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"You really think I wouldn’t notice?" Gwen’s voice was low, almost amused, but there was a tension humming under it like a live wire. She leaned against the doorframe of Miles’ bedroom, arms crossed, watching the way Miles froze mid-step, her sneakers squeaking against the hardwood. The hoodie she’d stolen—Gwen’s hoodie—hung off one shoulder, exposing the sharp line of Miles’ collarbone.
Miles turned, slow, deliberate, her fingers twisting the hem of the oversized fabric. "Notice what?" she tried, all wide-eyed innocence, but Gwen knew that look—the one that meant Miles was already calculating how much trouble she was in.
Gwen pushed off the doorframe, stepping into the room with the lazy confidence of someone who already knew they'd won. The overhead light caught the silver of her brow piercing as she tilted her head. "The hoodie," she said, like it was obvious. "You stole it again."
Miles exhaled through her nose, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The fabric smelled like Gwen—like cheap detergent and that stupid vanilla body spray she refused to stop using. "Borrowed," Miles corrected, defensive. "Not stole."
Gwen closed the distance between them in three long strides, her boots scuffing against the floorboards. Miles didn’t back up—she never did—but Gwen saw the way her throat worked when she swallowed, the way her fingers twitched like she was deciding whether to bolt or stand her ground. "Borrowed," Gwen repeated, slow, savoring the word like it was a joke only she got. Her hand came up, fingers brushing the edge of the hoodie’s sleeve where it sagged off Miles’ wrist. "You keep ‘borrowing’ my shit, I’m gonna start charging interest."
Miles rolled her eyes, but Gwen didn’t miss the hitch in her breath when Gwen’s knuckles grazed her pulse point. "What’s the interest rate, then?" Miles shot back, tilting her chin up in that way that always made Gwen want to bite it. "You gonna make me pay in kisses? Cuz that’s kinda—”
Gwen didn’t let her finish. Her hand snapped out, fingers curling around the back of Miles’ neck, yanking her forward hard enough to make her stumble. Miles’ yelp was cut off by Gwen’s mouth crashing into hers—all teeth and heat and the sharp taste of spearmint gum. Gwen kissed her like she was pissed, like she was starving, and Miles melted into it with a whine, her fingers scrabbling at Gwen’s waist like she couldn’t decide whether to push or pull.
"Interest," Gwen growled against her lips, dragging her thumb along the hinge of Miles’ jaw. "You wanna play brat? Fine. But you’re gonna take what you’ve got coming." Her other hand shoved under the stolen hoodie, palm skimming up Miles’ ribcage, and Miles gasped, arching into the touch. Gwen didn’t miss the way her thighs pressed together, the way her breath hitched when Gwen’s fingers found the sensitive dip of her waist.
Gwen’s grip tightened on the back of Miles’ neck, her nails just shy of biting into skin. She could feel the way Miles shivered under her touch, the way her pulse jumped against Gwen’s thumb like a trapped bird. "You’re such a fucking thief," Gwen murmured, dragging her teeth over Miles’ bottom lip just hard enough to sting. "Stealing my clothes, my time—think you’re slick, huh?"
Miles whimpered, her fingers finally settling on Gwen’s hips, digging in with enough force to bruise. "You—ah—you let me," she managed, breathless, her voice cracking when Gwen’s hand slid higher, calloused fingers brushing the underside of her breast. "You like it."
Gwen’s laugh was dark, throaty, the sound vibrating against Miles’ lips as she nipped at them again. "Yeah," she admitted, voice dropping into something rougher, possessive. "I do." Her fingers flexed against Miles’ ribs, thumb skating over a peaked nipple through the thin fabric of her sports bra, and Miles jerked like she’d been shocked, a sharp little noise tearing from her throat. Gwen swallowed it greedily, kissing her harder, deeper, until Miles was panting against her mouth, her knees wobbling.
The hoodie hit the floor with a muffled thump as Gwen shoved it off Miles’ shoulders, her hands immediately mapping the warm skin beneath, tracing the lean muscles of Miles’ stomach, the dip of her navel. Miles’ breath came in uneven gasps, her fingers twisting in the hem of Gwen’s tank top, knuckles brushing the hot skin of Gwen’s waist. "Gwen—" she started, voice shaky, but Gwen cut her off with a sharp pinch to her hip, her other hand sliding up to cradle the back of Miles’ head, fingers tangling in her curls.
