Hi, beloved! ❤️ Would you be down to write about Terry Richmond using some rope tricks that he learned from his Marine training on reader? 🤭 If not, I completely understand and you’re still amazing !😘
A/N: Forgive me, I know this doesn't technically fit the bill, but this got my mind spinning. Let me know if you want a more faithful response.
Touch Me Like You Care
Pairing: Daddy Dom!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female), fingering (fem receiving), teasing, size kink, dirty talk, mean Terry, daddy kink, praise kink, spanking, lite bondage, overstimulation, reader is able to be picked up, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, rushing.
Summary: See Ask. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog . Terry comes home to find you reading in bed, all thoughts of getting dressed out of your mind as you rest. He was prepared to let you, truly, but then he finds that you’re not wearing the bracelets he bought you. And well, he can’t let that slide, can he?
Word Count: 4,475k
AO3 Link
A/N: @planetblaque knows I can deny her nothing!! Whew, everytime I think I can take a break from this man, ya'll pop out with all of these amazing fics! I'm so over the moon to see so much activity. We fr just tossing this man around like a beach ball and I love that for us!!! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.
You pulled your dresser open and searched for your favorite pair of thigh high socks. Ever since the weather turned, you were back to shivering every two seconds, feeling colder than a witch’s broomstick no matter what you did.
After a refreshing shower, you opted to dry under your blanket hoodie, feeling the need to retreat from having to be “on” all the time. Navigating the world as a Black woman was fucking exhausting.
You picked up your phone, scrolling through your latest dirty book. There was a subtle increase in Black led romances that were making you stay up to the wee hours of the morning reading. The latest book was absolutely filthy from your favorite author. The anticipation for this book had been immense, the group chat blowing up with speculations and guesses.
The book was getting better, when the couple who swore they hated each other was about to fuck that tension out since fighting got them nowhere. You squealed, picking up the nearest pair of socks. You tore your gaze away long enough to put your socks on.
You looked around the room for your blanket hoodie. It was sitting on the famous chair, piled on top of a mountain of clothing that was near toppling over. You grabbed the hoodie and then checked in on your phone.
Oh, the tension. The passion. It just ate you up inside when the characters got to that part. Confessing their love in drunken confessions or in the middle of an argument. Ouee, your body was on fire just thinking about it. Your pussy clenching at the details. The rich words creating a movie in your mind’s eye.
Abandoning your hoodie, you laid across the bed and decided to air dry. With the way this book was going, you might need a second shower. You rested your head on your closed fist and let your mind drift, picturing the scene.
You didn’t hear when your boyfriend called your name after he arrived home. Or how his heavy footfalls padded down the hallway to your bedroom. Or how he called your name again when he stood in the doorway. You didn’t hear the subtle camera click as a picture was taken.
Somewhere between the fifth and…counting?... sex scene, you ended up on your tummy, legs high behind you, tapping your socked feet together. You were literally kicking your feet as the characters kept telling each other that they hated each other as they were clutching onto each other for dear life.
You sighed. You simply ate this shit up. You were already mentally typing up your notes for your review on Goodreads. Ouee, maybe you should start keeping a side notebook. Just to jot down bullet points so your scatterbrained mind didn’t forget a single detail.
Fingers reached across your ass and you yelped, looking behind you ready to scream. Terry stood behind you, his head tilted and a smirk on his luscious face. You choked out a laugh, rolling to one side so you could look at him better.
He looked damn good in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. Terry slid his fingers absently across your bare ass, tracing the globes up and down. Your body shivered, pussy clenching with need. You gazed at your man. At the smooth planes and lines of his face, the cut of jaw, those big pink lips.
“You didn’t hear me calling you?” He asked.
You shook your head. “Sorry,” you said, giving him a cutesy grin.
His lips twitched but he didn’t let himself smile. “You’re not cute. You have to be more aware of your surroundings,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding. “Though to be fair, the only man getting in here is you.”
“Mhm,” he said, nodding his own head. “You reading your dirty books?”
“Yes! You remember my favorite author?” You asked.
Terry nodded, hiking his eyebrow up as he encouraged you to tell him all about your favorite author. And the book you were currently reading. “And I just got to the good part,” you said.
Terry chuckled and nodded. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” he said. He trailed his fingers between your legs as he moved away and you gasped. For two reasons. On the one hand, Terry’s hands on you always instantly put you in the mood. With your pussy already wet, you were thinking it was a good time for a break.
On the other hand, you forgot that you had taken off your gifts from him while you showered. It was the only time you were allowed to do so. You meant to put the ankle and thigh bracelet back on when you lotioned up but plum forgot.
