, wet sounds and left saliva all over her chin down to her chest.

“Damn,” Smoke could cum from how good it felt, “I wanna eat your pussy.”

Smoke slipped out of Annie’s mouth, dick dripping with spit and throbbing. Deep veins like loving trails for Annie’s tongue. Smoke picked Annie up and put her on her stomach. Annie arched her back and Smoke got down on his knees. He spread Annie’s big cheeks, keeping her open with a firm grip. He caught a whiff of that cooze and almost drooled down his chin.

“So beautiful…so beautiful.”

Smoke rubbed his face in it.

Smoke slobbered all over it.

Smoke sucked to his heart’s desire.

Smoke spanked those cheeks.

Annie was a moaning mess. She couldn’t form words, only sounds.

“Mm…oof…unh…ooo…ahhh…”

Smoke flipped her over. He pushed Annie’s thighs back so far her titties sat beneath her chin. Annie watched Smoke between her fat titties and round belly. He tongue fucked her, got his nose up in it, munched on it all with his eyes on her. Annie’s toes curled at the way his fluffy lips sucked on her clit.

“Smoke!”

She was loud, and she didn’t give a damn.

He ate her pussy up.

Smoke surfaced. He fisted his dick and then pointed it at Annie’s gushy.

“Had my dick so fuckin’ stiff—”

Smoke pushed in and started stroking. Annie watched Smoke’s hips grind, loving his stroke and how it pressed deep to make her cream.

“I’m creaming it, huh?” Smoke slapped her titties.

“Papa!”

“Uh-huh…”

Annie’s titties swayed in a circular motion. Smoke had her thighs out the way. Annie had nowhere to run. He looked up staring into the mirror situated in the corner. A slow smirk painted his lips. Sharp, calculated strokes had Annie gripping him with her walls.

“Cum on Papa’s dick, baby…”

Annie’s eyes crossed. Smoke’s mojo bag dangled in her face.

“Fuck, Annie! This good pussy!”

Smoke’s hips stuttered out of control. The bed creaked from the withering springs. Smoke shot off a thick nut deep inside of Annie’s womb. He propped himself up, staring down at her as sweat dripped onto her. Annie was experiencing an orgasmic high.

“Just what I needed,” Annie opened her eyes to stare at her husband, “I love you, Smoke.”

Smoke grabbed Annie’s hand that was stroking his face and kissed it.

“I love ya’, baby. I’m not mad about Amelia.”

“Ya’ sure?”

“I is,” Smoke leaned forward to kiss Annie, “Just a lil’ jealous. She got ya’ under a spell, baby. Three times?”

Annie giggles, “It’s that good. She tasted good on my tongue?”

Smoke responded with his lips sucking on Annie’s titties.

“I take it that’s a yes?”

Annie lifted Smoke’s face.

“She gon’ be here a while, Smoke…”

Annie thumbed Smoke’s bottom lip.

“…Then we give her a proper welcome.”

Annie’s eyes lit up.

Smoke let Annie up to get dressed. He decided to sleep naked. Annie turned off the kerosene lamp and Smoke settled behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against his front. Annie’s backside snuggled against his dick. The pale moonlight bathed their bodies, the sweat on their dark skin glistening.

@eggnox @blackisy2k @thickeeparker @theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @alexbabyyyy @readingaddict1290 @thedondada05 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @sug3rco0k1es @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @blossom3010 @kykylovesblog @desthefanfc @jeurden23janise @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @goddessofthundathighs @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @mynameisnikkinik @girlsneedlovingfanfics @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @pinkprincessluminary @rissa21405 @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @massivewolfslimeturtle @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @intellectualassholee @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @mysteriouslycertaincherrybl-blog @syko-jpg @inkdrippeddreams @rolemodelshit

#nahimjustfeelingit-writes #elias stack moore #stack sinners #stack smut #elias smokes x black!oc #elijah smokes x black!oc #annie and elijah smokes #sinnersfanfiction #sinners smut #sinners 2025 #sinners #michaelbaejordan #michealbjordan

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rosegolden13 · 3 months ago

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Hardware store owner!John Price drabble <3

He’s on his smoke break in his office in the back, window open to let in the cool evening breeze and let out the stink of cigar. Store’s been slow today, but that’s no surprise for a random weekday.

Gaz and Soap are messing around out front, their voices carrying into his office from the cracked open door. No doubt they’re playing their makeshift version of floor hockey with a roll of duct tape as a puck and the yard sticks as sticks. Normally, he’d tell them off, but with no customers in, he let them have their fun. It would be closing time soon anyways.

The mechanical ring signalling the arrival of a customer is familiar enough that he tunes it out entirely. It isn’t until that sweet chirping filters through his door that he finds the need to immediately tap out his barely finished cigar, despite the fact that both Gaz and Soap are free to help you. Those muppets don’t know about the leaky sink you’ve been struggling with or the marigolds you’re desperate to help bloom. He needs to be there. It’s only reasonable.

His pace quickens a bit when he hears how your voice seems to be laced with anxiety, words spilling into one another. By the time he gets to the front, Soap has got his palms up, clearly trying to placate you like you’re a spooked horse.

“Poison?! I-I don’t want to kill them!” You’re wringing your hands, stress palpable, as your bracelets clash against one another on your wrist. And this is what he’s been waiting for since you last came in, another chance to help his favorite girl.

Gaz is moving towards you as if to reach out a hand to place on your arm, but before he can, John’s heavy hand is on your shoulder, standing just behind you. “I’ve got this one, boys. Start cleaning up for me, will ya?”

Gaz and Soap exchange knowing smirks as they head off with a simple “sure thing, cap’n” and a “you got it, Price”. You’re looking up at him and he has to fight back the rush of pride that flows through him when he catches the relief in your expression.

His thumb absently runs over the fabric of your flowy pink top, feeling your warmth through the thin fabric. “What’s the problem, doll? Never seen ya worked up like this.”

“John, oh, thank God. There’s mice in my attic- a whole family of them. I really wouldn’t mind, but there’s droppings everywhere. Animal control told me to call the exterminator. But I couldn’t live with myself if I had to- They’re only looking for a warm place to stay!” The words are a rush from your glossed lips, his hand rubbing over your shoulder the whole time and then squeezing gently once you’re done.

God, you’re adorable. This passionate over the lives of a few woodland critters. He’s never flinched at bloodshed, but he’s not one for needless killing either, especially of anything as small and helpless as some mice.

His smile is patient as he looks down at you. “No exterminator necessary. I’ll handle ‘em for ya, lovie. Got a few humane traps I can set up for ya, free of charge. Wouldn’t want ya to get your finger trapped in ‘em.”

Your trust in him is all the payment he needs. Oh, and that sweet smile you give him as you babble happily about how he always knows just what to do.

—

He follows you back to your place in his pick-up truck.

As you lead him inside, murmuring sheepishly about how it’s a bit of a mess inside, he’s focusing on how your smaller form squeezes in next to his in the tiny entryway, how you put your keys away with a gentle metal clatter, the movements unconscious because you’ve no doubt done them day after day. The intimacy of being in your space gets to his head, filling his mind with thoughts of placing his keys over yours on the little hook.

You’re leading him upstairs to the attic soon enough. While he busies himself with setting up the traps, you sweep up mouse droppings. Settling into the work, a comfortable silence lingers over you both. John’s taking note of the christmas decorations, old books, and various bins you have stored up here, making a mental reminder to offer to come over if you ever need help getting the boxes down from here. He wouldn’t want you tripping down that rickety ladder leading up here.

He’s setting down one of the last traps, placing it by a crack between the wall and floor that he wants to offer to fill for you, when you shriek, the sound loud enough to cover up the scurrying claws of the mouse that had just ran right by your sneakers. In an instant, your hands are digging into his hairy arm, clinging to him.

It takes him a moment, looking between your hands and then your scared expression, before he’s springing into action. “Shh, darl’. It was jus’ a mouse. Can’t hurt ya. I won’t let it.”

He lets you hug his arm, using his free hand to gently rub your other shoulder. There’s a slight heat in his cheeks that he hasn’t felt since he was a teen, that small thrill of being alone in the dark, tucked close to another warm body. One touch from a pretty little thing and the seasoned captain is falling apart.

The moment is broken when you pull away with a sheepish smile. You’re apologizing again and again for getting spooked like that but John’s just watching you with a smile, sneaking glimpses at the crescent shaped divots your manicure left in his arm. He doesn’t want them to fade, mind wandering to how you could tear up his back with those claws.

Once the job is done, you say goodnight to him at the door, the yellow porch light casting a halo over his hair. He promises to come back once any of the traps are filled to bring the mice to a field so they don’t end up back in your attic again.

And, no, doll, you don’t need to repay him but, how could he ever say no to a homecooked meal sometime?

#john price x reader #captain johnathan price #john price fanfiction #captain john price x reader #captain john price #john price #john price x you

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blank-potato · 6 days ago

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my kid's better than your kid

Pairing: John Walker x Reader

Summary:

“Listen here, Captain Suburbia,” you sneer. “Anyone with two functioning eyes could see your kid bodychecked mine like it was hockey practice.” “Well, the ref didn’t see it that way. So move on,” he snaps back without missing a beat. “Absolutely not! This is about accountability.” “There’s no need to give my kid a red card just because your kid—” John starts, hands gesturing like he's trying to explain away a traffic ticket. “Don’t even finish that sentence,” you fire back, jabbing a finger at his chest. “If you even imply that she was overreacting, I swear I’ll—” He holds up his hands, that smug look never leaving his face. “Hey, relax. Just saying, maybe things wouldn’t get so dramatic if you stayed on your side of the field.” You narrow your eyes. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.” Or You and John's kids are in the same soccer league, and after you get into an argument on the field over your kids, you start seeing him everywhere. It's hate at first sight.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, hair pulling, mirror sex, oral sex (female receiving), p in v sex, breeding kink, sexual overstimulation, John Walker is a biter, No Superhero AU!, slow burn, enemies to lovers, dead spouse (I killed off his wife oop), John being a good dad, Ava Starr cameo

WC: 12.0K

A/N: I feel like John would be one of those dads who's coaching from the sidelines at their kids' game, so I wrote this. I'm also obsessed with him right now so expect more fics

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

Some might call you intense or insane.

A little crazy, definitely.

There’s a fire in you, always has been, and when it comes to your daughter, you didn’t play around. Every aspect of her life was important to you, especially her Saturday morning soccer games.

Though you didn’t know what intense was until you saw that dickhead across the field. Blonde hair, a trimmed beard, built like he probably hits the gym four times a week. His biceps flexed under his white shirt every time he threw his arms up at the ref, which, to be fair, was often.

If he weren’t so obnoxious, you might even find him hot, but you totally don’t find him hot. He was pumped up, red in the face, and just as invested in the game as you were. Pacing like a coach who got fired but still showed up anyway. He was shouting directions, clapping like his kid was about to be scouted, and cheering like it was the World Cup and not just a rec league game on a patchy field behind a middle school.

He was showing you up, so you started cheering louder for your kid. Because if this is a competition, you're damn well not losing it.

“That’s it, Lily! Give ‘em hell!” You shout, your daughter just smiles at you and goes back to playing, used to your competitive nature.

The man takes notice of you and looks at you like he isn’t also acting like a lunatic before cheering even louder. That rubbed you the wrong way. What gave him the right to look at you like you were the problem?

Then it happens.

You watch as your daughter gets slide-tackled for no reason.

And the ref? Doing fuck all about it.

“What was that call, ref?” you shout, already on your feet.

“I—” the ref starts, backing up as you approach.

You trudge towards him, angry but trying to maintain a look of composed fury, like you weren't two seconds from setting the field on fire.

The ref was used to your antics, and now every time he saw you storming towards him, he’d be sure that he’d be going home with a headache.

“No yellow or red card? She got slide-tackled,” you bark.

“It’s—”

“She didn’t even have the ball!” you snap, the words ripping out of you like they’ve been waiting. You’re so fired up, so high on rage and love and disbelief, you swear you could take flight.

“It was an accident, so there’s no need for that,” a voice cuts in, calm and condescending in the worst possible way.

You turn, and it’s him, the guy from across the field. The look on his face, the matter-of-fact tone, the casual smugness oozing off him like cologne. You hate him instantly. It was that easy.

“I’m guessing that was your son that ran over my daughter,” you say, each word clipped like you’re trying not to launch them at his face.

“Ran over?” he snorts. “Talk about an exaggeration.”

“It’s soccer, these things happen. You don’t have to throw a tantrum just because your kid's team is down two,” he adds, smirking like he thinks this is witty banter and not a declaration of war.

You scoff, hands on hips, already stepping into his space. The ref backs off like a man realising he’s standing between two charging bulls. This wasn’t a sideline spat; this was two planets colliding, and he wanted no part of the fallout.

“Listen here, Captain Suburbia,” you sneer. “Anyone with two functioning eyes could see your kid bodychecked mine like it was hockey practice.”

“Well, the ref didn’t see it that way. So move on,” he snaps back without missing a beat.

“Absolutely not! This is about accountability.”

“There’s no need to give my kid a red card just because your kid—” John starts, hands gesturing like he's trying to explain away a traffic ticket.

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” you fire back, jabbing a finger at his chest. “If you even imply that she was overreacting, I swear I’ll—”

He holds up his hands, that smug look never leaving his face. “Hey, relax. Just saying, maybe things wouldn’t get so dramatic if you stayed on your side of the field.”

You narrow your eyes. “Funny, I was just thinking the same about you.”

“That’s it! Take this off the field,” the ref finally blurts, hands up, voice cracking. “The kids have a match to play!”

You exhale sharply and hard through your nose, fists clenched at your sides. You try to calm yourself down, jaw tight, heart pounding. You sit and look out at your daughter, brushing grass off her knees and already back in position.

She's tougher than you give her credit, but that didn’t change the fact that you wanted to put that guy’s head in the ground.

After the game, her team, the Honeybees, lost after a few missed goals and lots of questionable calls, but your daughter was still laughing with her friends, unfazed in the way only kids can be.

You, however, were still stewing in quiet indignation when you spotted the world’s biggest jackass, in your humble, entirely accurate opinion, making his way toward you.

“Oh. It’s you,” you say, arms crossed automatically.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your loss,” he says, all fake sincerity, like he wasn’t two seconds away from being shoved into a juice box cooler.

“How mature.”

“I try,” he replies with that same maddening, self-satisfied grin.

You narrow your eyes, ready for whatever condescending nonsense he might say next. If he says “good effort”, you’re swinging. Choosing not to let him fuck with you, you tell him what’s what.

“Your team only won because of the ref’s bad calls,” you say, arms still crossed, tone sharp enough to slice fruit.

“Oh really?” he replies, lifting an eyebrow like he’s genuinely amused. Like this is his idea of foreplay.

“Yeah. My kid was dynamite out there.”

“So was mine,” he says back instantly.

“I mean, sure, but my kid has the most assists on her team,” you say, trying to keep your cool, even as your voice edges higher.

“Assists,” he echoes, nodding slowly. “Not goals.”

You blink at him. “Are we seriously doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything,” he says with mock innocence, hands raised like he’s never been petty in his life.

You press your lips together, biting your tongue so hard it might bruise. You didn’t want to, you really didn’t want to, but it slips out anyway.

“My kid can out-pass, out-hustle, and outplay any other kid on that field.”

He grins like he’s been waiting for this.

“Well, my kid can run circles around your kid while tying his cleats.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Alright then, my kid was able to run a full field drill without missing a pass when she was five.”

“Well, mine could do cone drills backwards while coaching his teammate through theirs.”

Your eye twitches at that and he delights in seeing you so bothered.

“Lily has a killer left foot and once scored a hat trick with a stomach bug.”

“And Tommy is a human wall on defence.”

“Oh, please. Lily once did a bicycle kick and landed on her feet. What’s Tommy got?” You say, crossing your arms.

“Perfect attendance and a clean penalty record.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at ‘clean penalty record’ but you keep it moving.

“Lily brings orange slices for the whole team.”

“Tommy brings strategy diagrams and pep talks.”

You pause, blinking. “Are we… bragging about how nice our kids are now?”

“Seems like it.”

You both go quiet for a beat, then he adds with a smirk, “Still doesn’t mean your kid’s better. I think you should admit to defeat.”

You step forward, just enough to make a point. “I’ll admit defeat when the Honeybees start losing because of their own mistakes, not because your future linebacker throws elbows like he’s in a bar fight.”

He actually laughs, and it’s a little too charming for your liking. Before you can wrestle with what that means, you hear a voice.

“Dad!” his son calls from across the field, waving dramatically. “Hurry up, you promised we’d get ice cream!”

He glances over his shoulder, then looks back at you with that same smug glint in his eye.

“Again, enjoy your loss,” he says, already turning. “And get used to it. The season’s still young.”

You narrow your eyes. “Until next time, Captain Suburbia.”

He chuckles and starts to walk away, but pauses, turns back with a smirk plastered on his face.

“John,” he says. “My name is John.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Hiding.”

“From?” Your friend, Ava, says as she looks around for the apparent danger.

“John.”

Ever since that day, you were livid with the dickhead you knew as John Walker. You had never hated someone so much from just one meeting. You never wanted to see him again, but you did while shopping.

Ava takes a peek, “Oh, the hot soccer dad? Which one is he?”

You never described him as hot but Ava figured from the way you were kidding your mind over him, you thought he was.

“Blonde, beard, tall and wearing a blue shirt.”

Ava sees him in the fruit and veg aisle and hums in approval, “Is he single? He’s right up your alley, no?”

You nudge her arm. “I don’t know. I mean, I didn't see him with anyone at the game…” You say your voice drifting off before you're back to your senses. “Whether or not he's single is irrelevant! He’s a complete asshole.”

“Just because he's an asshole doesn’t mean he’s not good in bed.”

The death glare you give her is intense and could be considered lethal, but she laughs it off.

“Let’s be honest, if you weren’t attracted to him, you wouldn’t be so riled up.”

“Oh, please, I’m not into evil blonde men.”

Is he hot? Yes. But his evilness outweighs the hotness.

“Well, the evil blonde man is coming your way.”

You look towards the end of the aisle to see that Ava was right, so you immediately duck down behind a tower of soup cans.

“Please come out from over there,” Ava whispers but you protest, hoping you can camouflage yourself and become one with the cans.

Ten seconds pass, and you hear your name in that familiar voice and know you’ve been caught.

“Oh. Hi.”

Your attempt at being nonchalant is honestly pitiful, but not more pitiful than him knowing you were hiding from him.

“Don’t mind me, go back to whatever this is,” He says, gesturing to your hunched-over, goblin-like stance. He reaches over you and grabs a can off the shelf, walking off without another word.

“See? No need to panic. He was perfectly civil,” Ava chimes in.

“Only because he caught me in a state of weakness. He has the upper hand, and he’s already plotting against me. I can feel it.”

“He’s a soccer dad, not a supervillain,” Ava sighs, helping you off the floor, concerned about the effect he was having on you, but then again, she was always concerned about you. You regularly lose your mind at your daughter’s soccer games so she has just cause.

“I need to grab the wine, I’ll meet you at the checkout,” Ava says, and you nod, letting her walk off.

You had to circle back around to get the limited edition coffee you had become obsessed with anyway. You get to the aisle and your eyes widen when you realise that there’s only one left. Your hand flies to grab it, you can already imagine it in your trolley, and it looks good. It looks happy, like it's ready to be at home in your pantry.

But at the same time, another hand wraps around it, the hand belonging to John, because fate was still playing in your face.

“You.”

You thought you were done with him for the day. Clearly, the universe had other plans.

John raises an eyebrow, not letting go. “Come on. Be a gentleman and give it to me,” You say, trying to force a smile.

Your grip tightens, so does his.

“I don’t think so,” he says smoothly, as if he weren’t just on the verge of sparking a full-blown aisle standoff. “It’s the last one.”

“I know.”

“I’ll have to go across town for another,” You say, your eyebrows knitting together.

“Cry about it.”

You tug on it a little, but he doesn’t budge. The item wobbles dangerously between your hands.

“Are you even trying?” he asks. He was so good at being a smug bastard, you wonder if he was born like this or if he honed this craft. You open your mouth to really let him have it, but you don’t even get the chance.

Without another word, he snatches it clean from your hand in one smooth move, drops it into his trolley like he just won Olympic gold, and starts walking away, whistling.

You stand there, mildly offended but mostly impressed.

“Oh no, you did not just—” you march after him.

“Too slow, sweetheart,” he calls over his shoulder without turning around. “Better luck next time.”

“I hope it’s expired!” you shout after him.

You stop walking and watch as he struts off with your coffee like he was the King of Aisle Seven, you were planning his downfall in at least three different ways.

And two of them involved shopping carts.

After the grocery store incident, you were looking forward to having a reprieve from John Walker. But it was like fate or something more evil was forcing the two of you together. You have a PTA meeting the next night, and who do you see there but John, who was now becoming a permanent fixture in your life.

You sigh and sit beside the only empty seat, which was next to him.

“Let’s not even speak,” You suggest you say as soon as your butt hits the seat.

“Fine with me,” John replies as he crosses his arms, looking away from you.

You sit there tapping your foot. It was almost painful being silent when everyone else was having conversations. Especially when you were next to a thief. You didn’t even get the opportunity to yell at him properly for swiping your coffee.

You finally break, “What you did yesterday was shitty.”

“And I thought we weren’t going to speak.”

“I’ll be sick if I don’t call out injustice when I see it.”

John laughs, and you want to strangle him. “You’re still thinking about that? I’m constantly on your mind, aren’t I?”

You shift in your seat, feeling the heat climbing up the back of your neck. How dare he even suggest that? Yes, you were thinking about him, but only about all the ways you wanted to destroy him.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snap under your breath.

The meeting starts before he can muster up a comeback. You catch yourself zoning out as the agenda drags on, filled with tedious updates about the bake sale and a desperate plea for chaperones for the 3rd-grade trip to Lake Maribelle.

You swing your leg absentmindedly and accidentally bump his shin. It’s genuinely an accident.

“Did you just kick me?” he whispers.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t taking up half the space with your big—”

“You’re unbelievable—” He interrupts, turning his body to face you.

“Gangly legs, then you wouldn’t have gotten hit,” You whisper your sentence over his.

Your whispered bickering is only interrupted by the teacher at the front calling both your names.

“You’ll help chaperone the trip to Lake Maribelle?”

With all those expectant eyes on you, how could either of you say no?

“Yeah…”

“Of course…”

You both reply sheepishly at the same time.

“Great, I’ll sign the two of you up.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

Stepping onto the bus, you watch as Lily disappears to go sit with her friend, leaving you with a slight pang of loneliness. You head to the front and slump into your seat, next to who else but John, because you can’t even be surprised. You really needed to start arriving at places earlier to avoid sitting next to him, but here you were.

It’s a four-hour ride, and you can already feel your exhaustion creeping in. You try to keep yourself alert, but your eyes are heavy. Before you know it, your head tilts to the side, falling onto his shoulder.

John glances down at you, noticing how tired you look. He’s always been perceptive like that. He doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts slightly to give you more space. But when he feels you drift further, he gently shifts, adjusting his posture. His shoulder feels like a small slice of comfort amidst the exhaustion.

He lets you use his shoulder the whole ride. You looked quite peaceful when you weren’t trying to rip his head off, quite beautiful too. John catches the thought and tosses it out. He couldn’t be caught slipping, you were his mortal enemy after all.

The bus reaches the camp, and suddenly, it jerks to a stop. Your head flies forward, but before you can react, John’s hand shoots out, catching your forehead in the palm of his hand just in time.

“Thanks,” you mumble, a little embarrassed but too tired to really care.

He just hums in response, his fingers lightly grazing your skin for just a second longer than necessary. “Quick reflexes.”

Hoping off the bus, you notice the camp leaders waiting to greet the kids. You stand off to the side ensuring everyone gets off the bus when you notice one of the teachers, Miss. Lucas, sidling up next to John, laughing a little too loudly at something he barely said. Your eyes narrow without even realising it, and your fist subconsciously tightens. It’s like a sudden surge of irritation hits you.

The worst part is that you don’t even know why you're so bothered. You’re pretty sure it's just your general distaste for him as a person, and anything he does seems to irritate you. That felt like the easiest explanation. No need to dig deeper into that nagging feeling in your chest, like someone’s poking it with a stick. You shake it off, willing yourself to focus on something else, anything else.

After you get the kids all settled in for the first activity, though, it hits you like a ton of bricks. The exhaustion. You’re winded in a way you don’t remember being before. You try to shake it off, but it’s clear that you’ve reached your limit for the day. This trip wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be, and now, even a simple walk feels like you’ve run a marathon.