Gwen didn’t give Miles a chance to protest—not that she would’ve. Her grip on Miles’ curls tightened just enough to make her gasp, and with a sharp tug backward, Gwen guided her toward the bed, their mouths still locked in a messy, breathless kiss. Miles stumbled, her legs hitting the edge of the mattress, and Gwen didn’t hesitate, shoving her down with a rough hand to the chest. Miles landed with a soft oof, her hair fanning out against the sheets, eyes wide and dark with something between defiance and want. Gwen loomed over her, one knee pressing into the mattress between Miles’ thighs, her free hand already working at the waistband of Miles’ sweatpants.
"Always so fucking greedy," Gwen murmured, her voice thick with amusement as she hooked her fingers under the fabric, yanking it down Miles’ hips in one smooth motion. Miles hissed, arching off the bed as cool air hit her bare skin, but Gwen didn’t give her time to adjust, her palms sliding up Miles’ thighs, spreading them wider. "Stealing my shit, talking back—you want me to wreck you, don’t you?" Miles’ breath hitched, her thighs trembling under Gwen’s touch, and Gwen smirked, leaning down to nip at the sensitive skin of Miles’ inner thigh. "Yeah, you do. Fucking brat."
Miles whined, her fingers twisting in the sheets, but Gwen could see the way her hips twitched, the way her breath came in shallow, eager little pants. Gwen didn’t make her wait. She dragged her tongue up the length of Miles’ cunt in one slow, filthy stroke, savoring the way Miles jerked, a choked-off moan tearing from her throat. Gwen hummed against her, the vibration sending a visible shudder through Miles’ body, her thighs clamping around Gwen’s head instinctively. Gwen didn’t stop—wouldn’t stop—her tongue circling Miles’ clit with relentless precision, her fingers digging into Miles’ hips to keep her still.
"You taste so fucking good," Gwen growled between strokes, her voice rough, muffled against Miles’ skin. Miles whimpered, her back arching, her hands flying to Gwen’s hair, tugging desperately. Gwen chuckled, the sound dark and satisfied, and doubled down, her tongue working Miles over with a ruthless rhythm that had her gasping, her thighs shaking. "This what you wanted? Huh? You gonna come on my tongue like a good girl?" Miles’ answer was a broken, wordless cry, her hips stuttering against Gwen’s mouth, her fingers tightening in Gwen’s hair like she was afraid she’d float away if she let go.
Miles’ back arched off the bed like a live wire had been shoved down her spine, her thighs trembling against Gwen’s temples as she choked on a moan. Gwen didn’t let up, her tongue flicking over Miles’ clit with ruthless precision, her fingers digging bruises into the soft flesh of Miles’ hips to keep her still. "Gwen—fuck—" Miles gasped, her voice cracking, her nails scraping against Gwen’s scalp. Gwen hummed against her, the vibration sending another shudder through Miles’ body, her toes curling into the sheets.
Gwen pulled back just enough to smirk up at Miles, her chin glistening. "You close?" she taunted, dragging her thumb through the wetness between Miles’ thighs, spreading her open. Miles whimpered, her hips jerking, but Gwen pinned her down with a firm hand. "Answer me." Miles’ breath hitched, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her lips parted around a silent plea. Gwen’s fingers tightened. "Say it."
Miles’ breath came in ragged bursts, her entire body taut like a bowstring about to snap. “Y-yes,” she managed, voice trembling, her fingers twisting in Gwen’s hair like she was both trying to pull her closer and shove her away. “Fuck, Gwen—yes, I’m close, I’m—”
Gwen didn’t let her finish. She dove back in, her tongue lapping at Miles’ clit with a relentless, almost cruel focus, her fingers tightening around Miles’ hips hard enough to leave marks. Miles cried out, her back arching off the bed, her thighs clamping around Gwen’s head as if she could trap her there forever. Gwen groaned against her, the vibrations sending shockwaves through Miles’ body, her orgasm hitting her like a freight train—sudden, brutal, and utterly overwhelming. Miles’ scream was muffled by her own forearm as she bit down on it, her body seizing, her hips jerking erratically against Gwen’s mouth as waves of pleasure wracked her.