Terry stopped and you could feel his stare. It burned in the back of your head. Your heart thumped in your chest. You had no idea what he was going to do.
“Baby,” Terry’s deep timbre was a physical caress down your spine. You stretched your back and bit your lip.
“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said, pitching your voice higher.
“Where are your bracelets?” He rubbed his thumb across your thick thigh. The weight of those words pressed down on you, making you want to retreat in your mind. You began to pant, feeling out of sorts. You were so turned on you could barely breathe. But you were also worried about what kind of punishment you were about to receive.
“I just showered,” you said. You rolled so that you could look at his pretty face. To at least try to gauge where his mind went. Terry stopped you by wrapping his hand around your thigh.
“I believe you. But you’re out of the shower now,” he said.
“I really forgot this time,” you said.
Terry sighed, the sound like a coin drop in an empty room. “You know what we have to do now, right?” He asked.
“You sure I can’t bargain out of this one? I can be pretty cute, you said so,” you said.
“Up,” he said, his calm voice making matters worse. You may as well have been pleading your case to a brick wall. There was no changing his mind.
You got to your knees and then flipped over, scooting to the edge of the bed. Terry rolled his shoulders as he moved to your closet. He pulled a pine green box down from the top shelf.
He placed the large, repurposed gift box on your dresser and opened it. Cheery snowmen looked at you from the painted edges as Terry rummaged around. He drew out a pair of leather cuffs and crossed over to you.
You pouted at him as he strapped the cuffs to your wrists. There was a small golden link between them keeping it connected and not giving you much room to escape. You tested the pull on it as you tried to separate your wrists. No dice.
Terry grabbed the link and pulled you into a standing position. He sighed deeply, his voice a rumbling thunder behind it with a hum as he stared you down. “I had plans to treat you so well when I got back,” he said.
“Fuck,” you said, the curse flying fast. You rubbed your thighs together, staring up into his pretty colorful eyes. Every time you looked at them, they were a different color. You loved to see the changes, especially this up close. His eyes went more brown when he was like this, when he’d sunk into that role of being in charge. Of being protective.
He kissed your cheek, softly, reverently, his juicy lips leaving a small wet spot behind. He moved down to your lips, not quite kissing you. He hummed and smirked. “Whatever happens, just know that I love you, okay?”
“Terry,” you huffed. His name was a plea and a curse all in one. You didn’t know what was worse. Knowing the torture was coming or having to live through it. Your thighs were on fire, burning with the need to have him between them.
He pulled you closer by the cuffs, kissing you completely this time. He brought his free hand up to cup your cheek, hands warm. You licked his lips and he moaned. “Nice try,” he said against your lips.
He said that, but you stepped closer, rubbing yourself against his growing bulge. He chuckled, letting you, looking down while you rubbed on him. He grinned and then grabbed your shoulders, turning you around. He pushed you down. You let out a soft oomph, flopping onto the bed.
He grabbed your hips, pushing you further up your big ass bed. He positioned you how he wanted, close to the edge, but not so close that he didn’t have free range behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you could only hear him moving around behind you.
It sounded like he was rummaging through the goody box again. You sighed. Digging your toes into the bed. “Start reading,” he commanded, voice sharp.
How the hell were you supposed to read anything? You hesitated, looking at your phone. There was no way you’d be able to concentrate and he knew that.
“Baby,” you said and licked your lips.
Terry said nothing and again, you felt his gaze bearing down on you. You whimpered as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and swiping back to your phone. You began reading aloud, reading about the sex scene you were in the middle of.
Reading it aloud to Terry, picturing him as the main male character, you were miserably wet. Dripping practically. You sighed, thinking of your ruined bed. You’d have to spend tonight doing laundry.
Terry’s massive hand slapped across your ass, the recoil loud enough to rival a gunshot. You squealed, falling forward onto the bed. Heat bloomed between your thighs, warming up your core to a dangerous level.
It still really fucking hurt though. Your ass stung and you swore that you could feel aftershocks of his hand, slapping across your ass over and over. “Fuck, fuck!” You yelled out.
“Keep reading,” he said.
You got back to your knees and arched your back like he positioned you in before. You returned to reading out loud, pussy throbbing at the way the words made you feel. You got to an explicit part when Terry’s hands came back down. He smacked your ass a handful more times, covering a wide area and making your ass light up like a Christmas tree.
Tears welled in your eyes from the pain and the pleasure. It was too much stimulation. “Please, please, fuck me. I can’t take it,” you whimpered. The words on your phone swam in your vision as your body contracted with shivers. Both from the radiating waves of heat and the burn low in your belly.