You take a deep breath, looking around for a moment to regain your composure. There's no need to make a bigger deal out of it. Just power through, you tell yourself. But it’s harder than you expected, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s more than just the physical exhaustion that's weighing on you.

But at least John was out of sight. You didn’t have to see him on the nature walk or the obstacle course, but you’d have to supervise the canoeing together. You make it out there first, sitting on the dock as the kids are getting in the canoes with the instructors. A smile tugs at your lips as you see how excited Lily is, her face lighting up as she waits for her turn, then spotting you in the crowd. She waves enthusiastically, and you wave back, your heart swelling just a little at the sight of her so happy.

“Nice day out,” John says, looking out at the water. You’re shaken to your core. Not just because you didn’t hear him walk up, but because of what he said. What was this? A normal conversation starter?

You open your mouth to respond, but you're cut off by Miss. Lucas' syrupy voice slicing through the moment like a dull butter knife.

“It really is, and John, you really should wear sunglasses. With how blue your eyes are, the way the sun hits them is just distracting,” she purrs, twirling a lock of her overly straightened hair.

It’s laced with flirtation and just enough condescension to make your skin crawl.

You roll your eyes — hard.

John notices.

“What? You don’t like the sun?” he asks, amused now, that sharp gaze flicking to you like he already knows he’s poking the bear.

“I like the sun,” you answer evenly.

“Then what were you rolling your eyes at, huh?”

You’re so tempted to say exactly what’s on your mind. To call out Miss. Lucas’s thinly veiled thirst trap of a compliment, but you catch yourself. The last thing you need is her holding some petty grudge against Lily over adult nonsense.

So instead, you force a too-sweet smile and say, “None of your business.”

He chuckles, clearly entertained.

Miss. Lucas doesn’t seem to notice any of it. She’s still lingering like a wasp at a picnic.

John tilts his head, a grin still playing at his lips. “Touchy.”

Stepping into your space, he does that thing, that infuriating thing, where he leans in just enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to break any rules.

You guys just couldn’t seem to be near each other without someone stepping over the invisible line.

“And you’re observant,” you shoot back, voice low. “Someone might think you’re a little obsessed.”

His brow lifts. “Is that right?”

“You know what? I’m sorry, I'm being rude. Let me ask you this,” you say, your voice sweet and dangerous all at once, “Do you like water?”

“What kind of question is—?”

Splash.

He never finishes.

You shove him clean off the dock, and he crashes into the freezing lake with a satisfying crash. A few heads turn at the sound, followed by laughter, mostly from the kids.

John surfaces, sputtering, slicking his hair back with both hands as he glares up at you like a betrayed golden retriever.

“It’s freezing!” he shouts.

“Oh no,” you gasp dramatically, hand to your chest. “Is it? I had no idea.”

He blinks the water from his eyes, slow and deliberate, before gripping the edge of the dock with both hands and pulling himself up in one smooth, effortless motion.

It’s… a problem.

You might hate the man, scratch that, you definitely hate the man, but God help you, he had the audacity to look good doing literally anything. The sunlight caught the drops of water rolling down his arms, his shirt plastered to the ridges of his abs and the degenerate part of your brain wanting to see them with his shirt off.

His hair dripped, tousled and messy in a way that looked too perfect to be accidental. It was like watching someone climb out of a cologne commercial.

You bite your lip instinctively, then immediately cover it up with a cough and a scowl.

He strides toward you, soaking wet, every squelching footstep a declaration of petty war. You’re forced to crane your neck to meet his eyes as he stops in front of you.

“You’re lucky,” he says, water still dripping from his sleeves, “that one of us knows how to act like an adult.”

You raise your eyebrows, lips twitching despite yourself. “You sure it’s you?”

He huffs a humourless laugh, then turns and walks down the dock toward the cabins, leaving behind a trail of wet footprints and a hundred silent thoughts you’re too proud to say out loud.

You watch him go and tell yourself it’s because you want to see if there’s the off chance he falls in.

Definitely not because of the view.

You’re watching your back the rest of the day, fully expecting some form of petty revenge. A frog in your shoe, a cold fish under your pillow, maybe even your toothbrush mysteriously tasting like lake water. But nothing happens.

No pranks. No payback.

You’re in the clear.

Now, sitting by the campfire, the sky a hazy lavender above the treeline, things feel… calm. The kids are running wild around the open field, fireflies blinking to life as marshmallows roast and someone strums a guitar softly in the distance.

“Hi,” a small voice says beside you.

You turn and see Tommy, John’s son, standing there with a hesitant smile.

“Hey, having fun?” you ask, shifting to make room.

He nods and sits next to you, pulling his knees up to his chest. “The nature walk was pretty cool, and me and my friends loved the obstacle course. And the canoeing was fun too… even though you pushed my dad in the lake.”

You groan lightly, a hand going to your face. “Yeah, about that…”

The guilt hits, a pang of embarrassment. You knew your behaviour was juvenile. Funny, sure, but maybe not your finest moment, especially in front of the kids.

You laugh under your breath and shake your head. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It was pretty funny,” Tommy admits, “And I know you and my dad have problems.”

You feel even more ashamed that it was bleeding into your kids' lives too.

“My dad can be a lot,” he says, kicking a pebble with the toe of his shoe. “But he’s just… I don’t know. He tries really hard. Especially for me.”

It helped you understand John a little better. The bluster, the sarcasm, the stubborn streak a mile wide… It wasn’t just pride or ego. It was effort. The kind that comes from someone trying to do right, even if it comes out messy. You could appreciate that because you were the same way.

And if he’d raised such a polite kid, then he couldn’t be all bad. Not even close.

“Have you seen him, by the way?” Tommy asks.

“Not lately,” you say, then gesture toward the table behind you. “But you can have some marshmallows while you wait, if you want.”

“Sure!” he says, lighting up as he grabs a stick and starts roasting.

John comes back to see something he wasn't expecting. The bane of his existence, laughing with his son and roasting marshmallows. Tommy didn’t warm up to most people that easily, so when he sees him lighting up with you, his opinion of you shifts. Maybe you weren’t an evil witch.

You still got a bucket of freezing lake water poured over you the next morning, though.

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You’re out running errands, finally—blissfully—alone. Lily’s spending the weekend at your parents' place, which meant you had time to catch your breath, clean without stepping on glitter, and maybe finally recover from the whirlwind that was the school trip.

You understood John better. You still thought he was annoyingly smug, sure, but maybe not completely irredeemable.

But you weren’t getting ahead of yourself. He was still the same cocky asshole you met yelling across a soccer field... right?

Just as you’re mulling that over, tongue in cheek, deciding if you’d imagined all the softness, you feel your car begin to slow down.

“What the—?”

You frown, tapping the gas. Nothing. A few panicked beeps. Then a sputter.

You manage to pull off to the side of the road just as the engine completely gives out, your car coasting to a reluctant stop.

“No, no, no!” you shout, slamming your palms against the steering wheel.

This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not when you finally had a few hours of peace and you were this close to getting Thai food and going home to binge terrible reality TV.

With a heavy sigh, you get out and open the bonnet, even though you have no idea what you’re looking for. Wires? Steam? A glowing red light labeled you’re screwed?

You’re standing there, staring blankly into the guts of your car, when you hear it, a car slowing down behind you and parking behind you.

You barely glance back, already waving them off. “Thanks, I’m good—”

But then you hear a too-familiar voice say, “Well, that doesn’t look promising.”

Of course.

You turn around slowly.

And there he is.

John Walker, ladies and gentlemen.

“Need a hand?” he asks, already strolling over like he’s been waiting his whole life to rescue you.

“I uh…” You start becasure you’re so tempted to say “I got this” but the moment your eyes look back at whatever the fuck is going on in your car, you sigh.

“Do you have a toolbox?” he’d asked.

“Yeah, it’s in the boot,” you’d said, thinking nothing of it.

Then he came back, popped the hood, and casually peeled his shirt off with a warning: “Don’t read into anything. I just don’t want grease on my shirt.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, a little too quickly.

You didn’t say anything, but that sure as hell didn’t stop you from watching. Because damn. The man was all broad shoulders, and strong arms that had no business looking that good twisting bolts.

You could’ve watched him work all day.

“Try starting it,” he called, interrupting your horny thoughts.

You slid back into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. It’s a miracle.

“Thank you, seriously.”

He leaned over the hood, smug smile fully loaded. “No problem. That should get you moving, but you definitely need to take this to a garage. I can come with you, if you want.”

Seeing the way your face contorts, he follows up with an explanation before you start berating him again.

“You’ll need a ride home after, won’t you?”

“Oh, true… I guess I’ll take you up on your offer. I mean as long as I'm not keeping you from Tommy, am I?” You say as you watch him put his shirt back on.

“No, he's at his grandparents’ place.”

“Oh same with Lily,” You admit.

“Guess we have some errands to run together then.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You arrive back home in his car and say “Home sweet home,” because you didn’t know what the fuck you were talking baout. Ever since you watched him fix your car, haggle down the price of your repair with the mechanic and drive you home, you’d been in a bit of a daze. A ‘John Walker is the perfect man’ daze to be exact.

“Do you ... wanna come in?” You say, the words escaping you, but what you didn’t expect was his reply.

“Sure.”

You welcome him in, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest as John casually walks around your house.

It was clean, for once and cosy too, filled with little signs of your life with Lily. Pictures lined the walls: school plays, messy birthday parties, soccer games. Her drawings were stuck to the fridge with mismatched magnets.

“This you?” John asks, voice tinged with amusement.

You turn to see him holding a framed photo from the shelf, a younger you, maybe around Lily’s age, standing proudly in a baseball uniform, cap askew and a dirt-smudged grin on your face.

You roll your eyes but smile. “Yeah. I peaked in Little League.”

He chuckles, eyes still on the photo. “You look like you were about to take someone out at home plate.”

“I probably did.”

He glances over at you, that familiar smirk on his face. “Not much has changed then.”

You snort. “Are you calling me aggressive?”

“I’m saying I’d definitely want you on my team,” he replies, setting the photo down gently. “You were a force to be reckoned with, no doubt,” he says with a chuckle.

“Always.”

“Are there more?” he asks, leaning a little closer with that annoyingly charming glint in his eye.

You cross your arms, sitting back a little as you narrow your eyes. “Nuh uh. We are not going through my baby pictures.”

“Yes, we are.”

And five minutes later, you were both on the couch with a photo album spread across your lap.

“You even look like a soccer ball in this one,” he teases, pointing to a photo of you in a puffy striped onesie.

“I bet you were an ugly baby,” you fire back, sticking your tongue out at him.

“I’ll have you know I was adorable. Practically a Gerber baby.”

He flips a page and pauses. “Is this you or Lily?”

“That’s Lily,” you say, your smile softening.

“She looks just like you.”

“I like to call her my twin,” you laugh. “And she hates it.”

Time ticks by, and you barely even notice it. The room has dimmed with the setting sun, shadows creeping in, and a warmth building low in your stomach. You’ve been flipping through photo albums for what must’ve been hours, laughing and teasing each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Then you hear it, John’s stomach growling, loud and unmistakable. You glance at him, and he’s already giving you a sheepish smile. Clearly, you’re both thinking the same thing.

“I was going to order Thai,” you say casually. “If you wanted to stay for dinner.”

He hesitates for only a second. “I’d like that.”

Later, the two of you are curled up on the couch, takeout containers spread between you, Real Housewives playing in the background. The chaotic drama on screen contrasts with the quiet ease between you.

It had been so long since you’d just relaxed like this with someone—someone who wasn’t Ava or Lily. And it felt good. Easy. Right.

“I have a suggestion, feel free to say no.”

“Hit me,” John says, leaning back against the couch, one arm draped over the cushion behind you.

You bite back a grin. “I have a bottle of whiskey that’s begging to be opened. Wanna throw on some music and help me put it out of its misery?”

He lifts an eyebrow, a slow smile creeping onto his face. “Why not?”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

You shouldn’t drink around him. At this point, you were touchy and honestly just saying shit for the sake of saying shit. You’re not too drunk but definitely tipsy enough to say whatever comes to your mind.

“I haven’t seen Tommy’s mom around. Did you guys split up?” you blurt out, half-curious, half-dreading the answer. You feel a drop in the atmosphere as his hands seem to tighten on the glass.

“Sorry, you don’t need to answer. That was weird of me to ask…” You're trying to backtrack as quickly as possible.

“Oh no, it’s okay, she uh,” he says quietly. “She passed a few years ago.”

You pause, your posture softening. “I’m so sorry…”

“It’s alright,” he says, voice low but steady. “Still tough without her, but we manage.”

He glances down, like he’s trying to ground himself before continuing.

“I’d like to say I was a good husband, but I was always away in the army. I could’ve been better before she…” He trails off, eyes now solely focused on the liquid swirling in his glass.

You stay quiet, wanting to listen rather than rush in.

“When I came back from my last tour, she was already sick. But for a while, we were okay. We were happy. Then she got worse. It was hard seeing her like that when she was so full of life before I left. I felt like I had missed so much, and when she…” He pauses again, his voice catching in his throat like he was being choked.

“Tommy’s the only thing that kept me going after. I’m always scared I’ll mess things up with him and miss the important stuff. That I already am.”

He exhales sharply, almost laughing at himself. “Shit. Sorry. I’m rambling.”

“Not at all,” you say gently, shaking your head. “And I can tell you’re a good dad. Anyone can. He's such a sweet kid and he adores you.”

He looks at you then, and for once, there’s no smirk, no one-liner. Just quiet gratitude.

“Thanks,” he says. “That means more than you know.”

You both take another drink, the burn lingering in your throat like something you don’t mind holding onto for a while.

“What about you? I noticed there aren’t any pictures of Lily’s dad around,” he asks, voice softer now, like he’s not just making conversation anymore.

“We got divorced ages ago. He was a total disaster.”

You let out a dry laugh, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“We got married too young, had Lily, got divorced two years in and… I honestly can’t even remember the last time he showed up for her. No birthday messages, no calls. Nothing.”

You pause, trying not to let the anger twist your words.

“It’s a shame because she’s so amazing,” you add, staring into your glass. “And her dad doesn't give her the time of day and never has. She deserves so much better than that, and I wish I could be everything for her, but I…”

John’s quiet, listening. Really listening, giving you the space that you gave him.

“It’s hard doing it on your own,” you say, looking up at him. “I know you get that.”

He nods slowly, then offers a small, warm smile. “It’s his loss. She’s a kick-ass kid with a pretty kick-ass mom.”

You laugh, the real kind this time.

“I genuinely thought you were about to fight me the day we met,” he says, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips.

You grin. “I was about to fight you.”

“Very hot.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling and, for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel exhausting to let someone in.

“Okay, Mr. Tight-White-Shirt,” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

He smirks instantly. “Ah, so you were ogling me that day.”

Damn. You walked right into that one.

“A woman can’t appreciate the male form?” you say, all mock innocence.

John laughs, shaking his head as he takes another drink. The music shifts, a different song now, low and smooth, some classic jazz number that’s always sounded like warmth and memory and late nights.

You perk up instantly. “John, we have to dance.”

He blinks. “What?”

“C’mon!”

Before he can argue, you’re already pulling him to his feet drunkenly. He hesitates for half a second, then relents because, of course, he does. His hands find your waist, cautious at first, and you wrap your arms around his neck as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I can’t remember the last time I slow danced,” you murmur against his chest.

“Same,” John says quietly. “In all honesty, it was… probably my wedding.”

“Damn, me too,” You let out a low laugh. “Did you go all out?”

“We tried,” he nods. “We had lessons and everything. I remember practising in our tiny apartment, knocking over chairs and swearing a ton.”

She grins. “I bet you were shit.”

John, very much in ‘John’ fashion, gasps. “Correction, I was the shit.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna show you. Get ready to be dipped.”

Your eyes widen as you look up at him, suspicion written all over your face. “No way. You’ll drop me.”

He smirks. “I won’t. Trust me. I’m strong and very capable.”

Before you can protest again, he spins you, just fast enough to make your stomach flip. And you squeal, laughing as you come back into his arms.

“See?” he says, proud as hell. “Didn’t hurt a hair on your pretty head.”

You’re still laughing, slightly breathless, heart thudding in your chest for reasons that have very little to do with the dancing.

“I hate to say it,” you murmur, “but that was quite smooth.”

“Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might think you like me.”

You look up at him and realise, you’ve never been this close to him, unless you count getting in his face at a soccer match, but this was different. It was a whole new type of tension.

“Whatever…” you say, but it comes out with no bite. Not even close.

Maybe because you’re tipsy, but under the dim lighting of your living room, with the jazz still murmuring in the background and that stupid, crooked smile on his face.

You reach up, fingers brushing his cheek before you even fully realise what you're doing.

“I like your beard,” you blurt out, your thumb lightly grazing the line of it.

He blinks, surprised, not because of what you said, but because of how gently you said it.

“Yeah?” he says, voice a little quieter now.

He’s not able to get another word out before you’re kissing him, soft and tender. His hands cup your face as he kisses you like there’s a magnet pulling you to him. Your hands roaming over each other’s bodies, hands desperate to touch skin. He lifts you off the floor, your lips not breaking contact. You wrap your legs around his waist and his hands cup your ass as he walks you over to a wall. Pressing you against it and kissing your neck like he’s trying to consume you. “Oh, John…”

Breathing heavily and looking into each other’s eyes.“Upstairs, first door on the right.”

Your back hits the wall again, but gently this time, his lips brushing over yours before pulling back just enough to ask, “You sure?”

You nod, breathless. “Go.”

He carries you like it’s effortless, one hand steady beneath your thigh, the other gripping the bannister as he takes the stairs two at a time.

Reaching the top, he kicks the door open with his foot. The room is dim, the late evening light bleeding through the curtains, but neither of you cares. You pull his shirt over his head and toss it aside. His mouth is on yours again before it hits the ground.

You fall into the bed together, tangled and wild and urgent, but with something else beneath it all. Something tender. Like every kiss and touch is catching up on lost time you didn’t even know you missed.

“Mind if I leave marks?”

“You can,” You gasp out and he goes to work, biting and sucking your skin. In all honesty, your drunk brain needed a memento, a way to remind sober-you that this wasn’t some sex dream.

You feel his strong hands wrap around your wrists, and he squeezes them. Not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel his presence.

“I want you,” John breathes and it sounds so good hearing it. Like you had both finally done away with pretense and given in to what you wanted to do since you met which was rip your clothes off and fuck eachother senseless.

He starts kissing his way down your body, taking his sweet time in making you feel good. Reveling in the way you react to him.

When he reaches your panties, he doesn’t hesitate to tug them off his teeth and the sight of him doing that nearly kills you.

He starts eating you out like a man possessed, his beard tickling your inner thighs. He needs your pussy on his face and he needs it now. As he licks and sucks, driving you insane, your legs start slowly closing, trying to shy away from how good it felt. He catches them, prying them back open.

“Keep them open for me.”

You nod but he wants more than that.

“Tell me.”

“I’ll keep my legs open for you,” You say and you think you’d do the splits on his face if he wanted.

“Good girl,” he smirks before going back to ruining you. It had been too long since you felt like this, but even then, you had never felt like this. You were feverish and sensitive, fighting to keep yourself sane. You never recall feeling like you were dying of happiness when anyone else had gone down on you. Must be the John Walker effect.

The more you struggle and shake, the more pressure he applies. His hand rests on your stomach to hold you in place as he sucks on your clit.

Feeling the pleasure growing, you instantly try to muffle your moans with your fist. He moves his mouth away from your aching core and reaches up with one of his hands, moving your fist away. You look at him with reverence and surprise.

“You don’t need to hide…” He says, his other hand still moving inside you, “I want to hear you.”

You don’t speak right away. You just look at him, this man who had once driven you absolutely insane, who now felt like the only person who could see through all the armour.

“I’m not used to being seen,” you finally whisper.

“I know,” John says, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “But I see you.”

He moves back into position between your legs, and you let him have every moan you have.

“John!”

You finish, back arching, legs trembling and clenching down on his head with your thighs so hard you’re scared you might kill him.

But he doesn't stop, instead going faster. “H-hey!” You moan out as you kick your legs around, which he clearly takes as a challenge.

Wrangling your legs and pinning them over your head, your body now in the shape of a backwards C.

“You’re lucky I’m not tying you up,” John comments and you shiver at how good that sounds.

He gets up on his knees, continuing to lick at your trembling folds as he fingers you even faster, adding a third finger that had you moaning in desperation.

It's like he's set your whole body on fire, the feeling of your lost orgasm threatening to push you straight into another one.

“John, it’s so…” You croak, your eyes focusing and unfocusing. “Think I’m gonna cum again.”

At this point, your voice is hoarse, each touch he’s giving you making you scream and cry out like you’ve never done before.

“Yeah? You wanna be a good girl and cum for me?”

You nod, your eyes gassy with tears, “Wanna be your…your good girl.”

You could feel something coming, as he goes back to sucking on your clit, his fingers massaging your G-spot.

It only takes a few moments before you're letting your body relax and squirt all over his fingers, the pleasure washing over you in waves. You’re too undone to make a noise, breathing heavily and choking on air. There are a few seconds where you think you’ve died.

He unfolds you, and you lie back down on the bed, needing him instantly.

“John,” You whine, reaching out for him, and he’s right there, pulling you into his arms and taking care of you.

“What about you?” You ask. He had just about taken you to heaven and believe me you wanted to return the favour.

“Next time.”

Your heart flutters with the thought of a ‘next time’.

“Okay,” You snuggle against him and fall asleep together in pure bliss.

You wake up in the morning, expecting to feel John’s arms around you. But there's no one there. You sit up and look around, but find nothing. No note explaining where he was and his car's no longer in the driveway.

You came to the conclusion, he woke up, saw you and decided that it was a mistake. It was disappointing but you’re used to being disappointed.

So much for ‘I see you’.

So much for ‘next time’.

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

The next couple of days are a blur, it’s back to business as usual. Soccer practice, laundry, answering emails with a fake sense of urgency. To anyone else, it seemed like nothing had changed, but not to your daughter.

“I saw Tommy yesterday,” she says casually as she sets her backpack down.

“Oh? How is he?” you ask, trying to sound neutral.

“Great, but his dad didn’t look too happy…”

Your ears perk up at that. He was also miserable? Good. It was his fault anyway… wasn’t it?

“You don’t look happy either.”

You flinch at how blunt she is. You should’ve known, there was no hiding anything from her. She might only be a kid, but she could read you like a book.

“Lily…” you start, but she cuts you off with the maturity of someone far beyond her years.

“Just be adults and talk to him…”

“It's not that simple,” Your voice is shaky with uncertainty. You're not even sure you'd be able to speak if you were face-to-face with him again.

“Well you need to especially since I’m going over to Tommy’s today.”

“You what?” you say, nearly falling out of your chair.

“You said I could,” she adds quickly. “Last week, before… whatever this is.”

Damn it. She was right. You had completely blanked on that. It was before the whole thing with John went bust.

You were conflicted with how you felt about John, but you wouldn’t let your issues affect her.

“Fine, go get your stuff. We leave in five.”

You drive over to his place, your heart dropping lower and lower as you get closer to his house. Your fingers grip your steering wheel like it’s your lifeline.

“You’re not coming in to say hi?” Lily asks almost incredulously.

“I think it’s best I don’t. I’ll be here at 6 to pick you up. Have fun!”

Lily doesn’t say anything at first; she just looks at you, brows raised, lips pursed like she’s debating whether or not to push. Was that what it was like to be on the receiving end of one of your judging looks? You didn't like it one bit.

But in the end, she sighs, unbuckles her seatbelt, and grabs her bag. “You two are so dramatic.”

He sees her first, ruffles her hair, then his gaze shifts past her, locking with yours through the windshield. It only lasts a second, but it’s enough. You look away first.

Then you drive off, trying not to think about him.

Hours pass, John is very much on your mind the entire time, and before you know it, you’re back at his house to pick up Lily. Walking your way up the driveway, you feel your nerves creeping in. You hesitate a second before ringing the doorbell.

“Hey,” John greets you, opening the door—and he looks just as good as the last time you saw him, maybe even better.

“Hey yourself,” you reply awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

There's the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs, and then Tommy appears, greeting you with a wide grin.

“It’s time to go already?” Lily calls from behind him, voice dripping with faux innocence. She was laying it on thick.

Before you can answer, Tommy jumps in. “Can you and Lily stay for dinner?”

“I don’t know…” You start, unsure how to say no politely.

“Dad, convince her. We’re having your famous spagbol,” Tommy adds, eyes hopeful.

You catch the look on his face—so earnest, so excited—and then turn to John. An easy smile creeps onto your face despite yourself.

“Famous, huh?”