Gwen pulled back from Miles’ trembling body, her breath ragged, lips slick with her girlfriend’s taste. The dom act slipped for just a second—just long enough for her thumb to brush Miles’ cheek, smearing the tear tracks there. “You good?” she murmured, voice softer now, rough but careful. “Color?”
Miles blinked up at her, dazed, her chest still heaving from the aftershocks. She swallowed, wetting her lips before answering, voice wrecked but sure: “Green. So green.” A beat, then, with a weak smirk: “You gonna fuck me or what, Stacy?”
Gwen drives Miles over the edge with merciless precision, her tongue and hands guiding Miles through a shuddering orgasm that leaves her biting her own arm to stifle screams. Aftercare slips through Gwen’s dom demeanor as she checks on Miles with soft words, but Miles—still breathless—responds with a teasing challenge, demanding Gwen follow through on her earlier dominance.
Gwen exhaled a laugh through her nose, shaking her head. Brat. Always a brat. But her hands were gentle as they slid up Miles’ thighs, thumbs pressing into the creases of her hips. She hesitated then, just for a moment—enough that Miles noticed, her brow furrowing. “Hey,” Miles whispered, reaching up to tangle her fingers in Gwen’s hair. “I want this. You’re not gonna break me.”
Gwen’s throat worked. She leaned down, kissing Miles slow, deep, her tongue sliding against Miles’ in a way that made her whimper. “I know,” Gwen muttered against her lips. “Just—fuck, tell me if it’s too much.” Her hand slid between them, fingers wrapping around the base of her cock, guiding herself to Miles’ entrance. The head nudged against her, and Gwen felt Miles tense, her breath stuttering.
Miles’ nails dug into Gwen’s shoulders as she pushed in, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch burned—God, it burned—but Miles choked back a sob, her thighs trembling around Gwen’s hips. “Fuck,” she gasped, her head tipping back, tears welling in her eyes. Gwen froze, her own breath ragged, her muscles taut with the effort of holding still. “No, no—keep going,” Miles pleaded, hips twitching. “Just—ah—just give me a second.”
Gwen kissed her again, swallowing her shaky breaths, her fingers threading through Miles’ curls. She waited, letting Miles adjust, her own pulse thundering in her ears. When Miles finally nodded, Gwen pushed the rest of the way in with a slow, controlled roll of her hips, her groan muffled against Miles’ shoulder. Miles cried out, her back arching, her nails leaving half-moons in Gwen’s skin. “Shit,” she sobbed, but her legs locked around Gwen’s waist, pulling her deeper. “Gwen, Gwen—”
“I got you,” Gwen rasped, her voice thick. She pressed their foreheads together, her hips flush against Miles’, giving her time to breathe. Miles’ cunt fluttered around her, hot and tight, and Gwen gritted her teeth, her own arousal a live wire under her skin. “You’re—fuck—you’re taking me so good.”
Miles whimpered, her hips shifting experimentally, and Gwen hissed, her fingers digging into the mattress. “Move,” Miles begged, her voice breaking. “Please, please—” Gwen didn’t make her ask twice. She pulled out almost all the way before sinking back in, slow, deliberate, watching the way Miles’ face twisted with pleasure-pain. Miles’ breath hitched, her thighs squeezing around Gwen’s waist, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the sheets. “Again,” she demanded, and Gwen obeyed, her thrusts gradually gaining rhythm, each one punching a ragged noise from Miles’ throat.
Gwen kept her thrusts slow at first, almost teasing, watching the way Miles’ breath caught each time she bottomed out. But then Miles—always Miles—couldn’t resist pushing. “That all you got, Stacy?” she panted, her smirk shaky but unmistakable, her nails dragging down Gwen’s back. “Thought you were gonna fuck me.”
Gwen’s jaw tightened. Brat. Brat. She snapped her hips forward, harder this time, and Miles gasped, her head tipping back. “That better?” Gwen growled, her fingers digging into Miles’ thighs as she picked up the pace, each thrust sharper, deeper. Miles whimpered, her thighs trembling, but her smirk didn’t fade—if anything, it widened, smug even as her breath stuttered.
“Still—ah—still kinda—” Miles’ taunt dissolved into a moan as Gwen angled her hips just right, but she recovered fast, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Kinda weak, honestly.”