Terry rubbed his hands across your ass and you screamed, kneeling away from his hands. Wherever he touched, your ass sang with pain. “Are you going to remember to put your bracelets on?”
You nodded. “Yes, I swear,” you said.
Terry shoved his fingers between your legs, plunging right up your pussy. You collapsed onto the bed, twitching. “Mhm, I didn’t give you permission to cum,” he said.
“Daddy, pleaseeee,” you pleaded, lower belly twinging with the pain of fighting off your orgasm.
“You can get wetter than this, baby,” he said.
“I can’t,” you said, drool seeping into the navy covers beneath you. Your face was smashed into the bed, no way to hold yourself up while his fingers stroked your walls. The loud squelching of your pussy, wet because of him, made you clench around his fingers and moan.
He placed his free hand on your ass, giving you the dual sensation of sweet torture and cruel relief. He moved his fingers faster, stretching you out with his long, thick fingers. You rode yourself on his fingers, throwing it back and he moaned. He smacked your ass more lightly this time, more in encouragement than anything else.
“Please let me cum. Please let me cum,” you said, legs twitching. You couldn’t hold off any longer.
Terry leaned down over your body, placing his lips as close to your ear as he could get it. “Nahhh,” he said slowly, a subtle rasp in his voice. You bit your lip and rode him harder, showing him that you needed more. “Gotta earn that shit.”
You sobbed into your bed, tears streaming freely. You were about to explode. Come undone at the seams. “Daddy, please. Pleaaseee. Pleaaasseeee, ouee, pleeasseee,” you moaned, desperately riding his fingers.
“You know what Daddy needs,” he said.
Tears leaked freely, mixing with the drool and pooling onto the covers. Your mind turned to mush, no longer able to keep reading. Your moans were loud and near screaming. Your throat raw with the effort. Your essence flooded his fingers and he hummed in satisfaction.
“There’s my good girl,” he purred. He suddenly flipped you over, not giving you a chance to work with him. He was too impatient, too needy, too rough as he positioned you on your back. He pushed your arms above your head, giving you a look. You planted your hands above your head and knew better to move them.
It pushed your breasts up, giving him a total view of your chest. He groaned, eyes tracking to your pert nipples. Terry folded you in half, scooting his thighs beneath your back, holding you spread open for him.
He placed soft kisses to your wet pussy, lips smacking from your juices. “Baby, I can’t hold it no more,” you said.
“You’re gonna hold it because Daddy told you to,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. You whimpered, whined, trying to breathe through being folded like a pretzel.
Your toes brushed against the bed with every rocking motion from Terry as he got himself comfortable. He continued kissing your pussy, stopping to look back and stare at your pussy. His lips began to glisten with your essence.
You groaned, a primal, possessive side of you jumping out. You marked your claim. It was your juices on him. Your essence feeding him.
“Daddy, please,” you cried out. From this position, you saw his face perfectly. He stared at your pussy like a man possessed. Like a greedy man with the richest treasure in the world. Your heart softened just as your pussy throbbed.
Terry smirked. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy. She miss me?” He asked. As if you hadn’t gone two and half rounds when you woke up this morning. As if he wasn’t driving you insane nearly every time you got within two feet of each other.
“Yes, Daddy, she missed you,” you moaned.
“Yeah? She gon’ be good and cum when I say?” He asked. He stared at you from beneath his long eyelashes framing his stormy blue eyes while his tongue rolled out of his mouth. He used the tip of his tongue to search through your soaked curls, separate your pussy lips, and flick across that little bundle of nerves.
“Ouee, shit,” you moaned. Sweat beaded on your forehead. Your heart beat so loudly, it was a miracle he couldn’t hear it. You huffed, watching his tongue work around your clit. Feeling it was even better. His breath was hot across your pussy, making your breaths stutter in your chest.
His lips followed his tongue, going deeper, playing with the rim of your entrance before dipping his tongue inside you. You cried out, belly fluttering. You moved your hands and Terry’s eyes narrowed.
Fresh tears leaked from your eyes, dripping down the side of your face. “Pleasseee,” you begged.
“You’re doing so well, already,” he moaned. He sped up, licking you, eating you, devouring you as he lapped at your pussy. Fresh essence dripped out of you and he licked that up too. He moaned, burying his nose and face into your pussy. He ate like a man starved. Sloppily. Messily.
“Oue, fuck, ouee,” you screamed.
Terry moved closer, like he was trying to shove his whole face inside of you. His plush lips wrapped around your clit and sucked.