John smirks. “It’s pretty good, if I do say so myself.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

By the time dinner is ready, it feels easy with him, dangerously easy. You sit around the table with him and the kids, laughing between bites of spaghetti, the kind of domestic quiet that used to feel foreign now curling around you like a blanket. It felt so right. But still, there’s that persistent whisper in the back of your mind — If he wanted this, really wanted this, he would’ve stayed that night.

Before you can spiral too deep into your own thoughts, Tommy pipes up brightly, “Can Lily and I have a sleepover?”

You glance at John, caught off guard. “Lily and I should really get going, plus Lily doesn’t have anything to change into.”

“I brought clothes and my toothbrush,” Lily says far too quickly.

You narrow your eyes. “And why did you do that if you were just supposed to stay for the afternoon?”

Lily and Tommy exchange a look — a guilty, sheepish look that screams we planned this.

John chuckles under his breath, clearly catching on. “I wouldn’t mind,” he says, glancing at you. “I could set up a spot for Lily in Tommy’s room.”

“You should stay too!” Tommy adds enthusiastically, eyes shining with innocent matchmaking energy.

“I don’t have any pyjamas to sleep in, Tom,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“You can borrow my dad’s!” he says like it’s the simplest solution in the world.

You blink. These kids were really committing to the bit.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…” You begin, your voice a little quieter, your gaze flicking to John.

“You wouldn’t be,” he says, meeting your eyes. “I have a guest room. It’s yours if you want it.”

His voice is calm, but there’s something soft in it. An invitation. Like he wanted you to stay.

“It’s decided then,” Your daughter interjects before you can try to squirm out of it.

You had been tricked by two 9-year-olds; this was a new low.

The hours drifted by as you sat in the living room, all watching a movie together.

Your eyes were fixed on the screen, but all you could think about was John. The fact that sitting just a few feet away, but still felt so far away.

Though if you had turned your head to look at him, you would’ve seen him looking back at you. His gaze would tell you everything you wanted to hear, but alas, that isn’t fate’s plan.

The movie ends, and the kids groan when John tells them it’s time for bed. It’s a whirlwind, as they rush around tuckering themselves out. Entering Tommy’s room, you go over to Lily, who’s already in bed, ready for you to tuck her in. You pull the blanket up to Lily’s chin, smoothing her hair like you do most nights, your voice soft in the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

“Remember, be an adult,” Lily says, reminding you not to be a coward, essentially.

“Goodnight, Lil,” You reply before kissing her forehead. Maybe, just maybe, you’d consider her words.

“Goodnight, Mom,” she murmurs, already half-dreaming.

You stand slowly, and as you turn to leave, you notice Tommy looking at you. His eyes are peeking out from under his blanket, lids heavy but alert.

You pause. “Do you want me to tuck you in, too?”

He hesitates, then gives the smallest nod, like he’s not quite sure he should, but wants to anyway.

You gently and carefully tuck him into his covers like you had with Lily. “There,” you whisper. “Comfy?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing one eye. “Thanks, Mom.”

You’re shocked hearing him call you ‘Mom’. You glance down at him, already drifting off, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, completely unaware of the weight his words carried.

You swallow and manage a quiet, “Goodnight,” brushing his hair back gently before slipping out of the room. What you don’t know is that on the other side of the hallway, just out of sight, John is standing perfectly still.

He’d heard it too.

He didn’t know how to respond to it either, wasn’t sure what it meant or what came next, but for now, he was just… happy. Happy that his son felt safe with you.

Later that night, you lie flat on your back, staring at the ceiling of the guest room, your thoughts louder than the quiet hum of the house. The shadows shift with the streetlight outside, but your mind stays frozen. You were wearing his shirt, and he was on your mind. It smelled like him, and you could imagine his arms around you. You bury your face in it, wishing that he was with you and not in a room down the hallway.

You needed to confront what happened that night. You hadn’t talked about it since. It lingered like static between you, unspoken but never forgotten. And you couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t matter, not when it meant everything.

You needed to know if he wanted you when you’re both sober.

So, gathering every ounce of courage, you throw off the blanket, slide quietly out of bed, and make your way down the hall to his room. The floor feels colder than you expected. Or maybe that’s just your nerves.

You stop in front of his door.

Raise your fist.

And then… freeze.

You stand there for what feels like forever, five minutes, at least, your knuckles hovering midair. Your heart pounds loud enough to fill the silence, your thoughts racing. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if that night was just a mistake?

Suddenly, the door swings open, and it startles the living hell out of you — your fist, already midair, connects squarely with his face.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper-shout, eyes wide as John stumbles back, one hand instantly flying to his nose.

“Shit,” he groans, squinting in pain and trying to blink away the surprise. “You can throw quite a punch.”

“Oh my god, John. Holy fuck. I am so, so sorry,” you ramble, panic surging through you as you hover uselessly in front of him. “Let me get ice, I’ll fix it… just, don’t die.”

You spin around and scuttle off toward the kitchen, trying to keep your footsteps light even though your heart’s thudding like a drum solo. The freezer is a disaster. No ice trays. Who doesn’t have ice trays?

You spot something. Grab it.

Moments later, you return with a sheepish expression and a frozen bag clutched in your hand.

“I couldn’t find an ice tray,” you mutter, pressing the bag gently to his face, “so I got peas.”

You sit down with him on the bed, holding the bag of peas to his nose. “That won’t bruise or anything, right?”

“No, I’ll be okay. Worried about my handsome face, are you?” John jokes, and you’re just glad he has a sense of humour about it.

You groan and drop your forehead onto his shoulder, mortified. “This was not how I pictured this going.”

His hand gently touches the small of your back. “You were coming to talk to me, right? About… us?”

You nod against him. “Yeah. Before I assaulted you.”

“Let’s start there,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes with a crooked smile. “Because I was kinda hoping we’d finally talk about it too.”

“Really? It didn’t feel like that since you ran,” you say, voice low. You were trying not to sound hurt, but you were. He weighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and moves his bag of peas off his face to look at you.

“You’re right to be mad. I just… I panicked when I woke up next to you.”

“You were regretful,” you say, attempting to finish his sentence. His eyes widen, and his mouth parts like he’s about to protest.

“No, no—that’s not it at all. I was scared. That if you saw me when you woke up, you’d think it was a mistake.”

He takes a breath, shuffling closer. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You’re such a pain in the ass, always calling me out and keeping me on my toes. But also kind, and funny, and you make me feel so… alive.”

His hand lifts gently, your cheek resting against his palm. It feels perfect, like this is what fate had in store all along.

“I'm an idiot for running but I do like you. I’m falling for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, heart racing. “I’m falling for you, too, John Walker.”

Pulling him in, your hands still cold and wet from holding the bag of peas, but he doesn’t care. You kiss him like it’s the only thing keeping you upright—like if you stop, everything might collapse around you.

The two of you pull your clothes off each other's bodies but there's no rush. Each layer that comes off brings you that much closer together.

Now completely naked you sit in front of him and you can see why he has all that confidence. His fingers tangle in your hair and he's about to kiss you when you stop him.

“Will they hear?”

“There's a couple rooms between us, they won't hear as long as you're not too loud.”

“We both know that's going to be a challenge,”You say, recalling the way you were hollering when he ate you out. Your surprised that none of your neighbours issued a noise complaint.

“You need to try or I'll have to find something to gag you with,” John suggests, his voice low and sultry.

“Don't threaten me with a good time.”

He pressures you back into the bed and bites your neck hard enough to leave a big mark.

“You better hope no one asks about that.”

“Let them ask, you can explain to them exactly what I did to you.”

The marks don't stop there. By the time he's done you look like you've been attacked by a wild animal. Hickeys and love bites littered all over your skin, each one a testament of John's desire for you.

“Need you inside me,” You pant out already guiding him towards you with your legs.

He looks down at you with hooded eyes the anticipation eating you alive before he wraps his arms around you and crarryignyou off the bed.

“Where are we—?” You start but don't finish as you notice he's plopped you down right in front of a mirror.

It's the perfect solution for when someone wants to fuck you from behind and see you fall apart of their cock. Thank everything for whoever invented mirrors.

He lightly kicks your feet apart, hands gliding up your body before resting on your boobs.

You getting back against him, trying to feel him and needing him to fuck the daylights out of you. It had been long enough and you were tired of waiting.

“Impatient, aren't you?”

“I just need you. Don't make me suffer,” You pout, the mirror capturing the needy look in your eyes.

“Well, who am I to say no to you?” He says before lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in.

Anticipating the screen you were about to let out, he covers your mouth with his hand. Only the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing in the room.

“Look at yourself, look at how quickly you feel apart for me,” John whispers against your ear. And he was right. You were a complete mess after only a few thrusts, eyes watery as your neck arches into him.

“So good,” You manage to get out without screaming. He grabs you by the hair, exposing your neck too him as he gives you a few more hickeys for good measure. Rocking your hips into you as he paints your neck with his lips.

Suddenly, your hips are being lifted into the air as he wraps his arms around you as if getting ready to suplex you. The way he starts fucking you is just as disorientating as a suplex would be. He's hitting your sensitive spot dead on turning your legs to jelly as they dangle in the air.

He's manhandling like you're a doll and you love it, especially when you can see it all happening in the mirror. The way his veins on his arms were popping with effort as he milks his cock with your pussy like you're a fleshlight.

“That's it, breed me, John.”

Hearing you say that only made him double his efforts.

“Is that what you want? Want me to get you pregnant?” John says, his fingers gripping your hips, clearly excited at the prospect. You nod desperately like you need to have it or you'll die.

You gasp, whimper, cry and reaching out for anything to keep you quiet.

“N-need you to fill me up,” You stutter out, “Need your cum in me.”

Then you're given a brief break when he pulls you back from the mirror, tossing you back into the bed. But two seconds don't even pass before he's feeding his cock back into your needy hole.

“J-john!”

You squeal a little too loudly and never you know it his hand is on your chin guiding your own panties in your mouth.

“Such a pretty sight,” John says as he cages you, fingers intertwining as he pins you against the bed.

You know you won't be able to keep going much longer. Wrecked doesn't even begin to describe what you were and your orgasm was about to knock you into a whole new dimension.

Feeling his cock twitch, you lock your legs around his waist and he finishes deep inside of you which triggers your own orgasm. His hot cum fills you up, painting your fluttering walls as he effectively breeds you.

The both of you lay there catching your breath as your orgasms pulse through you. This was what life was about; having sex with hot single dads.

You come back to your senses, just barely and have an evil idea.

Seeing the opportunity fate had presented you for payback, you flip your positions climbing on top of him and riding him into overstimulation. A strangled cry that was supposed to be your name falling from his lips.

“Baby…” John whimpers as his body tenses up, abs contracting lines he's already about to cum again.

You could get used to having him at your mercy, bottom lip trembling as he tries to keep it together.

“I like seeing you like this. So desperate for me and only me.” You pulling him to your lips by his hair. He groans but he's into it, he'd let you have your way with him just as much as you let him have his way with you.

“Only you,” He replies and you believe it.

Your hand away from his hair, letting John's head hit the mattress, before going in and leaving your own string of love bites. He bites his lip, all but writhing under your soft touch.

“Someone might see those.”

“Then you can explain to them what I did,” You say throwing his words back in his face.

You keep fucking until you tire yourselves out, your bodies sticky and heaving. It was as good as you imagined it would be and you're kicking yourself for not giving in earlier.

John's hand rests on your thigh tracing little patterns as you play with his hair when he asks a very pertinent question.

“Are you on birth control?”

Your eyes widen when you realise you are in fact not on birth control. With the downright sad lack of sex you were having before John walked into your life there was no reason to be on it.

“No”, You gulp,“We'll talk about it in the morning?”

John hums in agreement and holds you against his chest in a vice grip that screams “You're mine.”

In the morning, you’re happy to feel John’s arms still wrapped around you, his face pressed against your shoulder, his breath slow and even. Peaceful.

“Who wants pancakes?” you call out, later in the kitchen, sliding a golden stack onto the table with a grin.

You have a slow, sweet morning breakfast—the kind where everyone’s still in pyjamas, laughing over spilt flour and slightly burnt edges.

“Oh! Let me go get the syrup. Can you show me where it is, Tommy?” you ask.

Tommy nods enthusiastically, hopping up and heading toward the pantry with you, eager to help you find it.

Back at the table, Lily narrows her eyes at John, clearly sizing him up. Then, dead serious, she delivers:

“If you hurt my mom, you die. Understood?”

John blinks, caught off guard for a second, but then a slow smile tugs at his lips. He knew exactly where she got that intensity from.

“Understood.”

“Good,” Lily says, her expression finally softening. “You make great spagbol so I'd hate to have to kill you.”

ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎ ᯓ⚽︎

It’s been a few months since you and John started dating — the kind of comfortable, lived-in months where you had keys to each other's places, regularly took the kids out together, and fell asleep on the couch on each other.

Unlocking the door, John and Tommy step inside, and they’re immediately hit with the scent of burnt toast, a low hum of music, and the unmistakable energy of mild chaos. They were here to pick you and Lily up to carpool to the Saturday morning game, but it looked like they’d walked into a warzone, and at least it smelled like pancakes.

“Morning!” Tommy calls out as he looks around, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

“Oh hi, guys,” you pant out from somewhere in the kitchen, out of breath and flustered. He doesn’t need to be able to see you to know you’re going through it.

Lily’s sitting at the dining room table, calmly sipping orange juice like she’s been through this before. Tommy runs over and sits beside Lily, swiping a pancake off her plate.

“Mom’s having a meltdown,” she says, totally unbothered. “It’s pretty intense. She yelled at the coffee machine.”

John raises an eyebrow and walks to the kitchen, and there you are, wearing one sock and a hoodie that you actually stole from John, batter on your cheek, surrounded by open containers and the remnants of pancake making.

“It’s so good to see you,” You cry as you practically jump into his arms. You let go of him so you can continue your spiral when he stops you.

“Honey, you’re running around like a headless chicken. Let me help,” John offers.

You hesitate, then sigh and reach into the mess on the counter and pull out a hairbrush. “Can you finish braiding Lil’s hair for me? She’s lost her lucky cleats, and I need to find them before we leave.”

“On it.”

He kisses your forehead, warm and steady, before heading into the kitchen.

Lily watches him approach with guarded suspicion. “Please don’t mess this up.”

John grins. “Don’t worry, I’m a professional.”

He ruffles her hair on purpose, just to rile her up, and she bats his hand away with a huff and a laugh.

Meanwhile, you’re darting around the house in full-on panic mom mode — lifting couch cushions, checking under the bed, even inside the fridge for some reason (you never know), until finally, you spot the missing shoes. Inside her toy chest, naturally, buried under a plastic tiara and two mismatched Barbie legs.

You walk back into the dining room to the sound of laughter, Tommy’s head thrown back as John tells some ridiculous story, funny voices and all. Lily’s giggling along too as he finishes tying off the braid with surprising skill.

You lean against the doorframe, heart swelling. It’s loud, it’s messy, but it’s yours. And in that moment, it hits you: this is what happy looks like.

“Found it,” you say, holding the shoes up triumphantly.

John looks up, grinning. “See? I told you everything would come together.”

You smile at him. This is perfect; he’s perfect.

“Are we ready to go?” you call out, grabbing your bag and keys.

They respond in a chorus of “Yeah!” and “Almost!” as shoes squeak across the floor.

Clambering into the car like a small tornado, Tommy buckles in and grins over at Lily. “Losing team’s parent buys ice cream,” he declares.

“Ohhh, bold move,” you say, raising your eyebrows in the rearview mirror.

“Looks like you’re buying ice cream,” John says smugly, sliding into the driver's seat, glancing at you like he already knows today’s outcome.

“In your dreams,” you shoot back, smirking as you start the engine.

This was the kind of happiness that sneaks up on you when you’re not paying attention—and all it took was yelling at a hot dad at a soccer game.

Masterlist

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acynicalsweetheart · 2 months ago

Text

BUNNY LOVE !

pairing: leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

cw: smut, ddlg, daddy kink, innocence, piv, virginity loss, creampie, reader is a bunny hybrid

note: super insecure ab how bad this turned out wow… first time writing leon so whoever reads please take it with a grain of salt! older leon in mind duhh.. very disjointed n clunky sorry. hope it’s readable still. any interaction/feedback appreciated!! (works of rimqueen/rigorwhoring used as framework!)

For pestering Hunnigan with his dad jokes and unintelligent quips as it were, Leon receives instant karma in the form of shitty weather. Angels must’ve chosen her side today. He gets it. Worn out all his lucky stars, said all his prayers, counted all his blessings, no more good cards to play. Just Leon Scott Kennedy and his misfortune back to their old ways.

Made a fool out of himself, one-sided bickering making it seem like Leon’s some kind of looney. Only gets that Good job! when he’s within an inch of his life, has totally fucked up, or under the false pretense that someone was speaking to him. Back in the day he got ‘em as easy as pie. Pie but no pussy. Leon in a nutshell. Leon is the nutshell at this point.

Got his ass thoroughly kicked today to say the least—a blossoming bruise on Leon’s shin out of all places ‘cause he stubbed it on the coffee table, ran out of change in the cafeteria and lost a couple dollars, people outright refusing to laugh at his jokes and witticism. Plain disrespectful. Where’s the love?

Paperwork and office days are tough, man. Makes field work seem like the lesser evil here, and Leon nearly dies each time on duty. Least it makes him feel alive, as paradoxical as that sounds. Prefers fighting in B.O.W. infested domains rather than battling the confusing ways of social interaction. One he’s good at, the other? Not so much.

He’s got a girl waiting for him at home that is not much too keen on social interaction herself. Being locked up in the confines of his apartment and all. God, Leon feels bad. But you don’t mind. He thinks. You’re smart enough to know how to handle a door, could just open up and walk out if that were a problem. Leave him alone with no one but Matilda and the restless phantoms of his past haunting him to no end. Guess Leon will never really be alone in that way.

Makes it to the parking lot garage in a ratty umbrella. Leaves it in his trunk tucked away for a rainy day that might be tomorrow given Leon’s series of unfortunate events as of late. Vintage real leather of his jacket thankfully unscathed, same horsehide fabric Claire shoots him those nasty glares for. Sorry Ms. Hybrid Rights, this one was fullblood, it’s fashion. Lasts longer.

He is more worried about what you think in all honesty. Horses probably eat your kind in one big bite, so with that in mind Leon’s certain you’ll be on his side if the debate ever comes. Not that he’s especially knowledgeable about animals or hybrids either way.

Leon has sacrificed his Costco coupons for your monthly carrot supply. In turn, you bite his arms.

You came to Leon in a box. Literally. Ordered a package of… something. Not sure he wants to think about what was initially meant to be inside that package but let’s just say it was pretty damn big. A pleasant surprise when he unboxed what he thought he ordered, nice costume and everything, bit naked—Playboy Bunny sort of look—thought to check his bank statement if they charged him extra for that.

Only, he didn’t have the time to ‘cause you opening your eyes and blinking at him caught him rightfully off guard. Strange. Like a programmed robot. Not what he ordered but alright, a blindfold should do, but before he could finish thinking, you fucking hopped out and stumbled to stand up. Took Leon that long to realize that things went wrong—either he unintentionally financed a black-market sex trafficking ring by shopping there, or somebody switched out his package. Still haven’t gotten to the bottom of that yet. Maybe someday, likely after he’s dead. Blown his brains out ‘cause the suspense was killing him.

Of course, Leon being Leon, of course he was going to do the right thing. Call law enforcement to get you justice, lax on his assholery and capitalize Claire’s TerraSave hybrid rights movement, fund Billy and Rebecca’s hybrid shelter… key word: was. What he wasn’t going to do is explain what he was doing—more specifically what he was buying—to have this transpire. So like any normal, dignity-having, modest man, Leon decided to keep you.

(A secret.)

Whole thing had him contemplating if things were supposed to be this way—God’s plan or whatever; which entails Leon dying alone and fuckless for longer than a man should ever go fuckless. That’s just a crime against biology. And his dick.

Leon is lonely, okay? He’s old. Old and lonely and he can damn well buy a sex doll if he damn well wants to. Just his luck, his punishment due that it was an off-limits bunny hybrid. One that cannot be fucked under any circumstances. Doll was expensive as hell, too, sacrificed major funds that Leon surely will need when he gets the boot. Shit was custom made, designed specifically after an old flame and her red dress which should’ve been the first giveaway, really.

(Her name is unspoken in this household ‘cause Leon himself knows as well as anybody, that one mention is more than enough to send him spiralling. The only pull of the trigger, all it takes to fire the instant depression bullet through the endless barrel and if Leon wasn’t an alcoholic before, you best believe he is now.)

It was a horny mistake—let the head of his dick control him. No way he’s buying another one just to have it happen again and be walking around with two bunny girls hogging up every square inch of his apartment.

God, that sounds nice. But Leon is a good man. An aspiring one anyway, so he won’t. Won’t think about it. Honest. Will just sulk with his pussy-starved dick and balls that so desperately yearn to slap against some ass, empty themselves into a warm tight clasp. To impregnate a womb before the biological hourglass runs out, sends the last grain of sand into sterile territory. Missionary ‘cause he’s a sap nowadays.

…

Are you even human? Sure, you’ve got the body, put the ass in assets, thanks to the multitude of carrot cakes you’ve got him baking thrice a week. But you’ve also got your floppy ears, perky fluffy cottontail—and let’s not forget the bunny chompers. Leon’s felt enough of those. A very nice addition to his scar-littered skin are now the chewing marks irremovably indented onto his forearms. ‘Cause apparently you think Leon counts as a vegetable. He doesn’t mind. Really. It’s fine. He has not thought of filing your teeth down. Promise. Claire’s snippy, passive aggressive questions regarding Leon biting himself do not bother him.

(Leon has considered upping his biotin supplement intake in order to boost arm hair growth to hide them. Only time mama’s Italian genes have ever failed him.)

Oh my God, Leon. You look like shit!

Thanks.

What are those? Have you been chewing on yourself? Are you insane? Don’t answer that by the way, it was a rhetorical question. Jeez. Take your meds, Leon. They’re going to institutionalize you. Listen, I’ve gotta go, in the meantime you should cover those things up.

Claire—

Conclusively, it wouldn’t be wrong to fuck you. Immoral, maybe. Stupid? For sure. Tempting?

His dick rising like Jesus every time he’s around you speaks for itself.

While at it, Leon’s not even entirely sure that you aren’t just a figment of his imagination—a schizophrenic hallucination or something of the sort. He has been slacking on the meds recently after all. Could very well be that this entire thing is just one long-ass episode. Being a nutjob is par for the course with Leon as many would agree. As even his therapist would agree.

He has not yet given you a name. Leon ain’t good with those, whether that’s remembering ‘em or coming up with ‘em. Was thinking of Matilda as unoriginal as he is, but that one’s reserved for his trusty gun. Closest thing Leon’s ever had to a wife, she’s a real cougar, 7 years older than him. Or maybe he was the cub all along.

After taking on the role as a marionette for all these years, he is completely clueless as to how he’s supposed to manage this situation. Apparently the skills of controlling and handling things, let alone a crazed bunny, don’t come naturally for a man of Leon’s age, total fucking bogus by the way. Right now he’s just going with the flow—his so far unsuccessful flow—and seeing where it leads him and if that is down into another hole, well that’s just Leon, ain’t it?

Things between you and him used to be just fine before Leon got headbutted by a star-crossed streak, and now you’re resolved to being this stomping and pouting angry little thing, while Leon’s struggling to deal with his completely non-consensual attraction towards said stomping and pouting angry little thing. It’s a delicate balance—you get a sugar rush during the hours he so desperately needs to sleep, and Leon in turn struggles to keep the bulge in his pants down.

He does everything for you; cooks, cleans, brushes your teeth, appeases you with pets, buys you clothes, helps you get dressed up, cuts a hole in the back of each of your panties to make room for your tail. Yet you’re some sort of fucking rebel, a revolutionary. ‘Cause you insist on not wearing any. Which causes Leon himself a great deal of embarrassment when he has to continuously hide his boners around you.

Not that you even know what it implicates which then makes Leon’s dick even fucking harder because he’s a pervert. And the situation escalates from plain fucked-up to downright catastrophic. A torrential downpour of filthy, forbidden, absolutely out-of-question thoughts overflowing his mind. Much like D.C., shit just doesn’t stop. Evolves into a flood of fantasies and an obsession with someone (read: something) Leon should definitely not be having, but perversely allows himself to drown in. Can barely get any paperwork done ‘cause all he’s thinking about is stuffing you full. With his cream. Like a cannoncini.

Pull yourself together, Kennedy. That was last week. It’s not going to happen again. It’s not. It isn’t. Don’t worry, just have a drink—One. One drink. And everything will be—

“Daddy!” A weight in his lap. Plushness spilling past his fingertips. Floppy ears nearly smacking him right in the face.

Oh lord, his back.