Gwen saw red.
With a snarl, she grabbed Miles’ legs, yanking them up and over her shoulders in one fluid motion. Miles yelped, her hands flying to Gwen’s wrists, but Gwen didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate—she slammed back into her, hard, the angle sending her cock impossibly deeper. Miles’ entire body jerked, her nails biting into Gwen’s forearms, her breath coming in punched-out little gasps. “Fuck—Gwen, wait—!”
Gwen didn’t wait. She fucked into her with brutal, measured strokes, each thrust sharp enough to make the bedframe shudder. Miles sobbed, her thighs clamping around Gwen’s ribs, her head thrashing against the pillows. “Too much—too much—!” she choked out, tears spilling down her temples, but Gwen just grinned, her grip tightening on Miles’ thighs.
“Thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Gwen panted, her voice rough, her hips snapping forward again, driving Miles further into the mattress. “Thought I was weak.” Miles whimpered, her fingers scrabbling at the sheets, her cunt fluttering around Gwen’s cock in a way that made Gwen’s vision blur. “Now you’re crying? Pathetic.”
Miles’ response was a broken moan, her body arching as Gwen’s next thrust hit something deep inside her that made her see stars. “Gwen—!” she wailed, her voice cracking, her thighs trembling violently. Gwen could feel her own orgasm coiling tight in her gut, but she refused to chase it—not yet, not u ntil Miles was completely wrecked.
“Tell me,” Gwen demanded, her pace relentless, her fingers digging bruises into Miles’ skin. “Tell me who you belong to.” Miles shook her head, biting her lip, but Gwen leaned down, her teeth scraping Miles’ collarbone. “Say it.”
Miles sobbed, her resistance crumbling. “You,” she gasped, her nails raking down Gwen’s back. “Yours—fuck—I’m yours—” Gwen groaned, her hips stuttering, her thrusts losing rhythm as pleasure spiked through her. Miles clenched around her, her own orgasm ripping through her with a sharp cry, her body going taut like a bowstring before collapsing bonelessly into the sheets.
Gwen’s hips jerked forward one last time, burying herself to the hilt as heat flooded Miles’ core. The sensation punched a ragged sob from Miles’ throat—half-pain, half-pleasure—her fingers scrambling for purchase against Gwen’s sweat-slick shoulders. Gwen groaned, low and guttural, her forehead pressing hard against Miles’ as she pulsed inside her, filling her in thick, possessive spurts. “Fuck,” Gwen hissed through clenched teeth, her thighs trembling with the effort of holding still. “Fuck, Miles—”
Miles whimpered, her body oversensitive and shaking, tears streaking down her temples as she clung to Gwen like she was the only thing keeping her anchored. The stretch was almost too much now, Gwen’s cock twitching inside her, the wet heat between them making every shift of Gwen’s hips drag a broken noise from Miles’ lips. “G-Gwen,” she sobbed, her voice wrecked, her thighs quivering where they hooked over Gwen’s shoulders. “S’too much—I can’t—ah—!”
Gwen collapsed onto Miles with a groan, her sweat-slick chest pressing flush against Miles’ heaving ribs. They stayed like that for a long moment—breath mingling, hearts hammering in tandem—until Gwen finally rolled off with a grunt, landing half on top of Miles, her thigh still hooked possessively over hers. Miles whimpered at the loss, her fingers twitching toward Gwen’s wrist like she couldn’t bear to lose contact entirely. Gwen caught her hand without looking, lacing their fingers together and pressing a rough, breathless kiss to Miles’ knuckles.
“Fuck,” Gwen muttered into Miles’ skin, her voice raw. She turned her head, studying Miles’ face—the tear tracks drying on her cheeks, the way her lashes fluttered when she blinked, slow and dazed. Gwen’s thumb brushed over Miles’ pulse point, reassuring herself it was still there, still racing. “Color?”
Miles’ breath was still coming in uneven hitches, her body limp against the sweat-damp sheets, when Gwen rolled onto her side to face her. The mattress creaked under their combined weight as Gwen propped herself up on an elbow, her free hand brushing a loose curl from Miles’ forehead. “Hey,” Gwen murmured, her voice softer now, rough around the edges but unmistakably tender. “You still with me?”