“Oh fuck! Terry! Terry!” You screamed. Your body began twitching. The orgasm you staved off was coming whether you wanted it to or not. Terry stopped altogether, suspending your body in the midpoint between denial and reprieve.
Your eyes rolled lazily to him, panting, huffing, body feeling like you had been tossed into a barbeque pit. “T-T-”
Terry tilted his head, tongue flat against your clit. You throbbed and pulsed on his tongue but he didn’t move. Your body retreated from the edge in slow increments, relaxing against him.
You blinked at him, no longer able to communicate a single thought. Terry’s eyes gleamed with sick pleasure. He hummed, moving his tongue against your clit once more. He brought you to the edge and then denied you the rush of pleasure at the last minute. He did it one more time, letting you relax and then bringing you back to the precipice.
Your belly cramped so bad. Your mouth stopped working. You couldn’t do anything but pathetically moan as he ate his fill. Your toes brushed against the bed again as he leaned back far enough.
“She too tired now?” He asked.
You shook your head. Furthest thing from it. Terry smirked. “You nice and dumb for me, baby?” He asked. He gave you teasing little licks. You hissed and moaned, eyes aching from how hard you closed them from the torture.
“Answer me when I’m talking to you,” Terry said, smacking your ass for good measure. It woke you from the fog long enough to nod.
“Yes, Big Daddy,” you said.
Terry grinned and then relented, giving in and eating you with a renewed fervor. “You can cum now, baby,” he moaned into your pussy. His tongue and lips teased your clit. His fingers dipped back inside your entrance, coaxing that sweet, sweet orgasm out of you.
You screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Or hell, maybe you joined them. Lights burst behind your eyelids as you came with so much force, you couldn’t breathe. Your pussy ached and throbbed, thighs shaking against Terry’s face as he teased you throughout the whole ride.
He slowed down as he sensed that you were coming down, drawing out his teasing licks and kisses to your pussy. He pulled back and your essence dripped from his face. He looked like he went swimming in your pussy. His entire jaw was covered, shiny and wet. You wish you could take a picture of him like this.
A long spit chain connected you to him and he moaned, ending on a hiss. “That’s a good fuckin’ pussy,” he huffed as he regained his own breathing. “Turn that ass over.”
Terry lowered you to the bed while he hopped off. He made quick work of his clothes, his huffs and puffs the only indication of how badly he was rushing. You were just a noodle, watching him reveal inches of his bronze skin, the veins in his biceps, the tattoos on his arms.
You traced the tattoos more times than you could count, lips twitching with the urge to do so now. His thighs were equally delicious. As big as tree trunks, a light dusting of hair. And that ass. He turned to the side briefly so he could free his long legs from his underwear and sweats.
“You are so damn pretty,” you mumbled.
Terry chuckled. You didn’t think he heard you. “That’s my line,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure I told you what you need to be doing.”
You couldn’t flip over fast enough, giggling. He’d just bent you over and ate you so well, your leg was still wobbly and shaky. Yet you yearned for more. Yearned for his body surrounding you, protecting you, caging you in his embrace. You were greedy. Needing, wanting, craving more.
Terry descended onto the bed, roughly grabbing your hips and sliding inside with a savage thrust.
“Oueeee, SHIT, Daddy!” You screamed. He slid out and then slid back in, coating his long dick with your essence.
“Cream this shit,” he moaned, sliding inside faster. His massive hands gripped your hips and pulled you onto his punishing dick, ramming into you. “Made for me. You were made for me, weren’t you?” He asked.
“Yes, Daddy, I was made for you,” you moaned. He stretched you beautifully, slamming into you just as rough as you wanted. As you needed.
“Just a pretty, tight hole for me to abuse whenever I want?” He asked.
You sobbed, tears gathering in your eyes once more. He hit that magical spot inside of you, the spot only he could reach. No other man, not even your toys, could hit that spot with such precision. With accuracy. He was just as much made for you.
“Yes, Daddy,” you moaned, voice muffled by the covers. The bed dipped as Terry leaned over, planting a fist beside your head to hold up his weight. He used his other hand to grab a handful of braids and yank, baring your throat to him.
“I wish you could see how creamy you are. Pretty little ring on my dick. So nice and wet,” he cooed into your ear. He pulled your head back so that he could kiss you. His face smelled like you. You moaned and clenched around his dick. He hissed and then growled in your ear.
“Filling me so deep, Daddy,” you moaned. “So fuckin’ deep, ohmygoood.”