“Shit. Fuck.” Leon bounces you up and down a little—adjusting his hold on you ‘cause he was very prepared for that. You’re climbing him like a tree and he hasn’t even gotten a chance to close the front door yet. “Uh,” great example he is, can’t even keep track of his own swearing, “you didn’t hear a thing, bunny.”

“Missed you,” you mumble into his neck, pouty lips brushing against the skin there. Thankfully unbothered by Leon’s slip-up.

“Daddy missed you more, baby.” He breathes in your scent, nuzzling your hair and finally getting to shut the door of the shitty day behind him. “You have no idea.”

Pulling back, you’re giving him these glossed over puppy eyes, staring up at him all curiously. Pretty ironic. Your pupils are so big Leon can see his reflection in them, wow, real nice. Really makes his wrinkles and eyebags pop in the overhead lighting. Claire was right, he does look like shit.

Shit doesn’t cut it, he looks like a pile of shit ate a second pile of shit then shat out a third pile of shit. Leon being the third pile of shit. If his therapist could read Leon’s mind he would say Leon, you’re spiralling again, take a deep breath and count to ten and let’s continue this total fucking waste of time and money.

(See, Leon’s doing just fine unmedicated. The screams of agony late at night are a part of the healing process, insists a voice in his head he’s named Kevin after a late buddy back in the cop academy. Not late as in dead, just Leon fucking things over as per usual. Friendship’s long gone—the real Ryman ain’t.)

Then you close them and lean in. Leon’s convinced you’re playing with him till you press your lips smack bang against his.

Oh?

He sees it, feels it, processes it, before he realizes.

Catches him so off-guard he nearly drops you, feeling around to get a better grip and ends up grabbing a handful of your asscheek and a handful of your tail.

“Hey.” Leon tries to remove you, detach your lips from his and it’s like peeling off an actively bloodsucking tick. Damn near impossible. “Where’d you learn that?”

‘Cause Leon did not teach you that. Sure he kisses you—everywhere but your lips, and they’re more of a peck, really. Once in a while (every night before bed) you get an earnest forehead smooch and that’s that. But that? That was a lover’s smooch. A boyfriend and girlfriend kiss. The beginning of a make out session. So who broke in and robbed your innocence under the fleetingly long hours of his workday? Taught you how to kiss like that? …Did they also steal Leon’s shit?

Reaching your finger up to press it against your lips, Leon receives a very impractical “shh” paired with a girlish giggle.

“Nuh-uh,” he lowers your hand, “tell me.” Using not his Leon voice, but his daddy voice which is a timbre lower and a tone sterner. “Tell daddy.” Seems to work, shake your little bunny boots so awfully Leon almost feels bad.

With a fallen face, you point to the TV screen through the open lounge. Currently airing… ad break.

Late bloomer, huh. Well, fuck. Hope Leon didn’t stir that up, incite your heat cycle or whatever by letting you watch the TV. Can’t say he knows the first thing about bunnies, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what happened. That’s just ol’ Leon business—always the first to press the big red button, to walk into a trap, to situate himself deeper into the grave that he’s been digging for more than half his life. To fuck up.

At least now the fallacy of burglary can be ruled out. Though Leon coulda sworn he left Disney Channel on. He remembers dialling 24 before taking off for work this morning, prompting whatever kids watch nowadays. What he does not remember is leaving the TV with some Baywatch or Bachelor bullshit on, you know, the ones with the raunchy shit. Kissing’s probably the tamest action they’ve ever aired on there. Uh, common knowledge. Obviously. So unless Disney Channel’s the perpetrator…

You’re watching Disney Channel!

Oh.

Cinderella and that other guy. Prince Charming? Some felons they are, stealing your innocence like that. As a govvie, Leon will let it slide. Might’ve been your way of showing him that you proclaim Leon as your personal Prince Charming, but that’s just wishful thinking—well past his prince days by now, scruff and wrinkles and canities and all. Retinol, Tretinoin and whatever-the-fuck-noin don’t help with that. He’s tried.

See, initially, you insisted on calling Leon mama which was just a punch in the fucking gut. An inflicted testicular torsion, even. By yours truly. Made him so insecure he considered going under the knife and getting a haircut for quite some time after that, just to help you distinguish between man and woman. Leon then decided against it when you said you liked his hair out of the blue. First time anybody’s told him that. Still mulling over the plastic surgery part though.

The daddy situation was surprisingly not Leon’s idea. He may be the occasional pervert but no way in hell does it go that far. Impossible to get you to give the word up as well ‘cause you’re one stubborn fluffy little thing, so eventually Leon just went with it. Went and had a little too much fun with it. Has a visceral reaction to that word, just hearing it awakens something inside of him that’s so sinister even his balls get the heebie-jeebies.

He puts you down, lets you scamper over to the couch and lets it squeak! when you jump onto the sectional. Lying pancake flat on your tummy with your feet swinging in the air, watching vintage fairytales like it’s the most interesting thing since sliced bread.

You’re wearing his boxers. Okay. You put them on funky, right? That’s how Leon was able to feel your—

There’s a hole.

Of course there’s a hole. There’s always a hole. Whether that be a loophole, an asshole or a… boxer-hole to fit your ball of fluff.

He didn’t peg you to have the motor skills to use a pair of scissors yet. Well, on the bright side—you’ve no longer got an excuse to not help him around the house. Nah, that’s just mean. You’re a little bunny, Leon’s little girl, you don’t deserve that. Leon’s the one who wears the pants ‘round here anyway. Figuratively. He’ll make do of it.

“Daddy’ll get changed, okay, baby?” He shrugs off his leather jacket, toes off his dad shoes as some have insisted. “You just stay right here.” Leon speaks into the open air. ‘Cause you don’t even look at him, too engrossed with the antics of a Disney princess.

Leon returns in lounge clothes, bit later than necessary ‘cause he was not scrutinizing his appearance in the mirror like he’d do before a date. He did not brush his teeth and reapply his cologne and smooth over his hair, he did not spend an additional five minutes plucking off stray greying strands.

At least the newfound scent gets your nose twitching. In the blink of an eye you’re springing up like a slinky, hopping from cushion to cushion and once again landing on Leon. When he catches you his hands land on the peaches of your ass. God. He does not feel the heat between your legs when they’re wrapped around him so tightly and he does not let his mind go places it shouldn’t.

Sitting you on his lap—the normal way—Leon showers you with headpats and general pets, moreso in order to settle himself down rather than you. Pacifies your constant itch for physical affection though. Wool tufts of Leon’s cheap carpet are clinging to your fur, he picks them off, flicks them away into the horizon of his apartment. Poor baby, probably rolled around on the rug like a disheveled beetle while waiting for your daddy to come home.

Okay, fine. Sympathy pecks. That’s it.

Leon’s gut is already getting queasy from having you on his lap alone—queasy in a way that says he might not be able to keep his wandering hands in check. But Leon has enough self-control to not fall victim to the cradle-robber phenomenon. He does. Just loses his inhibitions from time to time, particularly around pretty young things. Pretty young, fluffy, bunny things shaped like you. You’re just too cute, terribly adorable, he could eat you up. In more ways than one.

After petting and pecking your head till your ears stand at 2 o’clock rather than upright, watching TV with you and failing to dodge the smooches you try to place smack bang on Leon’s lips every time you see a similar scene—he figures enough is enough. Damn Cinderella and her damn Prince Charming for kissing so much.

(Thank the Lord.)

Drunk off endorphins ‘cause no one’s ever loved Leon as much as you do—and you’ve got no clue what love even means—he indulges in you and your kisses. Leon’s not blushed in twenty years, let alone to the point where his ears are getting second degree burns. Probably looking more like a clown and less like your King Not-So-Charming.

His initial hesitancy of kissing you back wears off when you start letting out all these noises, cute frustrated huffs and puffs ‘cause you’re still new to the concept of kissing.

No tongue ‘cause God knows that will throw every last ounce of Leon’s dignity, morals, and integrity—everything he’s ever stood for—right out the window. So he lets you clumsily slot your lips against his until your jaw grows tired, until you’ve successfully raised Leon’s dick like your mouth alone is a conjurer of Viagra spells.

Then you snuggle up against his chest and fall asleep. Just like that. Blue balling men like it’s nothing. Okay. Looks like somebody’s been reading up on how to be a total fucking tease.

No idea when Leon passed out but he’s awoken by his own snoring, most likely ‘cause of the fucking hard-on that sprung up so fast there wasn’t enough blood flow left for his head. Hopefully his balls have gone back to normal as well, less painfully lonely and more… ballsy. Dick’s dead again, as is to be expected.

Might’ve been a dream.

Schizo. States a voice suspiciously identical to Claire’s in the back of his mind.

“Daddy.” You’re loafing in his lap, ears flat against your head as you stare up at Leon. Unorthodoxly close to his dick. Shit. Tilting your head, you keep calling out for him till the murkiness of his hearing clears out. “Daddy?”

“Princess,” Leon groans, tasting the sleep on his tongue, stretching his arms out before petting your head once again—in case everything really was a dream, “how long was I out?”

Raising your brows, you shrug and pout.

“Why don’t you wait in bed, honey? Dad’s—I mean, uh, daddy’s gonna…” Leon was hoping that would’ve gone unnoticed, too late when you’re giggling at his umpteenth slip-up today, “‘m tired, okay? Gonna help you.”

(God, does Leon want to help you—help you cum, help you make him cum.)

He sighs at his heart fluttering when you do what you originally do best, being a good girl for Leon and listening to every word he says. Not being a pissed-off and spiteful fluffy bun, no matter how cute it may be.

Feels like somebody’s lobotomized Leon with a needle of your fur, pierced through his skull and switched out the frontal lobe for tufts of your cotton. Swear he feels you inside on a regular basis—a mini you poking and prodding at his cerebrum like a call bell for attention. You’re living rent-free in his mind and in his house and Leon is powerless when it comes to you. Willfully enslaved to a ball of fluff.

It’s not the fact that Leon purposely overlooks the orange bottle wrapped up in this piece of paper with his name on it—it’s you.

The one driving Leon crazy is you and you know what? He is completely fine with that. Needs something to get his mind off the horrors and tragedies, focus on the simple pleasures of life. Like sex for example. ‘Cause soon he won’t be having any of that. Leon has not been having any of that for too fucking long now.

You’re all but his last shot.

All this thinking’s giving him a headache. Leon needs a drink. What time is it? Monday? 9PM?

Whiskey o’clock.

Pouring the drink down into the stubby glass, sight is about as disappointing as Leon’s soft dick. There is not much. The hell? Bottle’s so dark he can’t even tell if there’s actually nothing left or if it’s fucking with him just for the sake of it. Well, no worries, ‘cause Leon’s got an endless supply of—

…Nothing?

The worst possible outcome takes shape: an empty bar cabinet. Leon runs his hand over his face, settles at his stubble, feeling it disconcertedly. Only thing he’s thinking is what the fuck. Finishes the little pesky pint of alcohol—chugs it like water, doesn’t even feel the burn—and after the whole ordeal he is still thinking what the fuck.

What the fuck is Leon supposed to do now? How’s he supposed to pesticide away the invasive species that are his thoughts and urges to fuck your little bunny self into oblivion?

Tonight Jack Daniel’s was supposed to be momentary. A band-aid of some sort. Patch up more like wash away all the happenings of today. And yesterday. And the past 25 years of his life. One that he can then rip off, peel away the crusting scab beneath it and reopen the wound till it festers, patch it back up with 40% liquor filling the infinitely gaped lesion. The uroboros cycle Leon has come to know as coping.

Seems like the only thing he’s going to be filling is you. With… love, of course. With love. And a snuggle. Nothing more, nothing less. A morale safekeeping measure. Just a bunny and Leon embrace—that’s the extent of it.

Yes, Leon is a fully grown-ass man, 47 years of age.

Yes, Leon wants to be held like a baby at night.

Cuddled and coddled like his very being is God’s greatest gift, entire form smooth and clean and unscathed to the naked eye. Lulled to sleep by the sweet voice of an angel’s singing hymns that might just be the Devil in disguise because that’s just his luck. A comfortably overbearing presence, nonetheless—a personage blanket Leon is in desperate need of. Something to take the weight off his diligent shoulders.

But when your only seeming purpose in life is to save the world, you don’t get that. You get something between a nonchalant pat on the shoulder, a snobby dick in whatever hole the possessor deems fit, and a fuck-you if you’re unfortunate. What you’ll never get is a little fucking appreciation. Five minutes of fame, maybe. At most. Then you’re back to being pretty much no one. Just another forgettable face in the presidential bootlicker squad. That’s Leon for ya.

He is not conceited for wanting some affection.

(He is conceited for wanting some affection.)

Leon’s master agenda is to get you to spoon him. Shitty. Total shocker. Classic Leon. But by God will he fucking wake up decomposed if he walks touch starved a moment longer. Loneliness is actively disintegrating his skeletal system into fine grains of sand. Melancholy induced osteoporosis. All that’s gonna be left of him is specks of Leon-dust that you’re probably going to snort like coke ‘cause you got ahold of Pulp Fiction. Also ‘cause no one else is coming for him.

Can’t have that happen now, can he? You’re here, he’s here… two’s company or whatever they say.

Leon’s utilizing the last of his strength into letting the intrusive (instructive) thoughts go.

“Bunny? You up?” Leon knocks twice, creaks the door to his bedroom open like he doesn’t own the place.

With a ruffle of the sheets, you peek out from under them. Warm light of his bedside lamp casting this homely glow across your face, like a fireplace, makes Leon feel oddly domesticated—and you’re the pet here.

You stare blankly at him, like there isn’t a single thought running through that little bunny head of yours. Leon bets it’d echo if he gave a knock or two to the side of your skull, and that is immensely sexy. No.

He gets into bed next to you before something in his mind clicks, the mystery of the navy pile on the floor solving itself.

“Baby,” Leon’s trying to approach this matter delicately, sneaking glances at the discarded pair of underwear on the floor. His underwear that you’ve been prancing around in all day, given away by the unmistakable choppy hole cut to fit your tail. “You, uh… you leave those on the floor?”

“Accident.” It’s said simply, playing with your fingers above the sheets. Okay. Leon sees right through you.

“Now, you know that ain’t true, bunny. Remember the rules daddy told you about? Those still apply.” Hand dwarfing both of your cold ones when Leon stills your fidgeting, tries to squeeze the information out of you without giving you a mouthful. “Why’d you take ‘em off?”

…

“Uncomfy, daddy,” you mumble, still avoiding eye contact, ears back to being flat against your head.

“Uh-huh,” Leon says unconvinced, stroking his finger along the length of your unusually warm bunny ear, “they weren’t comfy, huh? So you just… threw ‘em on the floor?” Always complaining about your underpants, Leon’s underpants in this scenario. Too tight, too rough, too fast, too hard, too—naughty? “They’re just lying there, baby. We’ve been through this.”

“Sticky.” Is your argument.

“Sticky…” he repeats thoughtfully, squinting at nothing in particular and trying to figure out what the hell that could mean. ‘Cause rest assured Leon’s boxers are not sticky. Not on their own, and those were a fresh pair.

“They got sticky. When daddy was kissin’ me.”

“Hey, I was not—“

Oh.

That was real?

And that’s what you meant by sticky. Lord. You’re… naked. Pantless. Pantieless. Bare. Nude.

Sticky.

“…Yeah?” Leon breathes out hoarsely, a big horny lump building up in his throat as he speaks. Impossible to swallow, ‘bout as big as your tail. Wouldn’t be surprised if the lump’s somehow made of your fur as well. “They were all sticky, huh, baby? Daddy did that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, absentmindedly flicking against his fingers. “N’ swollen.”

Hearing you describe the way you got all sticky and swollen from Leon kissing you just about did him in. Planted him six feet under along with his dignity. Tout de suite. “You’re gonna give daddy an aneurysm if you keep talking like that, bunny.”

Or an orgasm—possibly both. Not that you even know which either of them mean and yep. You guessed it. Hard again. God. That is not why he came in here. Leon tries his best to be good, he loves you, but you’re just so untiringly hellbent on turning him into a dirty old man.

(More so beckoning out the already existing dirty old man inside of him. The one whose eyes linger just a little too long on each curve and outline of your body during bath time, the one whose hands accidentally brush against the plushness of your ass, the one who gives you feet rubs just to keep his hands occupied, the one who tickles you to feel another body against his, the one who deliberately feeds you large carrots to watch you struggle to fit them into your mouth.)

“Didn’t know what to do,” you continue, “so bunny was checkin’ what was wrong…” You’re not done? Just exposed your true intentions—you are plotting Leon’s demise.

“Checking?” Leon swallows hard, hoping you didn’t hear how loud of a fucking sound it just made, “how’d you check?”

“Touch. Touched.”

“…Touched what, bunny?” He asks even if he knows damn well what it is you touched. “You touched yourself between your legs?”

You shrink.

“Show me, baby.” Lifting your chin, Leon searches for your eyes and lets the perversion sink its venomous, infectious teeth into him. “Show daddy what you did.”

Judging by the anxious chewing on your bottom lip, you’re still a bit shy about the whole thing.

“It’s okay.” Leon lets go of your hands, giving you a heartfelt yet equally as unbearably horny smile. “Don’t be scared, alright? ‘S just daddy.”

If his arousal was slipping through the cracks of his tight smile, it mustn’t have been very obvious ‘cause you pull down the sheets, revealing your body to Leon. From the cutesy eyelet top with a teensy ribbon adorning the lace that cost him more than a pretty ugly penny, to your naked lower half. Jesus.

Your hand snakes down your frame, leaving Leon to picture his own hands in imaginary cuffs—for both of your sakes. Thinks he’s about to get the show of his life but you look over at him before going any further, like you’re not sure if it’s okay. Almost makes Leon want to shake you, finish the job himself.

“Go on, let daddy watch,” he says like he isn’t about to explode.

Fingers finding your pussy, you aimlessly rub away, movements as uncoordinated and unpracticed as ever and it’s the hottest thing Leon’s fucking witnessed. Producing sticky noises that bounce off the walls the way you should be bouncing on his dick. You let out a small whimper as your ears flop back up.

“Fuck,” he needs to know, needs something to stroke his ego if something is not stroking his dick, “were you thinking of daddy, baby? Thought of me when you played with yourself?”

“Maybe…” you reply so quietly Leon can’t tell if he imagined that or if it was something you actually said.

He takes it. Wilful hearing’s better than nothing.

“God, bunny.” Leon wants it to be his hand, his body against yours. He needs to rip off your flimsy top and replace your hand with his. “What were you thinkin’ ‘bout daddy?”

“Daddy. Without a shirt. Daddy’s cute without a shirt.” Only then does it click, the last piece of this lewd puzzle that creates the full image of you with your hand between your thighs.

“Think daddy should take his shirt off, little girl? So you can see him?” Leon is the dirtiest, filthiest man to ever exist.

And before you even get a chance to nod, he’s on it.

Leon’s never taken off his shirt so fast in his life, baring his torso so you get to see the battlefield—the war zone that is his body, cicatrices scattered about like cracks in old porcelain. Relatively tan porcelain ‘cause Leon’s making an effort to dump his vampirish habits lately, D.C. sun don’t do much though. “Still think daddy’s cute?”

You moan, loud, he takes it as a yes.

“Keep going, baby, don’t stop.”

“Forgot how to…”

Leon hasn’t indulged in Christ or anything revolving the man—much less his entire religion—since mama passed all those years ago, but right now he’s praying for the strength to keep his hands to himself. Passio Christi, conforta me, o bone Iesu, exaudi me… Uh, how the fuck’s it go again? Imperet illi Deus, my growing erection? Damn. Thyne dicketh shalt not rise? Thyne hands shalt not wander to—fuck this shit.

He needs to be inside you and he needs it now.

“Aw, it’s okay, bunny, daddy’s here to help.” Leon grabs ahold of your hand, bringing it up to his lips to place an earnest kiss to the back of it, quickly sucks the tips of your slick fingers till they’re dry. “Daddy’ll show you how it’s done, baby. How to touch between your legs.”

“Okay, daddy.”

“So fuckin’ cute, baby,” he pulls you closer, snuggling up against your side and spreading your legs wider, fingers finding your heat. Lets out the biggest sigh of relief anybody’s ever let out, Leon bets. Your stickiness clings to his calloused skin as he circles your clit nice and slow.

One hand gripping the sheets and the other Leon’s wrist, you mewl and buck your hips.

“Yeah?” He noses at your neck, inhales deeply till you’re squirming, ears flopping around. “Like it when daddy touches you like this?”

“Mhmm,” you mumble and his dick pokes into your thigh through his sweats like the fucking tower of Pisa.

Leon moves his hand again, palm cupping your mound and brushing against your clit as his fingers shift down to your slit, gliding up and down. Can’t help the low noise that slips out of him, can’t remember the last time he’s felt a pussy. “Gonna go inside, okay?”

Sliding a single digit inside, you gasp. “Oh!”

“That’s it, princess, just let daddy take care of you.” You’re sucking him in so tight Leon gets the notion your walls might be intent on getting his finger stuck there forever. To prevent that, he slips another one past your dripping entrance. Leon moves ‘em in and out carefully despite his raging need for you, meeting that sweet spongy spot that has your back arching.

“Daddy!” Poor baby, can barely get the words out through your moans. Leon tries to placate you with neck kisses. “Daddy, what’s happening?”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, bunny,” he mumbles into your sternum, voice resonating against you, not letting his movements up, “just let yourself feel it, daddy’s got you. ‘M right here, baby.”

Legs kicking, back bending off the bed, thighs snapping shut ‘round his hand—Leon thinks it’s safe to say you’re cumming, first orgasm creeping up on you from your curled toes to your erratically flopping ears. “Ohh!”

Your walls contract, very obviously trying to milk what they think is a cock ‘cause they know no better. Against the heel of his palm Leon feels your clit twitching in tandem with your nose. Awfully adorable, might just shed a tear. Beautifully guileless you are.

“Jesus Christ,” Leon beholds the entire thing, your orgasm damn near rubbing off on him—no pun intended—dick so fucking pent up it’s going to take off like a rocket with the final destination being between your legs. “Such a good girl, baby.”

His brain practically short-circuits, thoughts disappearing like erased off a whiteboard. Leon’s heart rate is probably high enough to land his ass in the ER, organ pounding hard and fast in his ribcage the way his dick should in your—No. Self-control.

(Yes. Very much yes. Self-control went out the window the second he stepped foot into your secret session.)

Panting like you’ve just run a marathon—which, if Leon’s being technical, you sort of have with the way your legs were hopping away into the air like that—you bonelessly loll back. Limbs spread out like a starfish except for the rigid hand gripping his wrist, chest heaving up and down.

“Made such a big mess, princess,” that you did, slick pooling beneath you and completely coating his fingers. Leon could just… slip right in if he tried. Pull out and replace his digits with his dick. Just like that.

He should take things slow but the realization’s starting to dawn on him, you’re mature enough. Never connected the dots till now but he’s seen the sticky patches in your panties while doing the laundry, noticed the way you walk funny probably ‘cause of that ache between your legs. Leon would be doing you a favor.

(That is his dick speaking.)

“You trust daddy, don’t you?” He’s already peeling off your top, raising your arms and tugging it off your dampening body.

“I… trust daddy.” You’re doing that thing again. Looking at Leon in a way that turns him into straight mush.

Leon’s stomach is doing somersaults, flipping like a fucking gymnast coin. Heads and tails—nausea and arousal. Throw up and kill yourself or fuck the shit out of your baby girl.

Must’ve landed on tails ‘cause as bad as it sounds, he ain’t gagging or retching or itching to reach for his gun right now. But Leon’s dick is jumping like it’s warming up for something. Even God is scared of what that something may be.

“You do? That’s… good.” Leon feels a little sick still, can’t tell if it’s ‘cause of how overwhelmingly aroused he is or if it’s your naïveté—the way you blindly put your faith in him. He swallows the feeling, nothing he ain’t had before, seeing monster guts on the daily and all. Kind of used to walking around with a pit of unease in his stomach by now. “Daddy’s sweet little girl.”

Bringing his fingers slick with your essence on ‘em to your mouth, Leon nods for you to lick them clean.

And you do. Fuck.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby, but I need you.” Leon says into your throat to spare himself the embarrassment of facing you when he’s about to do such a depraved thing. “Gonna take care of you just a little differently, ‘kay?”

“Okay.”

Leon pushes down his sweats and boxers while you blink at him.

“Don’t look, just close your eyes, bunny, take a deeeep breath and count to ten, alright? Might sting a little but daddy’ll be right here. Just hold onto him if things get… rough.”

Eyes fluttering shut, you take a deep breath, arms wrapped around Leon’s neck as he shifts to brace himself on top of you. Can feel you exhale onto his cheek, scratching yours with his scruff.