Miles blinked up at her, slow and dazed, her lips quirking into a wobbly smile. “Barely,” she admitted, her voice hoarse. She shifted slightly, wincing as Gwen’s cum dripped out of her onto the sheets, and Gwen’s smirk returned—smug, but tinged with something warmer. Miles huffed, swatting weakly at Gwen’s shoulder. “Shut up. You’re insufferable.”
Gwen caught her wrist, pressing a kiss to the inside of it before letting her hand drop back to the mattress. “You love it,” she teased, but her fingers traced idle patterns along Miles’ hipbone, her touch feather-light against the fresh bruises she’d left there. The silence between them was comfortable, thick with the weight of something unspoken but understood—until the sharp click of a front door unlocking shattered it like glass.
Gwen’s fingers stilled against Miles’ hip at the sound of the front door clicking open—too loud, too present in the quiet aftermath. Miles tensed beneath her, breath hitching as footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by the rustle of grocery bags and the murmur of voices too familiar to mistake.
“Shit,” Miles hissed, scrambling upright so fast Gwen barely caught her by the elbow before she tumbled off the bed. Her legs wobbled, still unsteady, and Gwen saw the exact moment the discomfort registered—Miles’ face flushing darker as she clenched her thighs together, Gwen’s cum leaking down her skin.
Gwen moved faster, snagging the discarded hoodie off the floor and shoving it into Miles’ shaking hands. “Put this on,” she muttered, already yanking her own tank top back over her head, her fingers fumbling with the hem. Miles stared at the hoodie like it might bite her before hastily tugging it on, the fabric swallowing her whole. Gwen’s stomach twisted at the sight—Miles drowning in her clothes, her scent, while Gwen’s mess dripped between her thighs.
The door swung open before Gwen could even think of a plausible excuse for why Miles was flushed and trembling in her oversized hoodie, or why Gwen’s tank top was inside-out. Rio Morales stood in the doorway, one eyebrow already arched, a plate of tostones balanced in her other hand. The silence stretched just a beat too long—long enough for Gwen to notice the way Rio’s gaze flicked from Miles’ mussed hair to Gwen’s half-buttoned jeans, then back to the suspiciously crumpled state of the bedsheets.
“Mija,” Rio said finally, her tone drier than the Sahara, “I brought you snacks.” She stepped inside, nudging the door shut with her hip, and Gwen resisted the urge to bolt for the window. Miles, bless her, tried to sit up straighter—a valiant effort, even if her legs were still visibly shaking. Rio set the plate down on Miles’ desk with deliberate slowness, her eyes never leaving Gwen’s face. “Gwen,” she added, nodding once. “You’re here.”
“Yep,” Gwen croaked, then cleared her throat, willing her voice not to crack. “I was just—uh. Helping Miles with… physics.”
Rio’s fingers tapped once—just once—against the edge of the plate. The sound was impossibly loud in the thick silence. “Physics,” she repeated, her gaze sliding to Miles, who had somehow managed to shrink further into Gwen’s hoodie, the collar swallowing her chin. “Ay, Dios mío, what kind of physics leaves you sweating like you ran a marathon, mi vida?”
Miles opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again—a goldfish impression Gwen would’ve laughed at any other time. Gwen’s own pulse thudded in her throat, her mind racing for an explanation that didn’t involve detailing how thoroughly she’d just wrecked Rio’s daughter.
Rio sighed, rubbing her temple like she was already done with this conversation. “Gwen, cariña, your shirt is backwards.”
The silence in the room thickened like molasses, broken only by Miles' shaky exhale as she tugged Gwen's hoodie sleeves over her hands—a nervous habit Gwen had teased her about before, but now found painfully endearing. Rio's gaze lingered on the way Miles' fingers twisted in the fabric, her knuckles whitening, before sliding up to Gwen's face with the precision of a sniper sighting a target. Gwen swallowed hard, resisting the urge to adjust her inside-out shirt under Rio's scrutiny.
"Tostones," Rio said finally, nudging the plate further onto the desk with two fingers. "Your favorite." Her tone was deceptively light, but Gwen didn't miss the way her eyes flicked to the unmistakable love bite peeking above Miles' collar. Miles, following her mother's gaze, yanked the hoodie's zipper up to her chin with a sound somewhere between a cough and a whimper.