Terry chuckled. He shifted his hips and drove in deeper, possibly down to his base, as he fucked you into the mattress. Your hands stretched out in front of you, gripping onto the covers just trying to meet his thrusts.
“Untie me, Daddy. Let me feel you,” you begged.
Terry responded by kissing you, tongue licking your lips. You opened your mouth and played with his tongue. His beautiful, amazing tongue that was capable of the sweetest words and the filthiest things.
“You don’t know how to behave when you’re free,” he said against your cheek.
“I’ll behave, I promise,” you whispered.
Terry moaned, dick throbbing inside you. “I want to believe you,” he said.
He kept up his brutal, savage thrusts, digging into you and making your belly clench. “Pleasse, Daddy. I want to feel you,” you moaned.
“All you need to do is feel this dick, baby. Feel how much you mean to me. How much I want to take care of you,” he said.
Each thrust felt like it was going straight to your heart. There was no way you were still flooding his dick. Still making it easier for him to glide and thrust and stroke so far inside you, you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.
“Fuck me so good. So well,” you moaned.
Terry gripped your hips and then pulled you down harder, faster, rougher. You yelped and squealed, stretched out on the bed, trying to escape. Terry yanked you back, fingers digging into your skin harder.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” you moaned. Your thighs trembled from trying to hold yourself up from his hold. He kept you in place, filling you, fucking you good and deep. Your eyes rolled back into your head. But still, your body propelled you forward. Both because of his thrusts and because you just couldn’t take any more. All the edging from earlier had you spent.
“Sit that ass up,” he panted, breaths falling across your damp back.
“C-Can’t,” you stuttered.
Terry grunted and pulled you by the hair until you were on your knees. He sat on his haunches, continuing to pound inside you.
“You keep telling me what you can’t do. But all this time you been takin’ this dick and doing what Daddy tell you to. Do you know how proud I am of you? So pretty when you listen,” he moaned.
“Fuck, Daddy, please,” you moaned.
Terry grabbed your arms and pulled it until the cuffs went over his head. It made you thrust out your chest and he grabbed your titties, playing with your sensitive nipples. He pinched and plucked as he fucked you, kissing your neck and biting your shoulder.
Your pussy made smacking noises on his dick, sounding thick and creamy. You moans mingled in the room, mixing with the pound of the headboard against the wall. You were constantly getting little dents in it from the force of your lovemaking. It was too much. You tried to sit on his lap but he grunted. “Mhm,” he said, pulling you into a kneeling position one more time.
“If I gotta stand you up one more time, you ain’t gon’ like it,” he snapped.
You whimpered and whined but concentrated on holding yourself up. His dick slammed into your walls while he kissed your neck. One hand gripped your titty and squeezed while his other hand searched lower, rubbing two fingers against your pussy.
You screamed out, unable to hold off this one. It gobbled you up with the force of it. Tearing you down to your roots, breaking you down to your center, to the very last atom that makes you you. You cried out, shaking, twitching.
Your vision turned black and your right ear rung with a tinny bell as you came and came in rolling waves. One triggered another for an extended orgasm, body jerking uncontrollably.
“Cum so pretty,” he said. “You ready for this nut?”
You could only manage a nod as he rolled his shoulders and moaned in your ear while he came, unloading a thick load of cum inside of you.
There was no more air in your lungs enough to moan. You could only sigh as he warmed you up from the inside, soaking your walls with his cum. Nothing leaked out as he continued to stroke into you.
Your body arched as he stilled, buried to the hilt. He kissed your neck, your cheek, your jaw. He brought the fingers he used to play with your clit up to your mouth and bid you to suck.
“Taste that?” He asked.
You nodded. Too spent, too tired, to fucked out to do anything else but yawn. Terry chuckled, and slipped out. His cum leaked out with him, sliding down your leg and dripping onto the bed.
“Sleepy,” you mumbled.
“I know, baby. But let’s run you a bath first and I’ll change these sheets,” he said. He lowered your arms from his neck and then laid you on your side. He gave you a kiss on your forehead.
“Don’t let me catch you without your bracelets again,” he said.
“Yes, Big Daddy,” you yawned, stretching out onto the bed to await his tender, loving aftercare.
WHEW. If you need more like I do, here ya gooo! The Secret Terry Richmond Files
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dead souls - chapter one
dark!Peter Parker x reader: You haven’t been the same since your boyfriend died—a shadow of your former self. Peter intends to change that.
warnings: minors DNI, 18+ non-con, stalking, obsessive behavior
“I didn’t see that”
The man stumbling by came to a halt, now standing directly in front of you. You couldn’t know for sure, but you surmised that whoever this man was, he had certainly seen better days. He looked around your age, twenty six or so. His face was littered with cuts and bruises, poorly concealed beneath a black baseball cap. His right hand was wrapped up in an ace bandage and he seemed to be walking with a limp, causing him to trip and fall onto the grass mere seconds earlier. To his credit, he recovered quickly. He dusted himself off and surveyed the area as inconspicuously as he could, checking to see if anyone spotted him.