He springs his cock free, shit’s furious. Angry reddish tip after going so long without any action. Slicks his fist up and gives himself a couple of strokes.

“One.” Leon counts with you, forearm already cramping next to your head but he will be damned if he lets that stop him.

“Two.” He lines up the head with your lower lips, taking a deep breath himself, trying to not flatline.

“Three.” You puff out your cheeks, eyes squeezed tightly shut and face pulled into a grimace as Leon pushes forward.

“Four.” His dick is forced out. Okay.

“Five.” Leon tries again, you whine, snap your legs tighter ‘round his hips. “I know, baby, I know. ‘M sorry.”

“Six.” Shifting forward again, he manages to get an inch inside of you.

“Seven.” Is mumbled into your neck, an attempt to stifle Leon’s groans as he slowly but surely sinks inside of you.

“Eight.” He’s halfway inside, halfway ready to combust.

“Nine.” Leon pulls himself together, a quarter left ‘fore he’s stretched you out all the way.

“Ten…” You’re still making this puffed up little face, something between a blow-up doll and childbirth.

“All done,” he says finely and dandily like he isn’t actively resisting the urge to plow you into oblivion. “So perfect, bunny, look at that.” Leon nods to where you’re bumping uglies. More like his ugly bumping your pretty. Surprisingly without blood.

Peeling your eyes open, you blink down curiously before the discomfort sets in again.

“Daddy’ll be gentle, baby,” Leon kisses your face, everywhere he can reach, genuinely unable to stop his hips from starting to rock into yours. “Promise.”

“Daddy…” you’re moaning again, breathy noises spilling past your open mouth as you stare Leon right in his eyes. Thankful that the room’s pretty much dark besides the singular lamp so he doesn’t have to see his reflection in your pupils again—watch himself make the biggest, sexiest mistake of his life.

“That’s right,” he grunts, holding your body tight like a lifeline, “daddy’s your daddy.” Is the best Leon can come up with ‘cause his mind blanks from the way you’re gripping his dick so fucking tight. Might snap it in half and leave it stuck inside you forever

Leon fucks you harder, till you’re squealing and till he has to muffle your noises with kisses on the mouth. Till clammy foreheads are pressed against one another’s, till the bed is on its last legs, till damp bodies are sticking together.

And every word he’s taught you these past couple of months is nothing but a memory.

Daddy, daddy, daddy!

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” most beautiful you’ve ever looked—taking your daddy’s cock like a champ, walls pulsating around him. Legs kicking so rabidly your hips hump against Leon’s, unintentionally fucking him back as you drown in your second ever orgasm with a loud gasp. “My perfect little baby bunny.”

Balls slapping against your ass, Leon tries to rush his first coming so you won’t have to deal with his dick bullying your sensitive insides for much longer. Pushes your shoulders down into the mattress so he can reach deeper, base disappearing into your hole.

The sight of your face is enough to send Leon over the edge, spilling into you before his somatic system even has time to process what’s going on. Moaning like a pornstar ‘cause it’s been so fucking long. Hips stuttering and stilling, shooting thick hot ropes of cum where one should never shoot thick hot ropes of cum.

Probably the last of Leon’s sperm storage, would be a miracle if they impregnated you but that’s just a tender and sappy ol’ fantasy. Swears he feels his orgasm prolonging itself by imagining you round with his babies. Lord.

“I love you,” he’s cupping your face, panting into your mouth and petting your head with shaky hands.

“Daddy…” tip of your nose brushing against his, Leon’s heart twists at your earnest declaration, “bunny loves daddy.”

Leon savours the moment, waiting a couple of minutes before pulling out of you with a sticky pop! and watching his load drip out of you. Body going slack—worn out from all the banging, you blink at him heavy-lidded, lazy fucked-out smile lining your lips.

He flops down next to you, sweaty and guilty and out of breath.

Shit, everybody’s gonna know, see right through Leon like the fucking ghost he is. Smell your bunny scent on him. If he didn’t already get the judgmental, knowing once-overs at the office then, you best believe he will now.

Claire’s going to bite him in the ass for having been balls deep inside you. Hunnigan’s gonna let out one of those disappointed mother sighs she does on the regular, Rebecca and Sherry will look at him like vintage damsels in distress. Chris is going to go Oh my God, Leon in his constipated voice, Jill won’t even spare him a second glance. Ashley will gasp and clutch her heart like it is the biggest betrayal since the ‘09 presidential election.

When the day comes, he’ll take it, face it like a man.

(Take Matilda in his hand and set you free.)

But when you cuddle up against him all sweetly like that, spooning Leon like he’s your personal oversized teddy bear, he might just reconsider. Reconsider taking the easy way out, reconsider his position, might retire and take on the full-time job of being your Daddy for the rest of his life.

Leon’s got everything he needs right here. He is ready for the long haul that might be the next couple of decades of his life, or the next twenty-four hours.

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venomvalley · 4 months ago

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thought too long about modern!sevika and gave myself brainrot so have these silly headcanons

watches them knife restoration videos to relax before bed. dozes off then jolts awake thirty seconds later when her phone almost hits her face. she does not learn from this.

mans the grill at family cookouts and glares at anybody who comes near because NOBODY is fucking up her perfect ribs

leaves paper towels all over the kitchen and never cleans up the PUDDLES she makes around the sink when she does dishes

ipad kid. loves a good candy crush session (she's level 927)

wears reading glasses you can pry this headcanon from my cold dead hands!!!!!

bad driver because of the road rage. also because she hits a curb every time she gets behind the wheel.

does not believe in therapy no matter how many times you try to explain it to her. “why would i pay somebody to talk about my problems when i can just talk to you?”

do not bring her to a family function because she'll have three kids aged 2-10 hanging off her at any given moment. children love her so much it's actually adorable

is the kinda partner to judge your choice in tv show only to be standing behind the couch completely engrossed two episodes later

goes through two pots of coffee a day all by herself then wonders why she can't sleep at night. completely raw dogs it too—no milk or sugar or nothin. likes it hot enough to burn her tongue off

thrift stores are her passion. take this woman to a thrift store and she's not coming out for six hours (and when she does, she has a bag full of absurd items like shitty ceramic figurines and obscure DVDs and weird t-shirts. one of em says WORLD'S #1 FARTER or somethin. who knows where she finds this shit)

has been banned from a gym or two because she takes the boxing classes WAY too seriously

leaves her prosthetic laying around the house because it hurts to wear for too long so she just takes it off wherever she is at the time

some shining examples of the previous point: left it on the arm of the couch while watching a movie (you almost shit yourself when you woke up the next morning because it looked like a person sitting there); dropped it on the floor beside the bed (you almost brained yourself on the nightstand trying to turn her alarm off); sat it inside the sink???? (it probably fell in after she finished brushing her teeth)

only smokes marlboro reds

#ITS 7 AM I SHOULD BE SLEEPING!!!!!!#ok im goin zzzzzzz #ro's headcanons #sevika x reader

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ckret2 · 9 months ago

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Chapter 73 of human Bill Cipher still being stuck in the Mystery Shack but currently fearing back pain more than execution: it's Day 1 of Bill being off death row, let's see what everyone other than Soos is doing with their day.

When Fiddleford answered the door to Ford and Stan—Stan with the Quantum Destabilizer's case slung over his shoulder—the first thing Fiddleford said was, "That demon's still alive, isn't he?"

"Demon's still alive," Stan confirmed.

Ford let out a long sigh. "I was afraid we'd have to break the news."

"I figured when the power here flickered during your shot." He planted his hands on his hips. "You didn't use the NowUSeeitNowUDontium, did you?"

Ford shook his head.

"Well?" Fiddleford fixed Ford with an angry squint, lips pursed. (Maybe it wasn't an angry squint, Ford told himself hopefully. Maybe it was just because Fiddleford didn't have new glasses yet.) "Why didn'cha shoot him?"

"I couldn't. He escaped," Ford said. As panic began to bloom on Fiddleford's face, Ford quickly added, "But he's back! That's why I used the wrong fuel. Somehow he overheard that we'd made enough Dontium for one shot, and he—tried to persuade me to cover his escape. Firing a blank made him think I'd used the Dontium up and he was safe—"

"—So's he'd come back and you could get a proper shot at him! Ha!" Fiddleford jumped up, kicking his heels in the air, hollering, "Stanford Pines, you clever sonovagun!" His hooting and hollering died down as he realized, "So... why're you here with the destabilizer instead of shooting him?"

Ford and Stan exchanged a glance. Stan said, "Well—He—He's pretty harmless right now, really—And he's great with the kids—"

"Not with Dipper," Ford muttered.

"He's great with one of the kids."

Ford said, "And he's..." It would be a lie to say improving, wouldn't it? "He's... got the potential to improve. And we— We thought— If there's a chance he could do better..."

Sternly, Fiddleford said, "You let him get into your head again, didn't you."

Ford sighed. "I let him get into my head."

Stan held out the Quantum Destabilizer's case. "Which is why we're here. He's not in your head. You won't hesitate to pull the trigger."

"I getcha." Fiddleford accepted the case grimly. "You need me to finish the job."

Ford hastily added, "If—if it becomes necessary."

Fiddleford gave him a hard look.

Ford swallowed as he realized—as always, a moment too late—just what an enormous thing he was asking of Fiddleford and his fragile nerves. "But if you don't think— I mean, if you'd rather it stay in our hands—"

Fiddleford held the Quantum Destabilizer away from Ford. "No, no—you're right. It's safer here," he said. "You oughta shoot him. I'm never not gonna think you oughta shoot him. Especially now we know he knows how to escape. But, if you won't—better that this is in my hands than with the fellers what let that devil sucker 'em into thinking he deserves to live."

Ford wanted to say I'm sorry. If he was so sorry, why had he chosen to let Bill live? It seemed like his problems always became Fiddleford's problems—yet the only times Fiddleford's problems became Ford's was when Ford caused them. "Well—the good news is, even if he does escape, he can't get far. He's trapped inside Gravity Falls' weirdness barrier."

"Well, that's somethin'," Fiddleford muttered. Then he frowned and gave Ford a sharp look. "Wait," he said slowly. "Are you sure he can't get out?"

"I—" Ford tried to remember when they'd learned that. "Sure, we—found out that first night, didn't we?" It had been a very long night.

"Yeah!" Stan laughed. "Almost accidentally killed the guy by driving him into it."

Fiddleford nodded, his expression faraway and thoughtful. "I need to run some calculations," he said. "I'll let you know what I find."

He turned away, muttering to himself. Just before he shut the door, Ford saw Tate at the far end of the great hall, arms crossed, watching the proceedings sourly.

And then the door was shut without so much as a goodbye.

"Huh," Stan said. "Ominous!" He clapped Ford on the shoulder. "Welp, let's get home!"

####

Tate leaned into Fiddleford's lab. "Dad?"

Fiddleford was sitting at a space he'd cleared at a worktable, hunched forward and squinting to see his work as he ran through a towering stack of calculations, using a calculator to double-check his math and a second calculator to double-check the first one. As he often did, he'd put on an old record to help block out distractions; and an old country song was blasting at top volume as Fiddleford sang/yodeled along: "I haaate Bill Cipher more'n I looove my son! How I looong to shoot that sonuuuvaguuun. I'll seeee my boy when that triaaangle's done—cuz I haaate Bill Cipher more'n I looove my son—"

"Dad," Tate said louder.

"Tater!" Fiddleford sat up, automatically reached to adjust a pair of glasses he wasn't wearing, and just bumped the bridge of his nose. "What is it, son?"

"Couldja turn the volume down?"

"Turn th—?" Fiddleford looked at his record player, started when he realized what was playing, and quickly took the needle off the record. "Sorry, Tater, I—"

"It's fine," Tate said glumly.

"Didn't even realize which song'd come on. They're just words to sing along to. You know I don't really feel..."

"Just don't like Pluckin' Jim's yodeling style, that's all."

Fiddleford dropped his gaze. "All right, that's fine. I'll keep it down."

Tate stuck his hands in his pockets. "Might oughta be careful with that album, anyway. If any guests overhear it talking about the triangle and call the police..."

"Oh, I know, I know. You're right, I'll be careful. It's just..." He reached under his hat to scratch at his head like he was trying to massage his brain into working. "When it feels like the whole darn world's gone crazy, it's comforting hearin' somebody sing something sensible," he said. "I—I don't mean Jim's attitude toward his family. Just the rest of it."

"Mm." Tate nodded.

Fiddleford sighed and shook his head sadly. "I don't know—maybe I'm the one who's going crazy."

"Naw," Tate said immediately. "You're not. You're the sanest I've seen you since I was a kid, dad."

"Well—thank you, Tater. That means a lot."

"You're just stressed, that's all." Tate nodded toward Fiddleford's stack of calculations. "Don't overwork yourself, all right?"

"I won't, I promise."

"If you need help with all that math..."

"No, no, that's all right." Fiddleford waved off the offer. "It's got to do with Stanford's weirdness thingamajig." For the past few months, Fiddleford and Stanford had been working on a paper about the Law of Weirdness Magnetism—although that had seemingly ground to a stop at the start of summer.

Tate paused. "Okay, but I'm dragging you out of there for meals."

"Heh! I won't fight you."

As Tate left, Fiddleford set the needle back on the record, starting the next song: "The Three B's Poisoning Your Children (Booze, Bebop, and Bill)." Tate shut the door and let out a long sigh.

####

"I'll get it!" Dipper doubted anyone else could even hear the phone; Abuelita was asleep in the living room, Soos was upstairs hammering on something, and Bill and Mabel were at the far end of the house playing the piano and singing.

Dipper jogged into the office. "Hello?"

"Dipper!" Wendy said. "Dude! Just the man I wanted to reach."

"Wendy, hey! What's up?"

"Are you still looking for the Nightwigglers?"

"Yes! Why, did something happen?"

A couple weeks earlier, Wendy had shown him where her brother had seen the Fremont Nightwigglers; but by the time she showed him the path, they'd already come and gone a couple nights earlier. They'd found footprints and followed them to what looked like a campsite—there were odd empty burrows in the ground and traces of ashes—but when Dipper had tried to figure out where they'd gone after leaving the campsite, he'd lost their trail in the underbrush.

"Gus says he saw them on the same trail again last night," Wendy said. "Which means, if they were going back to that place we found with the burrows, and it was a campsite—"

"—then that's where they're camping today. So they'll still be there tonight!" Dipper laughed. "That's perfect! I can stake them out and watch when they wake up! Hey, do you wanna come along for a stakeout?"

Wendy groaned. "I wish. Gus freaked my dad out talking about the Nightwigglers. He says we have to stay home after dark and he's actually been checking our rooms."

"Aw, man. That stinks."

"But hey, tell me all about it at work, okay?"

"You got it! Oh—I could make a Guide to the Unexplained episode! I'll show you the whole thing."

"Oh, awesome. I can't wait to see these things," Wendy said. "Head's up, you probably wanna be quiet to avoid spooking them. Gus said they looked super skittish last night. They're probably wigging out because of gravity disappearing for a couple of days, lots of other wild animals are. I don't blame them, I'm still wondering what was up with that."

"Giant invisible flying axolotl from another dimension."

Wendy laughed in surprise. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah! I'll tell you about it at work too." Probably leaving out Bill's involvement. Speaking of Bill, where had he left Dipper's backpack? "I've gotta pack for the stakeout. Thanks for the tip!"

####

Gideon knocked on the shack's back door and waited anxiously, tugging at his sleeves and shifting from foot to foot.

The door opened to the sound of distant piano music. Dipper stood there holding a heavy backpack and a box of granola bars. "Gideon?" He didn't sound thrilled.

"Well, hey there, Dipper!" Gideon tried to sound more chipper than he felt. "I don't suppose Mabel's ar—"

"Nope," Dipper said. "What do you want?"

Gideon took a deep breath. "It's about Bill—"

"Shhh!" Dipper cast a nervous glance back toward Soos's grandma asleep in the living room. "Keep it down. Only Mabel and I know you know about Bill and no one else can find out."

"Why not?"

"Because... Mabel and I will get in trouble for not telling them sooner?"

Fair enough. Adults didn't need to know everything, Gideon thought. Voice lower, he said, "I didn't notice him with the others at Rainbow Club this week, and I saw that big laser thingamabob at the shack,"—and the next day received a panicked call from a cultist who couldn't reach Bill—"and... well—I need to know if Bill's dead, or—"

Over the piano playing, an off-key voice sang at top volume: "AND IIIIIIIIII will never HATE yooOoOOou—!" In the living room, Abuelita started from her nap, blinked sleepily, turned up the volume on the TV, and fell back asleep.

Gideon's shoulders sank in disappointment.

"Still alive," Dipper said. "He has a really bad backache, though."

"Well, dang it!" Gideon kicked at a twig on the porch. It didn't move.

"Yeah, I know," Dipper said. "But... I kinda think Bill has to stay alive? I heard this prophecy that I think is about Bill saving everyone? Probably not voluntarily—he actually really didn't want me to hear about the prophecy—so... yeah, we might just be stuck with him. At least for a while."

"Well," Gideon said sourly. "Isn't that just wonderful."

####

As he trudged home, Gideon tried to think of a way out of this. For one day, he'd thought he was blessedly free of Bill; finding out he was wrong felt like getting hauled back to prison.

If the adults didn't know he knew about Bill, maybe he could tell the Stans that Bill had been using him—surely they'd forgive Gideon for using a little dream magic to brainwash the town, right? Stan understood the lengths a businessman had to go to to advertise his business, and Ford was apparently the one who'd recorded the spell in the first place—and maybe the two of them could prevent Bill from spilling his blackmail to the rest of the town; or maybe Gideon could arrange for the Stans to "accidentally" find out Gideon had been working for Bill, and then Bill couldn't blame Gideon for spilling the beans...

Or maybe he could just stop helping Bill. Simple as that. He knew he'd been helping Bill arrange escape plans. Bill had promised he'd keep quiet about Gideon's crimes as long as Gideon didn't pick up dream magic again; but he'd never required Gideon to help him. The only issue was what his contact in Bill's cult might do and whether she might out him as one of Bill's allies; maybe he could just tell her that his parents were getting suspicious and he couldn't be a go-between anymore...

When he got home, as soon as he opened the front door he could hear his father excitedly talking in the kitchen: "It's the darnedest thing! I don't know where they came from—must be tourists, I suppose..."

Gideon followed his voice into the kitchen. "Daddy? What's all this fuss?"

Bud was grinning from ear to ear; even Joy was faintly smiling, a half-washed dish forgotten in her yellow-gloved hands. "There you are," Bud said. "Son, I've got the most terrific news! I just sold the three most expensive cars on the lot, all on the same day! Can you believe that?!"

"Well, hot dog!" Gideon grinned as well, relief washing over him. "That oughta keep us going for a while, shouldn't it?"

"It sure will! I guess you were right—we never needed any magic hocus-pocus, just good salesmanship!" Bud beamed. "But it's just the darnedest thing," he said again, "they all said they'd been referred to the dealership by a Mr. Locke."

Gideon's smile froze and his stomach flipped.

"I don't remember any Mr. Locke passing through town."

"Oh," Joy said, "there was one a—a week or two ago. Some sort of talent agent, I think? He came to see Gideon."

"Did he," Bud said, clearly a bit deflated that it wasn't his prowess as a salesman that had lured these customers to town; but he quickly recovered, "Why, that's wonderful! Maybe looking to line up another television appearance?"

"No no no," Gideon said quickly, "no, it was—it was purely a social visit. I-I knew him last summer. I'm not doing that sort of... television thing anymore."

"Ah, well. Still! Having connections pays off," Bud said. "If all he wants to do is send customers our way, I'll be mighty happy! If he comes by again, invite him to stay for dinner, it's the least we can offer him as thanks."

"I think that's a—a wonderful idea," Joy said, voice even softer than usual. "He was very friendly."

"Son?" Bud called. "Where you headed?"

"Just upstairs, I remembered I need to make a call," Gideon said. He had to ensure Sue knew Bill was alive.

Seemed like he'd be working with her and Bill for a while yet. His family couldn't afford for him not to.

####

Dipper pounced the Stans the moment they entered the shack. "Hey! Great Uncle Ford!"

"Dipper? What—"

"Grunkle Ford, remember you promised that as soon as we weren't dealing with any Bill bull, we could go on an investigation—?"

"Hey," Stan said sternly, "any Bill what?"

"Bull... soup?" Dipper tried.

Stan nodded, satisfied. "That's right. And if your parents ask, that's exactly what you think it means." At Ford's look of amazement, Stan said, "What! Last year the kids' parents said if they came home swearing, I couldn't take 'em over the summer again."

Dipper resumed his attack: "Well, we're not dealing with any Bill bullsoup today! Come help me track the Nightwigglers!" He held up his journal, proudly showing off his unfinished spread. "Wendy told me where they're camping today! If we're there before they wake up, we can finally see them in person!"

"Really? Tonight?" Ford asked. "We just had a late night yesterday."

"Can't we have two late nights and sleep in tomorrow?" Dipper pled. "They might not be there tomorrow night! What's more important: sleep, or seeing the Nightwigglers?"

"Yes, I see your point. You're absolutely right," Ford said. "I could take a nap now and we can leave after dinner."

"Yes!"

Stan groaned, "Great—the insomniacs are enabling each other." He shook his head and started upstairs, muttering, "I'm gonna see what Soos is hammering on."

Dipper said, "I've already packed my camping supplies! Do you need help packing? I can help you pack! Come on—I can show you where we're going, too!" He impatiently led the way to the elevator.

####

This weekend, Bill had escaped the shack, faked his death, and proven that the whole Pines family actually wanted him alive; and yet, for all that, Mabel thought he seemed pretty down in the dumps today. He'd been kind of off since the eclipse.

Actually, now that she thought about it, he'd been off since before the eclipse, ever since the day he'd been grumpy to her about the glass pyramid "Mysteries." She was pretty sure he wasn't mad at her about that anymore; so she didn't know what was wrong.

But even though Mabel could see him wince when he leaned certain ways or moved his arms too quickly, he was trying to hide that he was in pain and he was trying to hide his gloomy mood. He grinned when he played the piano, and he alternated between popular songs that she knew and could sing along with and a bunch of old boring things like jazz and opera. (Bill tried to sing along to everything, even when he shouldn't. Mabel was pretty sure he was the worst opera soprano in the world.)

She didn't know how to fix whatever was actually bothering him. She could hang out with him and sing and talk—that seemed to make him happier. But Bill needed more than that.

He needed more friends.

Bill attempted a run, one hand crossing over the other and back as he rolled up the keyboard; his hands tripped over each other and stumbled across several keys at once.

Mabel laughed. "That sounded like a musical fart!"

Bill blew a raspberry. "I'll show you a musical fart." He attempted the run again, and messed up again.

Mabel laughed again. "I don't think you've got that part."

"Hey! I'm usually great at that part. It's this body—I'm used to playing it with flat fingers, I haven't practiced it with an extra dimension before," said Bill, who was lying, and had never been good at that part, and truthfully was pleased he now had an excuse that let him pretend he was actually better than he was. "Playing piano in a human body really holds me back. It takes nine hands to play my favorite song." That wasn't a lie.

He started the song over and elbowed Mabel. "Hey. Something's eating at you. What's up, kid?"

She hadn't realized she wasn't hiding her gloomy thoughts well enough. "Uuugh, I want you to meet my friends, but this morning Grunkle Ford said I still can't invite them over even though you're off death row. I guess he and Grunkle Stan are still worried you'll brainwash them or something?"

"Pff. We're still—renegotiating the terms of my imprisonment."

"Oh yeah? What have you renegotiated so far?"

The corners of Bill's mouth turned down. Mabel suspected that might have something to do with his foul mood. "Hey, I've got an idea to get your friends over here."

"Yeah?"

"Tell your uncles that the girls' parents are starting to wonder why you haven't been inviting them over like you did last summer. Say they're beginning to think that something is going on over here, and they're worried you're not in a safe environment—buuut if their kids can come over and see everyone's just been adjusting to a new guest, maaaybe their parents will calm down, right?"

Mabel shot Bill a dirty look. "Bill! That's a complete lie."

"But it's the kind of lie that could easily be true, and might even be true in the future, so is it really a lie?"

"Yeah it is."

"No it's not! Besides, it'll get your friends over here and it won't hurt anything, won't it?"

Mabel grimaced. "Okay, I can try—but if I try it and it works and I bring my friends over, you've got to make friends with them."

"Hmm!" Bill's face twisted up. "I like Candy's taste in art. And her bloodthirst."

Mabel elbowed him. "What do you have against Grenda?"

####

Eight-year-old Grenda sat at her desk kicking her feet and staring at her $1 bill, waiting for the bell to ring for lunch. It was Chocolate Chip Cookie Monday, they were fresh and gooey, and she was ready.