"Thanks, Mami," Miles squeaked, then cleared her throat when her voice cracked. Gwen could see the exact moment Rio registered the rasp in her daughter's voice—her nostrils flared slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. Gwen's spine stiffened instinctively, her fingers curling into the mattress.
Rio pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling through her teeth like she was counting backwards from ten in her head. The plate of tostones sat untouched between them, the scent of fried plantains doing nothing to cut through the tension thickening the air. When she finally spoke, her voice was carefully measured—the kind of calm that came right before a hurricane. "Dios mio, Miles," she muttered, dragging her hand down her face. "¿Usaron condón? Or at least tell me you pulled—"
"Mami!" Miles yelped, her face burning so hot Gwen half-expected steam to rise from her hoodie collar. She flailed an arm out blindly, smacking Gwen square in the ribs as if this were somehow her fault (it absolutely was). Gwen didn't dare move, frozen like prey under Rio's withering stare.
Gwen opened her mouth—closed it. Swallowed. The truth lodged in her throat like a stone. Rio's eyes narrowed, her foot tapping an impatient rhythm against the floorboards. "Gwendolyn," she said, and Gwen's full name had never sounded more like a death sentence. "Answer me."
Gwen's mouth went bone-dry. She could feel Miles practically vibrating with mortification beside her, the mattress shifting as her girlfriend curled in on herself like a dying shrimp. The silence stretched long enough for Rio's left eyebrow to climb toward her hairline. Gwen swallowed hard, her throat clicking audibly.
Gwen’s pulse hammered in her throat. She opened her mouth—then snapped it shut as Rio’s glare sharpened. The air between them crackled with tension thick enough to choke on. Miles groaned into her hands, her shoulders hunched like she was trying to vanish into Gwen’s hoodie entirely.
Rio's sigh was the loudest sound Gwen had ever heard. The woman pinched the bridge of her nose, her exasperation radiating in waves strong enough to flatten cities. "Ay, niña," she muttered, shaking her head at Miles like she was witnessing a crime in progress. "You think I don't know what this looks like?" She gestured vaguely at the wrecked bed, Miles' trembling legs, Gwen's backward shirt—the entire incriminating tableau.
Miles made a strangled noise, burying her face in her hands. "Oh my God—"
"You're lucky I'm not your father," Rio continued, her voice dropping into that terrifying I'm-disappointed-but-not-surprised register that made Gwen's spine stiffen. "Because he would be having words right now—and not the kind you can ignore." She crossed her arms, eyeing Gwen with the intensity of a coroner examining a crime scene. "Gwendolyn. Did you—"
"Mami, please stop," Miles begged, her voice cracking as she scrambled off the bed—only to wobble dangerously, her knees buckling. Gwen lunged forward instinctively, catching her by the elbow, which only made Rio's other eyebrow climb toward her hairline. Miles groaned, shoving Gwen away weakly. "Oh my God, just—just go!"
Rio's lips twitched—just once—before she schooled her expression back into stern disapproval. "Fine. But we are having this conversation later," she said, leveling a finger at Miles that somehow managed to feel like a death threat. "And you—" The finger swiveled to Gwen, who stiffened like a soldier at attention. "Condoms."
Gwen's mouth opened and closed uselessly, her ears burning hotter than the surface of the sun. Rio exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head as she turned on her heel. The door clicked shut behind her—followed immediately by the unmistakable thump of Miles collapsing against it, sliding down to the floor in a boneless heap of mortification. Gwen didn't dare move, frozen halfway between the bed and the door, her hands hovering uselessly in the air like she'd forgotten what to do with them.
Miles groaned, dragging her hands down her face hard enough to leave red streaks. "I'm never recovering from this," she mumbled into her palms. "Like, medically. My soul left my body." Gwen opened her mouth—probably to say something catastrophically stupid—when Jefferson's voice boomed from the hallway, loud enough to rattle the doorframe.
"THEY WHAT?!"
Gwen flinched so hard she nearly toppled off the bed, her hands flying up to press against her temples as if she could physically will herself out of existence. "Fuck," she whispered, dragging her fingers down her face hard enough to leave red streaks. "I'm so dead."