Evidently, someone had.
“See what, exactly?”
You stopped reading your book and looked up at him.
“Some poor guy faceplanting out of nowhere. Didn’t see a thing.”
He chuckled to himself, crossing his arms. He lifted his chin a little and nodded at you, as if challenging you. “Some poor guy, huh?”
“It would seem so.”
“Yeah, well this poor guy doesn’t need your pity. And he has a name.”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, excuse me. Some rude, unappreciative guy faceplanting out of nowhere. My mistake.”
“It’s Peter, actually. In case you were curious.”
“You wanna know something?”
“I think I’m probably gonna hear it either way.”
“I got a top tier view of you wiping out earlier. But fortunately for you, Peter, I’m an exceptionally nice person. So of course I’m going to pretend that I didn’t see a thing.”
“An exceptionally nice person,” he echoed. “You got proof of that?”
“I didn’t laugh at you.”
“So?”
“I could’ve.”
“Did you want to?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to admit to that one. You look pretty scrappy. Rough night?”
He chuckled again, shaking his head. “Oh, you have no idea.” And then, as if saving face, “You should see the other guy.”
You were both quiet for a few seconds as he studied you, a lopsided grin on his face. Beneath the injuries and the slouchy posture, you could tell he wasn’t bad looking. You would argue that he was pretty good looking, in fact. His eyes were dark. Warm.
“Have you got one?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.
“An embarrassing fall story?”
“A name.”
“Oh. One of those. You know, I might have one somewhere…”
“I’m sure you can tell my folks thought long and hard before deciding on mine.”
“Oh naturally, yeah. Peter. Very avant garde.”
“Conceptual.”
“Ahead of the times.”
“Peter. Peter Parker.”
“Wow.”
“I know.”
“Nice alliteration.”
He came a little closer. “What are you reading?”
You felt a wave of dread come over you as he eyed the brown leatherbound photo album, a book you had come to know all too well this past year. You protectively shoved it back into your purse. “Oh, this? This is nothing.”
He squinted. “Is that a photo album?”
You smiled weakly at him, zipping your purse closed and setting it down next to you. “It’s nothing.”
A gift from your late boyfriend, chock-full of memories you two shared together. You had bought him a disposable camera one year for his birthday, and he certainly put it to good use. Since his passing, you had spent hours scouring the album, tearfully flicking through the pages over and over again.
“Hold on a sec,” Peter said, reaching into the bag he was carrying to retrieve an ancient looking camera. He motioned towards you. “I’m a photographer by trade. May I?”
It took you a minute to understand what he was asking. Before you could give him an answer, he crouched down and the flash went off. Once, twice. He pulled the first photo from the camera and grabbed a sharpie from his bag, removing the cap with his teeth. He quickly scribbled something down on the back and handed it to you.
He fumbled when removing the second photo, dropping it amongst the leaves. It got picked up by the wind, floating away just as quickly as it appeared. He whipped his head around, standing up as if he was about to run after it, but you stopped him.
“Don’t worry about it. Some poor soul will find it.”
He grinned at you. “Some lucky duck, I’d say.”
You stared at him for a second, a little stunned. Was he flirting with you?
He put the cap back on the sharpie and shoved it in his bag, beginning to limp away from you. He peeked over his shoulder, giving you a nod. “I’ll see you around, hopefully.”
You shifted your gaze to the photo in your hands as he walked off, surveying the messy array of letters and numbers scrawled across it.
He had given you his number.
🕸️
Peter took a big gulp of coffee as he studied the photo.
Your photo.
Sat comfortably beneath an oak tree, surrounded by leaves of red, orange and yellow. You looked a little surprised, caught off guard.
Cute.
Luckily, it hadn’t been difficult to find.
He chuckled to himself, setting it down on the table. Strewn across it was an array of photos, all of which you hadn’t known about—you would never know about, if he could help it. This was the first he had taken where you were looking directly at the camera, the first photo he had taken in fall.
Fall, as he’d read, held some interesting meanings—that of transition, a time of harvest. An accumulation of growth, a time where crops were ripe and ready for the taking. It had been a year; more than enough time for you to process what had happened to you. You had to have been ready by now.
Peter hadn’t meant for things to go this far.