For the first time, she noticed the design on the dollar had a weird little one-eyed triangle with a hat. She pulled out a marker and drew a little smile under his eye.

And then she added buck teeth to the smile.

And then she gave him a second eye, stupid glasses, and a spiky beard that poked out in every direction.

And then drew wavy stink lines over him and added a word bubble that said "I'M SMELLY!"

"Heh. Stupid looking guy," she mumbled.

####

With an air of haughty disdain, Bill said, "She knows what she did."

"Okay, but you'll be nice to her, right? Pleeease?"

"All right, fine," Bill said. "For you, I'll be nice."

####

"Grunkle Stannn can my friends please come over? Even their parents think it's weird that they haven't been here all summer! If Grenda and Candy come over they'll know nothing weird's going on!"

"Uhhh..." Stan grimaced. "The last thing we need is parents asking questions... Yeah, sure, you should probably do that sometime soon. Maybe after we figure out what we're doing with Bill for the rest of the summer—"

"Thanks!" Mabel hugged him, ran off, and decided she'd heard Stan say "yeah, sure, you should."

She pulled out her phone. "Candy! Grenda!" She kept her voice at a loud whisper. "Great news! Dipper's gonna be out with Grunkle Ford tonight and I kinda-sorta got permission for a sleepover! Get ready for a party. I have a plan."

####

(This is a bit of a transition chapter for a couple more plots, but I hope y'all enjoyed! Let me know what you think!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #(for the fic)#gideon gleeful #dipper pines #(for the art)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(Dec 12 edit: chapter has been renumbered)

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sherewrytes · 2 months ago

Text

WHAT THESE BITCHES WANT FROM A NIGGA

Cause i missed writting for Ony outside of Love and Gunshots

here is a lil fic inspired by me listening to way to much DMX songs

this def gonna have a part two

The studio was alive with energy. The faint hum of a beat looped through the speakers, low enough to talk over but loud enough to keep the vibe right. Smoke curled through the air, the scent of something strong lingering as laughter bounced between the walls.

Eren sat at the mixing board, lazily twisting a knob as he leaned back in his chair, watching the session unfold. Armin stood nearby, scrolling through his phone, probably looking at projections or some business report none of them cared to hear about right now.

Connie was perched on the couch, a blunt tucked behind his ear, grinning as he scrolled through his notifications. He tapped his screen, shaking his head. "Man, they got Twitter goin' crazy right now. They swear me and Ony got a track droppin’."

Onyankopon sat in the corner, quiet but listening, one hand draped over his knee while the other nursed a bottle of water. He wasn’t much for social media, but he already knew what they were saying. His name stayed in people’s mouths—sometimes for music, sometimes for… other things.

“Let ’em talk,” Ony muttered. “Ain’t nobody confirm nothin’.”

Connie smirked. “Yeah, but you know how this industry work. Rumors turn into facts real quick.”

Eren chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth.” He nudged Armin. “Yo, business man, how we capitalizing off this?”

Armin didn’t look up from his phone. “By actually finishing the song, maybe?”

That got a laugh out of everyone except Ony, who only shook his head.

Then Mikasa spoke up, cutting through the noise like she always did. “Speaking of rumors,” she said, arms crossed, “you got an interview tomorrow, Ony.”

Ony’s face stayed unreadable, but his response was instant. “Nah, I ain’t doin’ all that.”

Mikasa barely blinked. “It’s already booked.”

“So? Cancel it.”

“Not happening.”

Ony exhaled through his nose, irritation creeping into his voice. “What for? I already know what they gon’ ask me. Same bullshit—‘What’s the album about?’ ‘What’s your process?’ ‘How many women you really got on rotation?’” He shook his head. “Tired of that shit.”

Mikasa stared him down, unmoved. “Then maybe you should be more careful about what you let people say about you.”

A sharp silence filled the room. Even Eren glanced up at that.

Ony ran a hand over his face, about to argue again, when Mikasa tilted her head and added—

“It’s with Y/N L/N.”

Everything stopped for a beat.

Ony didn’t say anything at first, but the slight hesitation—the way his fingers curled just a little tighter around his water bottle—didn’t go unnoticed.

Connie definitely noticed.

His eyes flicked to Ony, then back to Mikasa, and a slow grin stretched across his face. “Ohhh.” He dragged the word out, leaning forward with too much interest. “Now that’s interesting.”

Eren smirked. “Damn, bro. That name mean somethin’ to you?”

Ony scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah. Ain’t even like that.”

But the way he avoided looking at anybody said otherwise.

Mikasa, as usual, wasn’t here for the games. “Good,” she said flatly. “Then you won’t have a problem showing up.”

Ony didn’t respond right away. He just leaned back, tapping his fingers against his knee, thoughts running deeper than he let on.

Connie, watching him closely, only grinned wider. “Yeah… this gon’ be real interesting.”

The room settled back into a familiar rhythm, but there was a shift now—something hanging in the air that hadn’t been there before.

Ony leaned back, his jaw tight, tapping a slow rhythm against his knee while Connie watched him like he had the biggest secret in the world.

Eren, never one to let a moment slip by, chuckled as he twisted a few knobs on the soundboard. “Damn, I ain’t never seen you this quiet before, bro.”

Ony shot him a look. “Man, shut up.”

That only made Connie laugh harder. “Nah, ‘cause now I’m real curious. You of all people ain’t tryna do an interview? And with her?” He whistled low, shaking his head. “Secrets must be somethin’ serious.”

Ony exhaled sharply but didn’t take the bait. Instead, he stood up, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking something off. “Man, let’s just work.”

Eren smirked, already cuing up the beat. “Yeah, yeah. Time to put in work, big dog.”

The opening bassline hit, vibrating through the speakers, heavy and raw. The track was built for Ony—gritty, aggressive, something that hit you straight in the chest. And then Connie’s smooth, melodic touch came in, making the whole thing feel effortless.

Ony grabbed the headphones off the stand and adjusted the mic. He didn’t need the lyrics in front of him—he’d already been running the bars through his head all day.

Eren gave a nod from behind the glass. “Aight, run it from the top.”

The track kicked in fully, the instrumental pulsing. Connie stepped up first, his voice sliding in smooth:

🎶 "Uh… yeah." 🎶

He grinned, letting the words stretch out as he found the groove.

🎶 "What these women want from a nigga? Everybody askin’…" 🎶

Eren bobbed his head, already feeling it. Armin leaned back, watching with his usual calculating gaze, while Mikasa stayed posted by the door, arms crossed, as if mentally balancing business with personal bullshit.

Then Ony came in.

🎶 "What these women want from a nigga? Shit, I been tryna figure that out myself." 🎶

His voice was low, raspy—commanding. He wasn’t just rapping, he was telling a story.

🎶 "What these women want from a nigga? They love the name, but they don’t know the life." 🎶

The way he delivered it was cold, almost detached—like a man laying out facts, no sugarcoating. Connie picked up his cue, adding another layer to the track, his voice dripping with the kind of confidence that made women weak.

🎶 "Break ‘em off somethin’… Oh yeah, and by the way, it’s the N-Tity!" 🎶

Connie hit that perfect balance of cocky and smooth, grinning as he leaned back from the mic.

Eren let the beat ride for a second before cutting the track. The room sat in silence for a beat before Armin finally spoke.

“Yeah,” he nodded, impressed. “That’s gonna be a problem.”

Connie snickered. “You mean a hit?”

“Same thing.”

Ony pulled the headphones off, setting them back on the stand. The energy was right, the track was solid—but his mind was already somewhere else.

And Connie knew it.

He waited a moment before casually saying, “You know, I bet Y/N gon’ have a lot of questions about this one.”

Ony stilled for half a second. Then he shook his head, grabbing his water bottle. “Man, shut the hell up.”

Connie just grinned, stretching back on the couch. “Nah, I’m just sayin’… interviews get real personal sometimes.”

Eren chuckled under his breath. Armin smirked. Even Mikasa looked like she was holding back a comment.

Ony exhaled, rubbing his jaw. This interview was already getting on his nerves—and it hadn’t even happened yet.

Ony cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking something off. “Run it back.”

Eren didn’t even question it. He just reset the track, the bass creeping in again, that same grimy, no-nonsense energy filling the room.

Ony stepped up to the mic, gripping it like he had something to prove—not to them, but to himself.

🎶 "Come on, ma, you know I got a wife, And even though that pussy tight, I'm not gon' jeopardize my life—AIGHT?" 🎶

His voice hit harder this time, more raw, like he was talking directly to somebody.

🎶 "So what is it you want from a nigga?" 🎶

Connie, still chilling on the couch, let out a low “What?” in the background, matching Ony’s tone.

🎶 "I gave you; you gave me—" 🎶

Then Ony snapped, voice sharper—

🎶 "BITCH!" 🎶

Eren raised an eyebrow but said nothing, nodding along.

🎶 "I blazed you, you blazed me—COME ON!" 🎶

Connie grinned, chiming in smooth, “Yeah, yeah…”

Ony’s delivery was cold, every bar landing like a warning.

🎶 "Nothin’ more, nothin’ less, But you at my door willing to confess—" 🎶

Connie, right on cue: “Yeah, yeah…”

🎶 "That it’s the best you ever tested—" 🎶

🎶 "Aight!"—Connie crooned, voice buttery smooth.

Ony smirked a little, but his tone stayed ruthless.

🎶 "Better than all the rest, I'm like, 'Aight, girlfriend, hold up—'"

Connie jumped in again, sliding in that signature R&B swag—

🎶 "Tell me…"

And Ony closed it out, dropping the last line like a hammer—

🎶 "I gave you what you gave me, boo—a NUT!" 🎶

Eren cut the beat again, sitting back with a low whistle. “Sheesh.”

Armin smirked, clearly amused. “Well… that was direct.”

Connie laughed, throwing his arm over the back of the couch. “Nah, that shit was real.” He turned to Ony, smirking. “Yo, you think Y/N gon’ bring this up in the interview?”

Ony exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “Man, shut the hell up.”

That only made Connie laugh harder. “What? You know she gon’ ask you what these women really want.”

Eren smirked. “Hope you got a good answer ready.”

Ony didn’t respond, just grabbed his water bottle and took a slow sip, trying to act unbothered.

But everybody in the room knew better.

Mikasa, arms still crossed, gave Ony and Connie a sharp nod. “Run the chorus and the next verse for me.”

She wasn’t asking.

Eren smirked, pressing a button on the board. “Aight, y’all heard the boss lady.”

Connie rolled his shoulders, stepping back up to the mic. Ony exhaled through his nose, adjusting his stance.

The track restarted.

This time, the energy was locked in.

🎶 "What these bitches want from a nigga?" 🎶

Ony’s voice was rough, carrying that weight, that grit.

🎶 "What you want? (What you want?) What these bitches want from a nigga?" 🎶

Connie’s voice slipped in smooth, bouncing off Ony’s rawness, giving the chorus its perfect contrast.

🎶 "Really want… What these bitches want from a nigga? Shawty, I keep you up on it, Bling-blingin', all that jewelry, girl, I bought it—" 🎶

His voice dipped into a slick melody, smooth enough to make anybody believe every word.

🎶 "What these bitches want from a nigga? Ayo, tell me what you want from me… Baby, tell me what you want from me (so what you want?)” 🎶

The chorus hit hard, the beat knocking heavy behind their voices.

And just like that—Ony slid into his verse, zero hesitation.

🎶 "There was Brenda, Latisha (uh), Linda, Felicia (okay), Dawn, LeShaun, Ines, and Alicia (ooh)—" 🎶

Armin let out a low whistle under his breath.

🎶 "Teresa, Monica, Sharon, Nicki (uh-huh), Lisa, Veronica, Karen, Vicky —" 🎶

Connie couldn’t help but react. “Damn.”

🎶 "Cookie, well, I met her in a ice cream parlor (right), Tonya, Diane, Lori, and Carla (okay)—" 🎶

Mikasa’s expression stayed unreadable, but Eren was grinning behind the glass.

🎶 "Marina (uh), Selena (uh), Katrina (uh), Sabrina (uh), About three Kims (what?), LaToya and Tina—" 🎶

Connie leaned in, adding his smooth “Woo~” to the track.

🎶 "Shelley, Bridget, Cathy, Rasheeda (uh-huh), Kelly, Nicole, Angel, Juanita—" 🎶

🎶 “Damn.”—Connie again, his voice dripping with amusement.

🎶 "Stacy, Tracie, Rohna, and Ronda (what?), Donna, Yolanda (what?), Tawana, and Wanda (what?)—" 🎶

Ony’s voice was relentless, pushing each name out with weight, like a roll call of his past.

🎶 "Were all treated fairly, but yet and still, Bitches is on some other shit now that I'm fuckin' with Dru Hill—" 🎶

🎶 "But I'ma keep it real (what?), What the fuck you want from a nigga? What the fuck you want from a nigga? (Yeah!)" 🎶

Silence.

Then—

Armin smirked, shaking his head. “This is definitely gonna stir up some shit.”

Connie let out a loud laugh, clapping his hands together. “Oh yeah, bro.”

Eren leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Matter fact, This shit gonna be a hit.”

Ony stayed quiet for a second, his jaw clenching just slightly.

Then, with all the calm in the world, he grabbed his water bottle, twisted the cap, and took a slow sip.

“Man,” he muttered, voice low, “y’all talk too much.”

The beat faded out.

Eren leaned back, nodding to himself. “That’s a wrap.”

Ony pulled the headphones off, tossing them onto the stand. “We done?”

Mikasa, arms crossed, nodded. “For now.” She glanced down at her phone. “I pushed back the interview until the song drops.”

Ony gave her a look. “For what?”

“So you actually have something to promote.”

Ony scoffed, shaking his head. “Man, I ain’t polishing shit. It stays as is.”

Armin, still lounging in the chair by the console, shrugged. “It’s fine.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She already knew how this went. Ony was stubborn, but so was she—so if anything needed tweaking, he’d come around eventually.

For now, the session was over.

Everybody started to relax, stretching out after being locked in the booth for hours. Connie, already making himself comfortable, sprawled out on the couch, phone in hand. “Yo, I ordered food. Should be here in like twenty.”

“Bet,” Eren muttered, lighting a blunt.

Armin was already on his laptop, typing away, probably lining up the rollout for the track. Mikasa was texting, handling business as usual.

Ony sat back in his chair, exhaling.

That should’ve been the end of it.

But then—he noticed how Connie was smirking at his phone, thumbs moving fast.

“Who you texting?” Ony asked, side-eyeing him.

Connie didn’t even look up. “Nobody.”

Ony lifted his chin. “Lyin’ ass.”

Eren chuckled, passing him the blunt. “If he grinnin’ like that, it’s either money… or a woman.”

Ony took a slow pull, watching Connie. “Yeah. So which one is it?”

Connie finally looked up, mischief all over his face. Then, with zero hesitation—

“Y/N.”

Ony exhaled, smoke curling past his lips. His grip on the blunt tightened just a little.

Connie grinned. “She asked how the session went.”

Ony didn’t say a word at first. Just took another slow drag, the blunt burning between his fingers.

But Connie? Connie was watching him real close.

Then, just like that—

He burst out laughing.

“Ayo—” Connie wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Ain’t no way you just made that face.”

Ony side-eyed him. “Man, shut the fuck up.”

“Nah, nah, nah—” Connie was still grinning, way too amused. “You was lookin’ real sick for a second there.”

Eren smirked but kept quiet. Armin glanced up from his laptop, peeping the shift in energy. Even Mikasa glanced up from her phone, side-eyeing them.

But Connie? He was still on Ony’s head.

“Ain’t my fault you let the game pull you from the chick you loved.”

Silence.

Ony exhaled through his nose, tapping the blunt against the tray, knocking the ash loose. Then, low as hell—barely above a mumble—

“Love.”

Connie’s smirk faltered for a split second.

Ony took another pull, jaw tight.

That was all he said.

But Connie caught it.

And for once, he didn’t joke.

Instead, he just went back to his phone, replying to Y/N.

Text Conversation: Connie & Y/N 📱 Y/N: Yo. How’d the session go?

📱 Connie: Shit was fire, as expected.

📱 Connie: Ya boy Ony was in his bag lmfao.

📱 Y/N: Oh? 👀

📱 Connie: Yeah, you gon’ have a LOT to ask about in that interview, trust.

📱 Y/N: Lmao don’t play w/ me.

📱 Y/N: That bad??

📱 Connie: Let’s just say… a WHOLE lotta names got mentioned tonight.

📱 Y/N: Names?

📱 Y/N: …Wait. Like, WOMEN’S names?

📱 Connie: 👀

📱 Connie: I mean, yeah. A whole roll call.

📱 Y/N: …Lemme find out Ony still on that type of time.

📱 Connie: Lmaooo. Ayo, you sound a lil mad. You good?

📱 Y/N: Boy, bye. 🙄

📱 Connie: Nah nah nah, that was hella quick. You sure you ain’t a lil heated?

📱 Y/N: AINT NOBODY WORRIED ABOUT THAT MAN.

📱 Connie: Mhm. Keep tellin’ yourself that.

📱 Y/N: I hope his player ass got media trained bc I’m asking everything.

📱 Connie: Oh, I KNOW. 😭

📱 Connie: Matter fact…

📱 Connie: I lowkey wish I could see his face when you do.

📱 Y/N: Lmao, be serious.

📱 Connie: I am serious. This man paused for a whole five seconds when Mikasa said your name.

📱 Y/N: Stop lying.

📱 Connie: I’d never lie to you, ma. 😇

📱 Y/N: Boy, you a whole menace.

📱 Connie: And yet, you still texting me. Interesting. 🤔

📱 Y/N: Bye.

📱 Connie: Lmaoooo.

YN POV

Y/N stared at her phone, Connie’s last message still sitting there.

I’d never lie to you, ma. 😇

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, debating if she even wanted to reply.

Five seconds? Ony paused for five whole seconds when he heard her name?

That was not normal.

And the fact that Connie clocked it immediately meant he knew it wasn’t normal either.

Y/N sucked her teeth, flopping back against her couch. She didn’t know why she was letting this get to her. She was over that whole situation. Ony was a memory, an old chapter she’d already closed.

…Right?

She sighed, running a hand down her face.

She should’ve known Connie was gonna be messy.

But then again…

Maybe this was karma.

After all, she was about to interview Ony about his player reputation.

And if anyone knew the truth behind that rep?

It was her.

Because she was there before the fame.

Before the rumors.

Before the women whose names he just rapped in the booth like they were nothing.

Flashback: Back When It Was Just “O” and Y/N

Years ago—before the money, before the music, before the world knew Ony’s name—he was just “O” to her.

And back then?

She swore she was the only girl that mattered to him.

They weren’t official—not really. They never put a title on it. But she was his, and he was hers, in the way that counted.

Or at least… that’s what she thought.

She still remembered the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing worth seeing. The way his voice softened when it was just the two of them. The way he held her like he was scared to let go.

But then…

He let go.

And she never really understood why.

One day, it was all good. The next? He was distant. Late replies. Excuses. Promises he didn’t keep.

Then the rumors started.

And when she finally asked him about it—when she looked him dead in his eyes and asked if the whispers were true—

All she got was a long pause.

And silence said everything.

That’s when she walked away.

And Ony?

He let her.

Back in the Present

Y/N blinked back into reality, jaw tight.

Yeah.

She had a lot of questions for Ony.

And come interview day?

He was gonna answer every single one.

Ony took another pull from his blunt, letting the smoke burn slow in his chest. The studio session was done, but his mind was still running. Not on the track. Not on the rollout.

On her.

Y/N.

Hearing her name after all this time? That was the last thing he expected.

And pausing for five seconds? Yeah, that was a slip-up.

Connie caught that shit fast, too.

That’s why he laughed like it was funny. Like it wasn’t real. Like Ony wasn’t still thinking about the last time he saw Y/N—the last time he let himself look at her.

Like he wasn’t the one who let her go.

He knew exactly what he lost. And if he was being honest?

He lost her on purpose.

Flashback: When Ony Walked Away

Y/N always knew how to get to him. Always knew how to make him feel like he could be more than what the world saw him as.

And for a minute, he let himself believe it.

That they could work. That he could have her and still chase this dream.

But the bigger he got, the more the streets started talking. And Ony had been in the game long enough to know one thing:

Loyalty doesn’t mean shit in this industry.

He wasn’t reckless, wasn’t running around like people said. But he knew how the whispers sounded. How they’d make Y/N look at him different, whether they were true or not.

And instead of waiting for her to see him like that—

He made the call first.

“Yo, I just think we need space,” he told her one night, his voice steady, even though his chest was tight as hell.

Y/N’s face twisted. “Space? Since when?”

He exhaled slow. “Since now.”

That should’ve been it.

But it was Y/N.

And she didn’t just let things go.

“Nah, don’t do that,” she said, stepping closer. “You think I don’t see through that bullshit? What’s really going on, O?”

He swallowed hard, jaw locking. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” she repeated, eyes searching his. “So you just—what? You just woke up and decided we’re done?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

Y/N scoffed, stepping back like she finally understood.

“Wow,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re really doing this.”

He didn’t say anything.

Because what the fuck was he supposed to say?

That he was scared? That he didn’t want her caught up in the mess his life was turning into? That he cared too much to let her stick around?

She deserved better than that.

Better than him.

So he let her go.

And Y/N?

She didn’t chase him.

She just left.

And now, years later, she was about to walk back into his life.

And for the first time in a long time—

Ony didn’t know if he was ready.

Y/N

Y/N stabbed her straw through her drink, her foot bouncing under the table. Across from her, Sasha was grinning like she just won a bet.

“You nervous?” Sasha asked, sipping her lemonade.

Y/N scoffed. “Nervous? For what?”

Sasha shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe ‘cause you’re about to see the man who broke your heart?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “He didn’t break my heart.”

Sasha lifted a brow. “So if I text Connie right now and ask what Ony’s reaction was when he heard your name, what you think he gon’ say?”

Y/N went silent.

Sasha smirked. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It’s not even like that.”

“Then what’s it like?”

“It’s… history,” Y/N muttered. “It’s old. And it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Sasha gave her a look. “Mhm. So that’s why you over here stirring your drink like it personally offended you?”

Y/N stopped moving.

Sasha laughed. “Babe. If you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t be acting like this.”

Y/N opened her mouth, then shut it again.

Because the truth?

Sasha was right.

She did care.

And that was exactly the problem.

The booth was hot, filled with the lingering scent of smoke and whatever cologne Ony had thrown on that morning. The speakers were thumping, bass rattling the walls as Armin adjusted levels on the mix.

It was supposed to be just another studio session. Another day in the life.

But Connie?

He had other plans.

Ony was posted up on the couch, blunt in one hand, phone in the other, scrolling like he wasn’t paying attention. Mikasa was flipping through notes, probably planning shit out for the next rollout.

Eren leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face. “We tryna work or we just chillin’?”

Connie grinned, stretching his arms behind his head. “Damn, my bad, big boss. Didn’t know we was on the clock.”

Eren shot him a look. “ Bro please, we always on the clock.”

Connie waved him off, turning to Ony instead.

“So… you ever gon’ talk about it?”

Ony exhaled slow. “Talk about what?”

Connie’s grin widened. “You know what.”

Mikasa didn’t even look up. “Leave it alone, Connie.”

“Nah, I just think it’s funny.” Connie sat forward, eyes locked on Ony. “How you been out here, big dog—big Ony—but one name got you stuck?”

Ony’s grip on his phone tightened. “Ain’t nobody stuck.”

Connie chuckled. “Right. That why you got so quiet yesterday?”

Ony didn’t reply. Just took another slow drag, eyes locked on the table in front of him.

Connie leaned back with a smirk. “I mean, if it was me—”

“Good thing it ain’t,” Ony muttered.

Connie threw his hands up. “Damn, my bad! Didn’t know it was a sensitive subject.”

Eren shook his head. “You real messy, you know that?”

Connie just laughed. “Shit, somebody gotta keep it interesting.”

Mikasa sighed. “Can we work now?”

Ony didn’t say anything. Just exhaled smoke, let his head rest against the couch.

He wasn’t stuck.

He was just thinking.

And the more Connie ran his mouth?

The harder it was to stop.

Connie tapped his fingers against his knee, watching Ony with that same smug grin.

“So what you gon’ do when you see her?”

Ony exhaled, slow and steady. “Ain’t gon’ do shit.”

Connie raised a brow. “Oh, word?”

Ony didn’t even look up. “Word.”

Connie snorted. “Man, please. You ain’t even slick. The moment Mikasa said her name, you got real quiet.”

Ony finally glanced up, jaw tight. “You still talkin’?”