In fact, he had fully intended on saving your boyfriend. He tried. He really did, but he couldn’t. And at first, it ate him up inside. That was how he found you in the first place, tracking down your boyfriend—or as he preferred to view him, your ex boyfriend—‘s loved ones, doing small, anonymous good deeds to help alleviate his guilt. Bringing your trash cans in from the road, locking your front door when you’d forgotten to, following you to make sure you got home from work safely.
But then things…got a little out of hand.
Peter knew what it was like to lose someone—to be rendered unable to pick up the phone and call them when you needed them most. The loss of Gwen had been beyond devastating, and he’d never really come to terms with it. He empathized with you on a core level, eavesdropping on your grief support groups, the podcasts you listened to, your sad phone calls.
Following you became a bit of a compulsion. He was able to justify it to himself just fine, at least for a while. He was only protecting you, making sure you didn’t get hurt like your boyfriend—er, ex boyfriend did.
Through watching you, he quickly discovered something he hadn’t expected: It was hard to know someone so deeply and not want to love them. And then he began to do what he did best—take photos. And oh, what a beautiful subject he had found.
Today hadn’t been the day he wanted you to finally see him. He had been in pretty rough shape, badly beaten from the previous night’s events. Just another day “at work.” He hadn’t meant to trip and fall in front of you, to make clumsiness the center of your first impression of him. At least you had a first impression of him now. At least you saw him. After all this time, after all this pining, you finally saw him.
And he saw you.
Now, all there was to do was wait.
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i started a supercorp portrait of a lady on fire au like three years ago. i'm never going to finish it, but the writing style is pretty cool, so i want to share it. so um enjoy the prologue and a bit of chapter one?
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Prologue. Bonnelles, France. 1786.
“First, my contours,” Kara said, her voice soft and level. She looked out upon the dozen or so young women, their eyes darting back and forth from their papers to Kara herself. “The outline,” she continued. The increasingly swift sound of scratching charcoal prompted Kara to further instruct, “Not too fast. Take time to look at me.” She paused. “See how my arms are placed.”
At that moment, Kara saw the painting.
She swallowed and took in a breath; she schooled her expression before letting out the air with a pathetically soft “My hands.” Her students’ gaze followed her verbal direction, now observing as Kara’s fingers curled with remembrance. Their own hands now began to sketch the slope of hers—the slope that had once coaxed breathy moans from a lover, the slope that had once created that very painting in all of its hollow longing.
Kara felt her heart rate accelerating, and her attempts at calming deep breaths only made her shoulders shake unsteadily. “Who brought that painting out?” Her eyes darted around, landing on each possible offender, as she tensed her core and adopted a stern countenance.
Every student dutifully turned to look at the work.
It was an especially young girl who finally lifted her hand. “I brought it. From the stock room. Should I have not?”
Kara’s “no” felt like a brick, its weight threatening to pry tears from her reddening eyes. So Kara took another swallow, a handful of blinks, a few more steadying breaths.
“Did you paint it?” the girl asked innocently. Nia, her name was? She stared at Kara, oblivious to the flood of sound overwhelming Kara’s mind and echoing in the cavern of her heart.
“Yes,” Kara uttered softly, the word barely audible as they fell from her lips. “A long time ago.”
Nia’s head snapped back to examine the painting once more. It stood on an old but sturdy easel, tattooed and scarred but still standing. The artwork itself was brooding, with a white sun bleeding into a dark vignette. Heavy clumps of clouds occupied the sky and caged some of the sun’s rays, so the fire burning behind the woman was bright enough in comparison to create a dragging shadow of her figure. The flames crawled up the back of her windswept dress, bringing sharp tension to an otherwise lulling, melancholy landscape.
“What’s the title?”
The sound of the sea began to swell in Kara’s head. Her lips trembled. Her body unwittingly swayed slightly. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”
---
Chapter I. The island of Brittany, France, and the surrounding sea. 1779.
Kara squinted into the distance, her face scrunching up a bit as she desperately tried to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun on the water. For all its gorgeous teals and sparkling peaks, it certainly did make her wish for one of those brimmed hats the rowers were all wearing. With every one of their paced paddles, the cork-like little canoe bobbed haphazardly. Kara rather felt as if she were in the wine glass of a thoroughly drunken Marie Antoinette.
At least she wasn’t prone to seasickness.
She still felt quite unsteady, though, being thrown about and forced to pathetically grab onto the boat’s low walls. She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance and ground herself despite the absence of ground.