Connie shrugged. “I mean, it’s funny. Big Ony, unbothered Ony, the same nigga who don’t let nobody get in his head, but—”

Ony cut him off. “You bored, huh?”

Connie grinned. “A lil’ bit.”

Ony shook his head, smirking just a little. “Niggas get one R&B hit and start feelin’ real bold.”

That made Eren laugh. Even Armin cracked a smile.

But Connie?

He just leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Aite, bet,” Connie said, still smirking. “If you don’t choke up when you see Y/N after the rollout for your interview next Thursday, I’ll drop it.”

Ony’s expression stayed neutral. “And if I do?”

Connie grinned wider. “Then I get to talk my shit forever.”

Ony sucked his teeth. “Nigga, you already do that.”

“Yeah, but this time, I’d be right.”

Ony shook his head. “Whatever, man.”

“Nah, say it,” Connie pushed. “We got a deal?”

Ony sighed, flicking ash off his blunt. Then he met Connie’s eyes, voice calm.

“Bet.”

The studio air was thick—weed smoke, bass vibrations, and unspoken shit that sat heavy between Ony and Connie. The bet had been made, and Ony wasn’t the type to back out, but the way Connie was watching him, all smug and knowing, made his blood heat just a little.

Eren twisted in his chair, adjusting the levels on the console. “Aight, we running this from the top?”

Ony pulled the mic stand closer, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah.”

Connie cracked his neck and stepped up beside him. “Try not to get too distracted, big dawg.”

Ony shot him a side glance. “Try not to do too much, R&B ass nigga.”

Connie laughed, stepping back as Eren cued up the beat. The heavy bass dropped, shaking the room, and just like that—they were locked in.

Ony didn’t hesitate when his cue hit, voice sliding into the rhythm, sharp and commanding.

"Come on, ma, you know I got a wife…"

His words hit with weight, the flow raw, guttural. Connie fed off that energy, bouncing on his heels before coming in smooth, vocals slipping through the beat like silk.

The two of them went back and forth, perfect synergy. Connie’s harmonies laced through Ony’s rough delivery like a blade wrapped in velvet. It was effortless—like they had done this in another lifetime.

By the time the chorus hit, Eren was nodding along, Armin tapped his fingers on his knee, and even Mikasa—who hardly reacted to shit—was watching with sharp eyes.

The track faded, and silence took over, but no one spoke at first.

Then Armin leaned forward, pushing his glasses up. “That’s the one.”

Eren smirked. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

Mikasa crossed her arms. “We’re polishing it.”

Ony exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Nah. It stays.”

Mikasa gave him a flat look. “It’s not up for discussion.”

Ony was about to argue, but Armin waved a hand. “It’s fine as is.”

Mikasa rolled her eyes but didn’t push further. She was outnumbered, and she knew it.

The session wrapped, but the energy still crackled in the air. Connie leaned back against the couch, scrolling through his phone like he had nothing to do with the chaos he had just started.

Ony side-eyed him, still catching his breath. “You real quiet now.”

Connie didn’t look up. “Just letting you breathe before I start talkin’ my shit.”

Eren laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t stop talkin’ shit.”

Connie grinned. “And y’all love me for it.”

Ony wasn’t amused. He leaned forward, forearms on his knees. “The bet still stands?”

Connie locked his phone and met Ony’s gaze. “Yeah. Next Thursday.”

Ony took a slow drag from his blunt, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. “Aight.”

Connie’s grin widened. “That means yes, you gon’ choke up.”

Ony turned his head slowly, eyes dark. “Nigga, I will slap the gel out your head.”

Connie cackled, throwing a pillow at Ony’s face. “Bet.”

Y/N’s POV: Late Night Thoughts

The glow of Y/N’s laptop screen cast shadows across her face, but she wasn’t really looking at it. The email sat open, the words blurring together, but her mind was miles away.

Across from her, Sasha was sprawled out on the couch, chewing on a bag of chips like she wasn’t causing Y/N a migraine.

Sasha side-eyed her. “You been staring at that email for way too long.”

Y/N sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “It’s just an interview.”

Sasha raised a brow. “It’s not just an interview.”

Y/N shut her laptop with a snap. “Sasha.”

“What?”

“Don’t start.”

Sasha grinned. “Start what? I didn’t say shit.”

“You’re thinking it.”

Sasha tossed a chip in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Aight, fine. Let’s say I was thinking something. What exactly do you think I was thinking?”

Y/N shot her a dry look.

Sasha snorted. “Oh my God, just say you’re nervous.”

Y/N huffed. “I’m not nervous.”

Sasha pointed at her with a chip. “Then why you actin’ like the deadline itself is Onyankopon?”

Y/N snatched the bag from her hands.

Sasha let out a dramatic gasp. “Damn. That serious?”

Y/N groaned, leaning back against the couch. “I don’t wanna do this right now.”

Sasha smirked. “Right, right. So when is a good time to unpack the fact that the love of your life—”

Y/N threw the bag back at her. “Don’t start that shit.”

Sasha laughed, catching it with ease. “Fine, fine. But you know I’m right.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Because deep down, Sasha was right.

And that was the problem.

THE DROP DATE

Twitter/X – 10:47 AM

@REALHipHopTalk: 👀 Ony and Connie really snapped on this track. This some real music.

@bitchwholovesrnb: Connie’s vocals??? Ethereal. Ony slid on that beat like it owed him money.

@notyourbabymama: Y’all hear how Ony was talking on this track??? That nigga got history, LMAO. Somebody broke his soul.

@2Trill4U: Nah, the way they used the OG formula but flipped it into something fresh? This gon’ be in rotation all summer.

@ThirstTrapQueen: Me watching Ony growl his way through the verses like a dog in heat 😩🔥 Sir, I will bark back.

TikTok – 11:23 AM

@TrapScholar (stitching the official music video) 🎶 What these bitches want from a nigga? "—NIGGA, WHO HURT YOU?!"

@RnB4L Connie’s little ‘woo’ ad-lib lives in my head rent free.

@HoodPsychologist POV: You listening to Ony’s verse and realizing this nigga is venting.

(Caption: "Somebody call his therapist.")

@MessyMimi The way Ony said, “Bitch” 😭 That wasn’t in the script. That was personal.

Instagram – 12:02 PM

@TheIndustryPlug (Post: Cover art of the track) 🚨 Ony x Connie – What These Bitches Want (2025 Remix) is officially OUT NOW! 🚨

🔗 Stream it everywhere.

💬 Comments:

🔥 @_TheRealOny: Stay out my business. 🔥 @RNBConnie: 🤣🤣🤣🤣 🔥 @MikasaM: 🤦🏾‍♀️

The studio was way quieter than usual. No crazy bet, no heated back-and-forth—just a chill session with the whole crew vibing.

Ony was leaning back on the couch, blunt in hand, scrolling through his phone. He never cared what people thought of his music, but damn, the reaction had him smirking a little.

Connie, as usual, was living for the attention. He had his phone propped up, live on IG, cheesing while reading the comments. “Damn, y’all nosy as hell,” he laughed, shaking his head.

Eren snorted. “they clocked you mid-breath.”

Connie grinned. “That’s star power, baby.”

Mikasa was sitting near the console, arms crossed. “You two are trending.”

Armin, ever the businessman, was already flipping through analytics on his laptop. “Streams are crazy. We got one million in four hours.”

Ony exhaled smoke, barely reacting. “Cool.”

Connie turned toward him. “Bro, ‘cool’?” He pointed at Armin’s screen. “That’s money.”

Ony shrugged. “It’s what we do.”

Connie sucked his teeth. “You kill my vibe.”

“Not my problem.”

Before Connie could throw a pillow at his head, the studio door swung open.

Sasha walked in, hype as hell, phone in hand. “Y’all SEEING this shit?”

Mikasa sighed. “We’re aware.”

Sasha ignored her, hopping onto the couch beside Connie. “No, ‘cause the way people are picking apart Ony’s verse…” She wiggled her eyebrows, looking straight at Ony.

Ony, unfazed, took another drag. “And?”

Sasha grinned. “And they think you wrote it about somebody.”

The room went quiet.

Eren looked up. Armin shut his laptop. Mikasa sighed again. Connie? Grinning like the devil himself.

Ony rolled his jaw, but he didn’t take the bait. “They think a lot of shit.”

Sasha leaned in. “So they wrong?”

Ony didn’t answer. Just took another hit, eyes locked on his screen.

Connie clapped his hands together. “Aite, y’all know what time it is.”

Ony groaned. “Nigga, shut up.”

Connie laughed. “I would—but you just made this way too fun.”

Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, phone in one hand, scrolling through Twitter with the other. The TL was on fire.

@notyourbabymama: Nah, Ony was talking to somebody specific on that track. WHO GOT THIS MAN IN HIS FEELINGS?

@2Trill4U: The way this man said “Bitch” like she stole his soul??? 😭

@ThirstTrapQueen: Y’all see how Connie hyped Ony up in the background? That’s a real R&B singer right there.

She snorted, shaking her head. Same internet, same mess.

Then, her phone buzzed.

Connie: 👀 Connie: Lemme know what you think, ma. [🔗 Link to “What These Bitches Want” – Ony x Connie]

Y/N sighed. This nigga…

She hesitated for a second before clicking the link. The song started blasting through her headphones—hard-hitting, raw, and cocky as hell. Connie’s vocals were as smooth as ever, but Ony?

Yeah. That man was spitting venom.

Her stomach twisted. The way he rapped… the way certain lyrics hit? It felt personal.

And then, another notification popped up.

Connie is live now!

Y/N clicked in, and sure enough, there was Connie—lounging in the studio, chain glinting, scrolling through the comments while laughing his ass off.

She smirked. Bet.

@ynlovesfries: Boy, answer your phone.

Connie saw it instantly. “Nahhh, why she in here like she not supposed to be calling me first?” He grinned, shaking his head. “What’s up, trouble?”

@ynlovesfries: Who in trouble?

Connie laughed. “You.”

The comments were eating it up.

🔥 Not y’all arguing like siblings. 🔥 Connie, what you do?? 🔥 Y/N, tell us the tea.

@ynlovesfries: What these bitches want, huh?

Connie hollered. “Ayo, chat, get your girl, man.”

@ynlovesfries: Why Ony sound like he was talkin’ to somebody specific?

Connie gave the camera a knowing look. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

@ynlovesfries: I hate you.

Connie smirked. “Nah, you love me.”

🔥 The chemistry is CRAZY. 🔥 Is Y/N the ex? 👀 🔥 Nah, she know something we don’t.

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. This fool gon’ be annoying all day.

And deep down? She knew he wasn’t gonna let this go.

Connie strolled over and plopped down next to Ony, draping an arm across the couch like he owned the place. The camera caught everything—the dim studio lighting, the way Ony’s diamond earrings and bright-ass chain caught every flicker, making him glow like a damn superstar.

“Aye, Ony,” Connie grinned, eyeing the comments scrolling at light speed. “The ladies say they wanna hear you do that bark you be doin’ in songs.”

Ony, mid-blunt rotation, exhaled slow, thick smoke curling in the air. He side-eyed the camera, his expression unreadable.

The chat exploded.

🔥 NOT THE SIDE EYE OMGGGG 🔥 HIS EARRINGS GLISTENING HE KILLIN ME 🔥 Ony I love you pls just one bark 🔥 WHY IS HE SO FINE FOR NO REASON

Without a word, Ony hit the blunt again, passing it off to Eren, who took it off-camera. He exhaled, voice dropping so deep it damn near rumbled through the mic.

“Why you next to me, Connie?”

CHAOS.

🔥 OH HE KNOW HE FINE LMAOOO 🔥 HIS VOICE JUST PUNCHED ME IN THE CHEST WTF 🔥 HE MAKING EYE CONTACT I CANT BREATHE 🔥 Connie move I wanna sit next to him

Connie threw his head back laughing. “Yo, he got y’all in shambles, man.”

Ony smirked—just barely—then leaned back into the couch, unbothered as hell, while the comments continued losing their minds.

The chat was still losing it over Ony’s deep-ass voice when a new comment popped up.

@ynlovesfries: Ony too cool for the bark now?

Connie’s eyes lit up the second he saw it. “Ayo, nahhh.” He grinned, pointing at the screen. “Look who finally decided to pop in.”

Ony, who had been casually slouched, took a slow sip from his cup—but his shoulders tensed. Just for a second. Blink and you’d miss it.

The comments? Oh, they noticed.

🔥 WHY HE STIFFEN LIKE THAT LMAOOO 🔥 Who is @ynlovesfries and why Ony react like that??? 🔥 That was a GUT REACTION, y’all saw that? 🔥 Oh this some HISTORY HISTORY

Connie was grinning like a man who lived for mess. He turned to Ony. “Ayo, big dog, you got a response or…?”

Ony ignored him. Instead, he grabbed his phone and started scrolling mindlessly, acting like he wasn’t paying attention.

The chat went CRAZY.

🔥 NOT HIM PRETENDING TO BE BUSY 🔥 Boy, we see you! 🔥 WHO IS SHEEEE??

Connie just shook his head, laughing. “Aight, bet. We’ll leave that alone… for now.”

But the way Ony’s jaw flexed?

Yeah. Everybody knew this wasn’t over.

Connie was still going back and forth with Y/N in the comments, laughing at whatever slick response she just sent. The energy was playful, messy—exactly what the chat loved.

Then he hit them with:

“Aye, for the record, she ain’t my girl. We just go way back.” He waved a dismissive hand, eyes still glued to the chat. “I don’t want her busted ass.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Ony—who had been sitting back, real quiet, real unbothered—shifted.

“Watch your mouth.”

Silence.

Connie froze.

The chat? In absolute flames.

🔥 NAHHH WHY HE SAY IT LIKE THAT??? 🔥 Ony said RESPECT HER RIGHT NOW. 🔥 Connie blink twice if you okay. 🔥 This man has not spoken in MINUTES and now he wanna regulate?? 🔥 Y’ALL. HISTORY. THERE IS HISTORY.

Connie glanced over at Ony, who wasn’t even looking at him—just hitting his blunt like nothing happened.

That made it worse.

Connie laughed it off—a little too quickly. “Damn, I was joking.” He looked at the chat, then back at Ony. "you good?”

Ony didn’t answer. He just kept smoking, eyes locked on the screen.

The damage was already done.

The chat was going feral.

🔥 YEAH HE GOT A SOFT SPOT IDC IDC 🔥 Connie you fumbled the convo now spill the tea 🔥 Ony’s reaction was too natural, he BEEN like her 🔥 I KNEWWWW ITTTT

Speculation was at an all-time high. And the worst part?

Ony didn’t correct a damn thing.

The chat was still in shambles from Ony’s warning when a new comment popped up.

@ynlovesfries: Now you gotta put respect on my Constance.

The chat lost its mind.

🔥 NAHHH NOT THE FULL FIRST NAME 🔥 SHE SAID “CONSTANCE” LIKE HIS MAMA 😭😭😭 🔥 HE GOT CHECKED BY BOTH OF THEM LMAOOO 🔥 Connie you gon let that slide??

Connie squinted at the screen, dramatic as hell. “Nah. No, she didn’t.”

He pointed at the camera, looking betrayed. “Don’t be out here government-naming me like I’m in trouble.”

Ony, still leaned back, exhaled smoke slow. “You are in trouble.”

The chat? Finished.

🔥 Y/N & Ony tag team is wild 🔥 Connie getting cooked from all angles 🔥 HE AINT EVEN DEFEND HIMSELF FR

Connie sighed, rubbing his temples. “Man, let’s talk about something else. Y’all play too much.”

Connie was still going back and forth with Y/N in the comments, and the chat was eating it up. Meanwhile, Ony had been posted up, saying nothing, just scrolling his phone like he wasn’t even there.

And the chat noticed.

🔥 Ony just here for vibes? 🔥 Bro acting like he on payroll to sit and smoke 🔥 He really “if it don’t involve me, IDGAF” personified 🔥 Ony blink if they forcing you to be here

Even Connie caught on. He turned to Ony, laughing. “Damn, you gon’ say something or just keep sitting there looking pretty?”

Ony, still cool as hell, arched a brow at the camera. Then he spoke.

“Well, ask me questions then.” He exhaled smoke and tapped his blunt on the tray. “Y’all in the chat nosy fr.”

The chat? Exploding.

🔥 OH SO HE WANNA TALK NOW?? 🔥 Not the callout 😭 🔥 SOMEBODY ASK ABOUT Y/N NOW 🔥 Boy you knew what you were doing with that

Connie leaned back, shaking his head. “Aight, bet. Y’all heard him. Go ahead, ask Mr. Nonchalant whatever you want.”

And just like that, the floodgates opened.

🔥 Ony, what’s your body count? → “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 🔥 What type of girls you like? → “The kind that mind their business.” 🔥 You really like ‘em crazy, huh? → Ony just smirked. “Ain’t say all that.” 🔥 Ayo, what’s up with you and Y/N? → Message deleted by Live Owner

Connie side-eyed the camera, scrolling through the comments. “Y’all moving devious in here, damn.” He shook his head, sipping his drink. “Ony, they saying you dodging too much.”

Ony exhaled smoke and tilted his head. “Well, ask me questions then.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Y’all in the chat nosy fr.”

🔥 OH HE WANNA TALK NOW?? 🔥 SOMEBODY ASK ABOUT Y/N RIGHT NOW 🔥 Boy you knew what you were doing with that 🔥 You keep dodging Y/N like she Steph Curry or sum

The next wave of questions came in even faster.

🔥 Be real, you single or just single for the public? → Ony chuckled. “I don’t do labels.” 🔥 Ony, what was the last text you sent? → “‘Bet. Say less.’” 🔥 When was the last time a girl humbled you? → “Never happened.”

🔥 So when you gon’ settle down? → “When I get tired.”

Connie looked over and laughed. “Boy, stop lying.”

The chat ate it up.

🔥 WE NEED TO FIND HIS LAST EX RN 🔥 He said "when I get tired" like he don’t be fighting sleep already 🔥 Nah, we need Ony’s ex to speak UP

And then, right in the middle of the chaos—

Sasha joined the live.

Her little profile popped up on the screen, and before anybody could even say anything, she hit Ony with the kill shot.

“Hey, Ony—how you wanna bet you gon’ choke when you see Y/N on Thursday?”

BOOM.

🔥 SASHA, PLEASE—😭😭😭 🔥 SHE WASTED NO TIME 🔥 OH WE GETTING TO THE REAL QUESTIONS NOW 🔥 Ony, explain yourself IMMEDIATELY.

Connie was gone. He damn near choked on his drink, coughing while trying to hold in a laugh. “Ayo, chill—” He waved his hand, shaking his head. “Man, it’s an interview. Y’all nosy fr.”

🔥 “An interview” LMAOOO NAH IT’S FATE 🔥 INTERVIEW OR DESTINY??? 🔥 Ony so quiet now, huh? 🔥 Sasha knew what she was doing

Ony? He just sat back, dragging a hand down his face like he was choosing his next words carefully. He let out a slow exhale, passing his blunt back to Eren off-camera.

Connie nudged him. “Damn, bro, you stuck?”

Ony side-eyed him but still didn’t answer.

🔥 OH HE SILENT NOWWW 🔥 HE GOT NOTHING TO SAY HUH? 🔥 Ony, blink twice if you need help 🔥 Sasha knew EXACTLY what she was doing LMFAO

Meanwhile, Sasha was just chilling, biting into a sandwich like she didn’t just drop the biggest bomb of the night.

She licked some sauce off her thumb. “What? I’m just saying.”

🔥 "NAH SASHA BEING MESSY LMAOOO" 🔥 "OH SHE KNOWS SOMETHING—" 🔥 "Y/N JOIN THE LIVE, STOP PLAYING!" 🔥 "DROP THE IG @ WE TRYNA INVESTIGATE."

The comments were moving wild fast, but one stuck out on the screen for a second longer than the rest—

@ynlovesfries: Sasha, you being messy now.

Connie immediately saw it and started laughing. “Ayo, she in here—”

Sasha, mid-chew, didn’t even blink. “And?” She shrugged. “She know I ain’t lying.”

🔥 "YOOO SHE RIGHT HERE AHAHAH" 🔥 "Y/N CONFIRM OR DENY??" 🔥 "NOT HER BESTIE EXPOSING HER ON MAIN."

Then, before Y/N could even try to ignore it, Sasha wiped her fingers off and smirked. “Nah, blame your big head-ass bestie for hosting this live.”

🔥 "BESTIE?? SO THEY CLOSE??" 🔥 "CONNIE WHY YOU AIN’T SAY THAT." 🔥 "OH YEAH, THEY BEEN LINKED, I KNEW IT."

The comments went off.

🔥 "Y/N and Ony definitely had a thing back in the day." 🔥 "WAIT, BESTIE? SO YOU TELLING ME SHE AND CONNIE BEEN CLOSE TOO?" 🔥 "OH, WE NEED Y/N ON THIS LIVE RIGHT NOW."

Connie leaned forward, still scrolling through. “Damn, they on your head, ma.” He chuckled. “Y’all got my comments in detective mode.”

🔥 "NAH, CONNIE DON’T DEFLECT, CONFIRM OR DENY??" 🔥 "Y/N, WE NEED ANSWERS, STOP HIDING!" 🔥 "ON Y/N TO FINALLY SAY SOMETHING."

Sasha sat back, sipping her drink, looking at the chat like she wasn’t the one who just stirred the entire pot.

Then someone finally asked the real question.

🔥 "So if Y/N and Connie besties… does that mean she was around Ony back then?"

🔥 "OOOOHHH WAIT A MINUTE." 🔥 "SO THEY DID KNOW EACH OTHER." 🔥 "THIS LIVE GETTING GOOD."

And now? All eyes were on Ony.

Ony, who was still sitting back, still looking unbothered—except for the fact that he hadn’t said shit.

Connie saw the silence and smirked. “Damn, why he quiet now?”

🔥 "ONYANKOPON, EXPLAIN YOURSELF NOW." 🔥 "Y/N, JUST JOIN THE LIVE AND END THIS MYSTERY." 🔥 "NAH, HE AVOIDING EYE CONTACT AHAHAH."

Sasha side-eyed the screen. “Mm.” She popped another fry in her mouth. “He shook.”

As soon as Y/N’s name popped up on the live screen, the comments went crazy.

🔥 "SHE REALLY JOINED??" 🔥 "OH IT’S ABOUT TO GET GOOD." 🔥 "CONNIE, DON’T FOLD NOW."

The split screen loaded, and there she was—Y/N, sitting back in her room, hoodie on, bonnet secured, looking unbothered.

"Y’all really begged me to get on here," she deadpanned, adjusting her camera.

Connie cracked up immediately. "Nah, don’t act like you wasn’t watching the whole time."

"And?" She raised a brow. "I could’ve stayed lurking."

🔥 "LMAO SHE A LURKER FR." 🔥 "NAH, SHE BEEN HERE, JUST WAITING."

Ony, still laid back, exhaled slow through his nose. He passed the blunt off to Eren and finally spoke.

"Y’all don’t got nothing better to do on this live, huh?" His voice was deep, a little raspy, dragging with that same slow, laid-back energy that made people hang on every word.

🔥 "ONYANKOPON HAS SPOKEN." 🔥 "WHY HE SOUND LIKE THAT THOUGH." 🔥 "NAH, MY KNEES WEAK WTF."

And then, out of nowhere—

@dreamdoll_23: "I'm not Cinderella, but I know it fits 😏."

🔥 "WAIT, WHAT??" 🔥 "OH SHE SHOOTING HER SHOT." 🔥 "NAH, GET HER ON THIS LIVE TOO."

Ony paused mid-blunt pass. His dark eyes flicked down at the screen, squinting slightly.

"Ayo, who said that?" He shifted, leaning in closer. "Tell her hit me up."

🔥 "OH HE BOLD—" 🔥 "NO WAY HE JUST SAID THAT." 🔥 "ONYANKOPONYOU GOTTA RELAX."

Y/N? Dead silent.

She side-eyed the camera, clicked the 'leave' button, and was gone before anyone could say a damn thing.

🔥 "LMAOO SHE LEFT—" 🔥 "OH SHE MAD AHAHA." 🔥 "WHY SHE DODGE LIKE THAT??"

Connie? Cackling.

Sasha? Shaking her head.

Ony? Just smirked. "Aight, aight ." Then he took another drag, like he ain’t just set the chat on fire.

As soon as Y/N dipped from the live, the chat lost its mind.

🔥 "NAH SHE REALLY LEFT—" 🔥 "SHE DIPPED SO FAST LMAOO." 🔥 "ONYANKOPON YOU IN TROUBLE."

Connie was still laughing, shaking his head while sipping from his cup. “Damn, she really ain’t wanna stick around for that.”

Ony? Unbothered.

He stretched, flexing just a little as he leaned back into the couch, scrolling through the comments. Then his gaze flicked back to @dreamdoll_23, the one who said she wasn’t Cinderella but knew it fit.

"Ayo, shorty, you still in here?" He smirked, reaching for his phone.

🔥 "OMG NOT HIM LOOKING FOR HER." 🔥 "HE REALLY BOUT TO FLIRT??" 🔥 "Y/N BOUT TO THROW HANDS LMAOO."

@dreamdoll_23 commented: "I’m here, what's up? 👀"

Ony grinned, licking his bottom lip. "Aight, bet. Drop your IG real quick."

The chat went insane.

🔥 "ONYANKOPON YOU A MENACE." 🔥 "Y/N LEFT TWO SECONDS AGO AND YOU ALREADY MOVING??" 🔥 "BRO GOT NO CHILL."

Connie, watching from the side, shook his head and muttered, "Nah, this man different."

Once @dreamdoll_23 dropped her IG, Ony clicked over to her page right there on live. The screen dimmed slightly as he scrolled through her pictures.

"Oh, you look good, ma." His voice was smooth, deep, dragging in that slow, syrupy way that made the chat explode.

🔥 "NOT HIM DOING THIS IN FRONT OF US." 🔥 "HE REALLY SCROLLING THROUGH HER PICS??" 🔥 "Y/N AIN’T GON LIKE THIS."

Ony smirked, tapping on one of her photos. “Damn, where you from?”

@dreamdoll_23: "NYC, why? You trying to fly me out? 👀"

Connie lost it, nearly spitting out his drink. "Oh hell nah," he wheezed.

Sasha popped back into the chat. "LMAOO not Ony with the bottle girl rizz on IG live."

Ony, still scrolling through her page, chuckled. "I might. You tryna get flewed out?"

🔥 "NOT FLEWED OUT—" 🔥 "OH HE IN HIS BAG NOW." 🔥 "Y/N GONNA BE HOT WHEN SHE SEES THIS."

Someone in the chat: "She look good, but she not Y/N tho."

The whole vibe shifted for a second.

🔥 "LMAOOOOOOO YALL PETTY." 🔥 "WHO SAID THAT." 🔥 "NO ONE CAN ESCAPE Y/N'S SHADOW I SWEAR."

Ony? Still scrolling, still cool. "Y’all love bringing up old shit," he muttered, but there was the tiniest flicker of something in his expression.

Connie? Watching like a hawk.

Sasha? Not letting up.

"Ayo, Ony, you can flirt all you want, but bet money you still gon' freeze up when you see Y/N next week."

🔥 "OHHHHH SHIT." 🔥 "SHE NOT WRONG THO." 🔥 "ONYNKOPON, BE HONEST—YOU SHOOK?"

Ony chuckled, shaking his head. He took another slow drag from his blunt, exhaled thick smoke, and said,

"Man, y’all really think I'm worried? Aight, bet. We’ll see."

a next girl shot her shot saying they say shooters shot hey Onyankopon Carter what up with you.

The moment that comment hit the chat, the whole live went stupid.

🔥 "NAH SHE ATE THAT." 🔥 "SHE SAID WHAT SHE SAID." 🔥 "Y/N COME BACK IMMEDIATELY."

Onyankopon grinned, flashing his grillz as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Aight, who said that?” He scrolled back up, eyes flicking over the flood of reactions. @bigfine94—her profile pic was cute, lips glossy, nails done.

“Ayo, @bigfine94, I see you,” Ony said, his voice dropping a little.

🔥 "LMAO NOT HIM ACKNOWLEDGING IT." 🔥 "SHE REALLY BOLD FOR THAT ONE." 🔥 "SOMEONE GET Y/N ON THE LINE."

@bigfine94: "Yeah, yeah, you see me. But what’s up with you?"

Ony chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m chillin’, ma. You out here tryna make me risk it all on live?”

🔥 "NOT RISK IT ALL—" 🔥 "Y/N GONNA HAVE TO CLOCK IN." 🔥 "THIS MAN TOO SMOOTH WTF."

@bigfine94: "I mean… that smile would look even better when I’m looking back at you. 👀"

THE WHOLE CHAT LOST IT.

🔥 "NAH SHE WON." 🔥 "SHE REALLY SHOT FROM HALF-COURT." 🔥 "Y/N WHERE YOU AT BABY??"

Connie fell out laughing, slapping his knee. “Yo, I like her! She got bars!”

Even Eren, off-camera, let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Ony? Grinning, licking his bottom lip. "Oh, you bold, bold."

@bigfine94: "Gotta be when it comes to you. 😘"

🔥 "SHE WANT HIM FR." 🔥 "Y/N CHECK YOUR PHONE NOW." 🔥 "ONYANKOPON SMILING TOO HARD."

Ony leaned back, rubbing his jaw. “Aight, @bigfine94, I’ma remember you.”

Connie shook his head, still laughing. “Yeah, you gon’ remember when Y/N cusses your ass out.”

🔥 "CONNIE KNOWS THE TRUTH." 🔥 "THIS GON BE A PROBLEM." 🔥 "Y/N GOTTA SEE THIS."

And just like that, the chat had a new mission—tagging Y/N everywhere.

The chat was already in shambles, but the second Y/N’s name popped up again, things escalated.

🔥 "NAH WHERE Y/N AT??" 🔥 "SHE GOTTA SEE THIS." 🔥 "THAT GIRL REALLY TOOK HER SHOT AND HE SMILING TOO HARD LMAOO."

Sasha, who had been kicking back, watching the chaos unfold, finally spoke up on the live. She adjusted her camera and squinted at the chat.

“Ayo, y’all messy as hell.” She shook her head, laughing. “Why y’all keep bringing Y/N into this? She don’t know Ony like that.”

🔥 "SASHA, BABY, WHY YOU LYIN'??" 🔥 "👀👀👀 SHE SAID WHAT NOW??" 🔥 "NAH WE GOT RECEIPTS."

And just like that, someone in the chat decided to be a full-blown detective.

@deepdiver56: "NAH NAH. You a liar. If y’all scroll all the way down Ony's IG, there’s a pic of them together looking real cozy."

🔥 "WAIT, WAIT, WAIT—" 🔥 "SAY YOU SWEAR." 🔥 "SOMEBODY PULL UP THE LINK IMMEDIATELY."

Ony, who had been laughing, smirking, and playing along this whole time—froze.

Not for long. Just a split-second hesitation. But it was long enough for the chat to notice.

🔥 "GOT HIM." 🔥 "HE FROZE UP LMAOOO." 🔥 "NAH NOW WE NEED ANSWERS."

Connie caught that too, and this man WAS LOVING IT. He leaned into the camera, grinning.

“Damn, Ony, why you stop laughing?” He tilted his head. “You ain’t got nothing to say?”

🔥 "CONNIE A MENACE." 🔥 "HE POKIN’ THE BEAR LMAO." 🔥 "ONY STIFF AS HELL RN."

Ony exhaled slowly, licking his bottom lip before sitting back and picking up his blunt. He took a deep pull, the ember glowing as the chat waited on his response.

“Niggas be bringing up ancient history,” he muttered, voice smooth, heavy. He passed the blunt to Eren off-camera, not looking at the phone.

🔥 "OH HE SICK." 🔥 "‘ANCIENT HISTORY’ MY ASS." 🔥 "Y/N NEEDS TO WAKE UP RN."

Sasha, seeing how cornered Ony looked, tried to smooth things over. “Look, all I’m saying is y’all reading too deep into shit.”

The chat wasn’t hearing it.

@pullupreceipts: "NOOOO CUZ LOOK—"

And before Ony could even shut it down, someone had dropped the link to the old post.

🔥 "YALL MOVE TOO FAST WTF." 🔥 "OH NAH, THIS PIC KINDA INTIMATE??" 🔥 "ONY, BE SO FR RIGHT NOW."

Connie grabbed his phone, clicked the link, and busted out laughing. “Oh yeah,” he said, spinning his phone to Ony’s face. “Bro, you can’t tell me this don’t look like something.”

Ony glanced at it, jaw tensing slightly. The pic wasn’t even that bad—just an old shot from way back. Him and Y/N at some house party, shoulder to shoulder, his arm resting behind her on the couch, a red cup in his other hand.

But the way he was looking at her?

🔥 "NAH. HE LOOKS WHIPPED." 🔥 "HE CAN'T EVEN DENY IT." 🔥 "Y/N BETTER TAP IN REAL QUICK."

Ony sucked his teeth and waved Connie off, voice gruff. “Man, get that out my face.”

🔥 "HE MAD." 🔥 "NAH THIS LIVE TOO GOOD." 🔥 "Y/N WE NEED A RESPONSE ASAP."

And just like that, the entire chat was blowing up her notifications.

Some raggedy tea page said they were gonna record the live

The chat exploded at that statement, and things took a sharp turn.

🔥 "NAH THEY REALLY ABOUT TO MAKE A VIDEO OUTTA THIS??" 🔥 "I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE THIS ON YOUTUBE." 🔥 "SOMEONE SCREENSHOT THIS. I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THEY GONNA SAY ABOUT THIS LIVE."

Connie, ever the instigator, couldn't help but laugh at the drama unfolding. “Yo, they really gonna make content outta this? I might as well sell my clips to ‘em at this point.”

🔥 "CONNIE A MESS." 🔥 "HE TOO COMFORTABLE WITH THE CHAOS." 🔥 "IF THIS GETS PUT ON YOUTUBE, YALL KNOW IT’S GOING VIRAL."

Sasha rolled her eyes from the side, shaking her head. “Man, y’all wild.” But even she couldn’t deny the entertainment value of the situation.

Then, the tea page made their mark:

@TeaTimeWithTash: “I’m recording this entire live. I’m dissecting every second for my YouTube, y’all better believe that. Stay tuned.”

🔥 "SHE'S DOING GOD'S WORK." 🔥 "I'M FINNA BE IN THE COMMENTS." 🔥 "THEY GONNA EXPOSE EVERYTHING."

Ony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking done. “Y’all really finna turn this into a whole show, huh?” he muttered under his breath. He looked straight into the camera, his eyes narrowing. “Fine. Keep playing. Just wait ‘til the real interview drops. Then we’ll see who really has the story.”

🔥 "OOOOOH, TALK YOUR TALK." 🔥 "HE READY TO DROP THE TRUTH." 🔥 "MAN SAID THE REAL STORY."

Connie leaned back and shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. “Shit, let ‘em have their fun. The reception is already wild.”

Sasha, realizing just how deep the mess was getting, tried to get things back on track. “Aight, aight, that’s enough for today. Y’all are really out here making mikasa's job harder.”

But the chat was relentless. Everyone had their eyes glued to the screen.

🔥 "YALL KNOW THIS ABOUT TO GO CRAZY ON THE INTERNET." 🔥 "SASHA, YOU KNOW YOU CAN’T STOP THE STORM." 🔥 "SO WHAT ABOUT THAT PIC??"

The chaos finally calmed down, but only slightly. Connie, still lounging comfortably in the chair, leaned back and checked his phone. His smile faltered when he saw his notifications blowing up—from Y/N.

He rolled his eyes, his lips curling into a grin as he swiped open his messages. Y/N’s texts were coming in fast and furious, each one more fiery than the last:

Y/N: "I swear, you really out here causing trouble? What’s this nonsense you got me involved in?" Y/N: "Why you acting like I’m some kind of side chick?"

Connie bit back a laugh, knowing exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t about to let this slide. His fingers tapped out a quick reply:

Connie: "C’mon Ma, it ain't like that. Chill, we all know it’s just some fun."

But before he could finish typing, his phone started blowing up again—this time with voice notes from Y/N. He looked over at Ony, who was still quietly smoking, smirking at the chaos and still watching people go off on the live. The fans in the comments had noticed Connie’s sudden activity on his other phone and took it the wrong way.

🔥 "Connie out here texting some girl while on live??" 🔥 "We see you, Connie. Don’t act like we don’t know." 🔥 "I swear Connie’s always got some new girl on the side."

Meanwhile, Connie was trying to hold it together, though his attention was clearly split. He didn’t care much about the comments—he was more focused on Y/N’s voice notes.

He pressed play on the first one:

Y/N’s voice: “Don’t even try to play me right now. You really out here acting like we cool with this? I’m not one of your damn groupies.”

Connie couldn't help but chuckle. "I know she’s mad… but damn, she sound good." He quickly hit reply:

Connie: "You know I ain't like that. Stop trippin', it’s just a lil’ live to mess with the fans."

The next voice note came through, and it was longer this time.

Y/N’s voice: “Man, don’t play with me. You know what you’re doing. You can’t keep me out here looking dumb for a bunch of randoms who think they know us. I ain’t some prop you can use for content, Connie. Stop it.”

Connie looked at the screen, grinning mischievously. He knew he had to play it cool.

Connie: "C’mon, ma. You know I got love for you. It’s just for the live. Ain’t nobody here serious, and you know that. But you gonna make me pull up on you again, huh?"

He clicked send and leaned back, glancing at Ony who was now chuckling under his breath. The reactions on the live had already taken a life of their own, with people speculating left and right.

🔥 "Y’all peepin’ Connie’s texts?" 🔥 "He gotta be texting some girl. Ain’t no way he not." 🔥 "Yo, why y’all making this mess, Connie?"

Connie just smiled to himself. “Nah, don’t worry. This ain't what they think.”

But the situation was spiraling in ways no one could’ve predicted. Connie was getting his inbox blown up with messages from fans who thought it was all about him texting a new girl.

🔥 "Connie, you got a new shorty or nah?" 🔥 "Y’all gotta put some respect on Y/N's name tho, why she getting dragged into this mess?"

As the notifications kept popping up, Connie got a quick idea. He typed out another message to Y/N:

Connie: "Let me call you. I ain't finna let the fans get this twisted. Let's talk it out."

He hit send, then quickly switched back to the live screen. The fans were still commenting, but now their focus was split. Some of them were more intrigued about the mystery woman, while others were invested in whether Connie and Y/N would finally clear things up.

The live ended after a few more minutes, but Connie wasn't done just yet. He called Y/N directly, hoping she’d answer—knowing the game wasn’t over until they both had their say.

Y/N’s POV:

The second I left that damn live, I felt relief—but it was short-lived. The chaos I had just stepped away from continued to churn in the background like a storm. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, fingers hovering over the screen for a moment as I took a deep breath.

I knew I had to check.

I opened my spam account, because this was definitely the kind of mess that needed to be observed with a little distance. The comments section was on fire, and I couldn’t even blink without something new popping up. People were dissecting every word I said, every movement, and the way Ony reacted to me. Honestly? I wasn’t surprised. They’d been on our necks since day one, trying to piece together a puzzle we weren't even sure of ourselves.

I scrolled through the live recap and watched it all unfold again:

Ony still sitting there, looking like he was unbothered, but I knew deep down it was all just an act. The way he was flirting with those girls, dropping bars like it was nothing, and the way he casually slipped into his player role. It made my stomach churn in a way I couldn’t quite explain. I shouldn’t be mad—I mean, that was Ony after all—but for some reason, today hit different.

He wasn’t even trying to hide it, really. He kept calling out the girls, knowing full well the camera was on him, reading off the comments. He wasn’t even sparing me a second of attention… until they started mentioning my name.

The comments flooded in:

🔥 "I heard Y/N and Ony used to be close, anyone else see that old pic of them together?" 🔥 "Y’all think they linked up again?" 🔥 "Yo, anyone else notice Ony stiffen when they said her name?"

I saw Connie’s comment too, cracking jokes, calling me out for being messy, and every time I saw his face, I wanted to scream. He was egging everything on. He knew exactly what he was doing. And I was over here, stuck in my head, trying to figure out why the hell I ever thought we’d have a chance at being something real.

But as I kept watching, something caught my eye. Ony—he was still flirting, but there was that moment… That moment when someone had mentioned my name again. He froze, and it was almost unnoticeable. The way his body stiffened, how his eyes flickered for just a second. He’d seen me, right? He had to have.

My chest tightened, the whole situation getting way more personal than it had any right to. And then, out of nowhere, the screen filled with this one comment that I wasn’t ready for:

🔥 "Ayo, if y’all scroll down Ony's IG, there's a pic of him and Y/N looking mad cozy. Bet they used to mess with each other for real."

It felt like my breath caught in my throat as I immediately pulled up his Instagram, my thumb moving on its own. The pic was there, the one we tried to forget. Me and Ony, our arms draped around each other, looking like we were in our own little world. The comments exploded with speculation, and it didn’t help that Ony froze in the live when it was brought up.

That was the part I had been trying to avoid. The truth I had been running from.

I was just about to back out when Sasha’s voice broke through my thoughts. She was on the live too, teasing Ony and Connie about us. I was already feeling awkward enough but hearing Sasha say, “Sasha you being messy now, they don’t even know Ony like that,” just made it worse. It was clear that everyone knew something was going on, even if no one had the full story.

And then came the comment that made me sigh.

🔥 "Nah nah, u a liar. If y’all scroll all the way down, Ony’s IG got pics of him and Y/N from back in the day looking real cozy!"

That moment was the one where everything changed. The floodgates opened. The speculations were no longer rumors. They were facts now, and I couldn’t deny it. My phone was buzzing like crazy, Connie was probably texting me again, and I didn’t even know how to respond.

I needed space.

I needed time to think about it all. But all I wanted to do was shut down. So I turned my phone off for a second, letting out a long breath. What the hell was I doing? What was this really all about?

The minute I swiped my phone back on, I could feel the weight of it all. Connie had probably texted me again, and I knew damn well that Ony was probably still trying to keep up the same front in the live. The world seemed to be spinning faster than I could keep up. I could feel the drama building, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for whatever came next.

But before I could process it, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was a new message:

“You up?”

It was from Connie.

I took a deep breath, knowing this was the moment where everything could either get better… or even worse.

I stared at my phone, the screen lighting up with Connie’s name flashing across my notifications. Text after text and a voice note popping up right after. My fingers hovered over the screen as I debated whether to even listen to his damn voice notes. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was probably laughing his ass off on the other side, thinking this whole mess was some kind of game.

But I wasn’t playing.

I wasn’t sure if it was the live still replaying in my mind or the fact that the whole world seemed to be speculating about my past with Ony, but I couldn’t take it anymore.

I tapped on the first message.

Connie: “Ayo, you see what’s going on in the live? You know the fans always digging for something, but you’re making it worse by not even acknowledging it. Come on, we just having fun!”

I rolled my eyes. Fun? Really? This wasn’t fun. This was messy, and I didn’t sign up for this shit. I typed a reply, my fingers typing faster than my brain could process.

Y/N: “Messy?? You think this is funny? You’re encouraging this chaos, and I’m over here trying to move on, and now all of a sudden my entire past with Ony’s getting dragged up. You think that’s a joke?!”

I stared at the screen for a second, feeling my pulse quicken. His next voice note buzzed through.

Connie's Voice Note: "C'mon, Y/N. I get it, you're not into all this public drama, but look, they love to speculate, and that's what they do. Just let it ride, fam. Ony ain't trippin', you shouldn’t either. You already know how the game goes. No need to act like you ain't got a little fun in you. You good, I promise.”

His voice was calm, but that didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it pissed me off more. I took a moment to breathe, then replied, feeling the heat rise in my chest.

Y/N: “Nah, I don’t care if we’re best friends, this shit ain’t funny, Connie. You’re out here hyping it up like it’s a damn game. I’m over it. I didn’t ask for any of this. I’m not some side character in y’all’s reality show, and I’m done letting people drag me into this mess.”

I hit send, then threw my phone on the couch, running my hands through my hair. This whole situation had gone from annoying to straight-up frustrating. I wasn’t a part of their drama—not anymore—and if they couldn’t see that, I didn’t know what to do.

Then the phone buzzed again, almost instantly.

Connie’s Text: "Alright, alright. My bad, I feel you. But you know how these lives go. Don’t stress it. You know me better than anyone, and I got your back."

I stared at the message for a long moment, trying to process it. He wasn’t wrong about one thing: I did know him better than anyone. But that didn’t make it any easier to ignore what had happened in the live. Ony was in there, putting on his usual show, acting like everything was just business as usual.

But this wasn’t business as usual to me.

Ony and I had a past. That wasn’t something that could be erased just because people were speculating. And the way he just sat there, flirting with those fans while I was being dragged through the mud, made me question a lot of things.

I leaned back, shaking my head. He had a way of making everything seem effortless, like nothing ever mattered. But maybe that was the problem.

Maybe it never mattered to him.

I closed my eyes for a second, letting the thoughts settle. The buzz of my phone pulled me back to reality. Another text, this time from Connie.

Connie: "Y/N, seriously. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Look, Ony will handle it. The live's over, and the smoke will clear. You’ll see."

I didn’t reply right away. Instead, I felt my frustration bubble up again. If only it were that easy. But nothing with Ony was ever easy.

I grabbed my phone, hit Connie's number, and let it ring through, hoping he'd answer. He picked up on the third ring.

“Y/N, I know you're mad, but—”

I didn’t let him finish. “Connie, this isn’t about you or me. It’s about the fact that I’m not playing this game. I don’t care if you think it’s fun. I’m tired of being caught in the middle of this shit. It’s messy. I didn’t sign up for it, and I’m done being your entertainment.”

There was silence on the other end for a second. “I get it,” he finally said, voice softer. “I really do. But, Y/N, you know better than anyone, the game never stops. People love the drama, and they love the what-if stories. Hell, we all do.”

I sighed, feeling the weight of everything. “Not this time,” I muttered, before hanging up.

I wasn’t looking for drama. I wasn’t here to be part of a show. I was done with that life.

But somehow, I couldn’t stop thinking about the one person who was always in the background of it all—Ony. And I wasn’t sure I could ever really move past it.

I heard Connie chuckle on the other end of the line, and I immediately knew where this was going.

“I know what this is about,” he said, a playful tone in his voice. “It’s about Ony flirting with those IG baddies on the live, isn’t it? That’s what’s got you all stressed out like this.”

My stomach dropped. He wasn’t wrong, but hearing him say it out loud just made everything feel more real, more exposed. I rubbed my temple, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Connie,” I said, my voice low. “Don’t act like I’m the only one who saw that. You think I don’t know how this looks? I’m over here, trying to handle everything, and he’s out there, acting like he didn’t just ruin everything. Flirting with those girls, and I’m supposed to just let it slide?”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and I could almost hear Connie processing my words. Then he finally spoke up again, his tone quieter this time.

“Look, Y/N, I’m not saying you’re wrong for feeling like this. But I’m telling you, Ony’s not like that. He’s always been this way. You know him better than anyone else, and you know how he plays the game.”

“I get that, Connie, but that doesn’t make it easier,” I snapped, my patience wearing thin. “I can’t keep pretending like it’s all just for show. When it’s me, it’s real. So what the hell am I supposed to think when he’s out there laughing it off?”

Connie let out a deep breath. “I get it. You want him to be real with you, but he’s… well, he’s Ony. You know how he is. He keeps his distance. That’s his thing. He doesn’t let people in.”

“Yeah, well,” I muttered, my frustration bubbling back to the surface, “I used to think I was someone he let in.”

“Y/N, come on,” Connie said softly, a little more serious now. “You know he’s always had a way of keeping things complicated. But you were always more than just another girl to him. If you think otherwise, you’ve got it twisted.”

I felt a lump form in my throat at his words. Connie always knew how to hit me where it hurt, even when he wasn’t trying to. It was too easy for him to say things like that, to remind me that I wasn’t just a part of the game.

But that didn’t change the fact that Ony had chosen to let me walk away. He could’ve stopped me. He didn’t.

And now, it was too late.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep myself composed. “I’m not going to be a part of his little publicity stunt just to make him look good,” I said firmly. “This isn’t some reality TV show. It’s my life.”

Connie paused before answering, his voice a little more hesitant. “I feel you. But, look, Ony’s not trying to hurt you. He’s just… doing his thing. You just gotta trust that he knows what he’s doing. When you see him Thursday, you’ll see it.”

“You think so?” I asked, the words heavy with doubt.

“Yeah. I do.” There was a moment of silence between us before Connie added, “And if you need to talk before Thursday, you know where to find me.”

I didn’t respond right away, taking a few seconds to breathe before I finally said, “Yeah. Thanks, Connie. I’ll think about it.”

After a beat, I hung up.

My mind was racing. What was I even supposed to think about all this?

I tossed my phone back down onto the couch, staring at the ceiling as the weight of everything pressed down on me. Ony was out there, doing his thing, while I was over here, trying to make sense of it all. But was I really going to let him walk all over me again? Just because he wanted to keep up the player image?

I wasn’t sure I could keep up with this anymore. And the hardest part was that I didn’t know whether I even wanted to try.

But one thing was for sure—I wasn’t just going to sit back and let him get away with it. Not this time.

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