The wooden pallet holding her canvas was, apparently, as unstable as she was, and the next thing Kara knew, it had been lurched off of the boat like vomit from a drunkard. Kara watched helplessly as it thrashed among the choppy waves, the sea carrying it a few feet from the boat.
The chief rower met her desperate look with exhausted resignation; he ceased his paddling as Kara shed her overcoat and placed a precarious foot on the edge of the canoe.
With a strained creak from the boat’s wood, she jumped into the water, dress billowing behind her. Her first gasp for air upon emerging from the water was audible; she could feel the effort in her throat. Her arms moved in laborious little arcs as she slowly made her way towards the floating pallet and finally made a desperate reach for it. Kara’s fingers grasped onto a wooden board, and she pulled herself up onto it with a grunt.
---
The incessant wind upon the sea was certainly not helping Kara. Dripping wet, she wrapped herself up in her overcoat in a pitiful plea for warmth. She held the edges of the garment up to her lips, the sensation of the dry fabric bringing her some comfort as she closed her eyes and left herself to the mercy of the mighty sea.
But the interminable rocking of the feeble boat wouldn’t allow her any rest.
Kara wasn’t very religious, not anymore. Yet, the sight of the cliffs and coast of Brittany moved her to relieved prayer.
---
The sun had already begun to set as Kara trekked up the sandy coast. Her legs ached with every stumbling, unsure step—maybe she was a bit seasick after all—and her hands were tired of having to grip her full skirt to keep it out of her way.
She paused on the rocks, taking a moment to manually wring some of the water out of her skirt. She filled her lungs with an arduous breath before slinging the rope holding the pallet over her shoulder. Next came the fabric sling, which housed her trunk of personal items—she positioned it on her back with careful poise.
The journey up the cliffs and towards the trees was exhausting. Kara’s skirt required repositioning every few seconds, the rope was digging into her shoulder, and the pallet and trunk slammed into her back with each wobbling step. By the time she reached the straight path up to the residence, her breaths were heavy and pained, and the sun was nearly fully hidden beneath the horizon.
A soft light emanated from the windows above the mansion’s door, helping Kara feel a bit more secure as she knocked. A short blonde woman answered her summon and introduced herself with a flat “I’m Eve.” She opened the door a bit wider and gestured with her body for Kara to come in.
Eve held a small candle as she guided Kara up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes echoing through the grand yet starkly undecorated hallway. The walls of the stairwell were cement bricks, and the wrought iron bannister was rather plain and geometric.
They came to a stop in front of a similarly void room, bare save a few heavy curtains and a daybed. The raised panels along these walls matched the white-painted wood of the window frames, and they gave the chamber some elegant character.
While Eve entered the comparatively less intimidating room, Kara stayed back a moment, taking in the shafts of muted blue light from the windows and the contrasting warm glow of leaping flames from the central fireplace.
Eve crouched down to poke at the fire as Kara set down her belongings. “It was a reception room,” Eve explained. “Though I’ve never seen it used.”
The fire crackled pleasantly. “Have you been here long?” Kara inquired.
“Three years,” Eve answered, directing her attention back to the fire.
Kara peeled off her overcoat and draped it along the wainscoting. “Do you like it here?”
“Yes,” Eve said simply as she stood up. She turned to Kara, meeting her eyes now as her hands smoothed over her skirt. “I’ll let you get dry.” And with a nod, she was on her way.
Kara watched her every step.
Once the door closed, she hastily began removing her overskirt. It fell to the dark herringbone floor with an unglamorous thud.
---
There was no method or grace to the way Kara wrapped her hand around the rusting crowbar, but with a few jerks, she’d managed to successfully pry the top off of the pallet.
After setting down the wood cover, Kara extended her hand, letting it fall clumsily onto the slick canvas in front of her. It was still wet, and her hand’s small circular movement caused moisture to pool at her fingertips, as if her touch had beckoned the water. So her hand withdrew, and Kara slid the canvas out from its container. Her eyes danced over the surface as she considered how to dry it, holding it in front of herself like the Communion host of an evening Mass.
---
Kara decided to accompany her drying canvas, which was now positioned next to the fireplace. Stripped naked, she sat in front of the fire and pulled her legs towards herself—she was vulnerable, sitting there bare and in a new environment, and the action made her feel a bit more small, compact, and safe.
Kara set down her candle so she could light her tobacco pipe with the flames. Her large, smoky exhales grounded her, in a way, with the familiar sight and smell acting as a sort of sedative. And she stared forward, expression blank but unmistakably worn.
---
Kara walked barefoot along the cement floor, making her way through the hall and to the pantry room wrapped in nothing but her robe-like smock.
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