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lovieku · 3 months ago

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HANDS ON ME ⋆ 정국

it’s about to look like jeongguk’s birthday everyday with you.

୨ৎ from the grande series

pairing: nerd!jk x popular!fem reader

genre: smut

ratings: 18+ / mdni

warnings: based on this ask, lower case intended, jk is inexperienced and sooo whipped, it’s his birthday!!! and he’s getting it hhhh, lowk dom!oc x sub!jk, size kink, tit play, dry humping, brief coochie play, cum eating omfg, blow job, cutest babies ever

word count: 3.9k

a/n: first thing i saw this morning was that ask, so of course i had to write this. like THANK U ANON that was such a good idea yes yes yes. hope u enjoy 🩷🩷

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive @nooooooooonnneeeeeee @vantelover1306

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jeongguk didn’t wish for his birthday party to look like this.

the second he casually mentioned that his parents would be out of town on the very same day he would turn 21, his small friend group (consisting of the two nerdiest guys in college, probably even battling him for the top spot) took it on them to turn what he imagined would be a calm, quiet night spent with the comfort of jimin and taehyung in front of video games into a contending rival of a literal frat party. in his own house. when he never approved of it, nor asked for it.

there’s an inestimable amount of faces he has never seen before this moment, but they all seem to know him, congratulating him every time he comes in their vision. then, they go back to drinking, kissing, soft-fucking on his couch, and seemingly pumping up the volume of the music more and more with each blasting and ungraceful song.

that is probably why he’s struggling a bit more than he usually does with breathing. he’s a huge germaphobe, and having all these strangers barge into his space and lean on every possible surface with their greasy, alcohol stained hands has him close to hyperventilating.

he still hasn’t figured out how his two friends did it, but they managed to involve what looked like the whole uni into coming at jeongguk’s 21st birthday party like it was an unmissable event. it truly did seem like one, though, the birthday boy looking around in a confused awe and realizing this is all he’s ever missed from his teenage years. meh. not all that.

what really got him struggling to breathe is you. you, the most popular girl in college, talks about you on the mouths of all guys and girls in the hallways, loved yet envied by every single one of them, are here. and when you greeted him, you did so with a kiss for each of his cheeks. he stood there like he truly was going to let his lungs stop working, and you just smiled up at him through your long lashes and big eyes.

you’re not popular for the cliché reasons a girl in college might be. you’re not mean, you don’t square uncool people from head to toe with a judging look, you’re not known to be scary and unapproachable. the reason why you’re surrounded by a devoted swarm of bees is because you’re the literal definition of an angel.

an angel always ready to help anyone who seems like struggling, flash them with pearly whites, and be impossible to resist with bug, wide eyes conveying all your most honest emotions.

you’re known for genuine reasons. he’s never even heard many rumors about you, and if he did he assumed it was coming from way too envious people. the only thing he allowed himself to believe about your privacy, is that you’re very caring in bed.

he won’t admit it, feels disgusting for it, but he’s touched himself to that thought a couple of times. maybe more.

it doesn’t matter now, because you’re closer to him than you’ve ever been, and you sit in the overwhelming circle that has formed on the floor of his living room, people he has never even talked to proposing games and pushing drinks into his hand since he’s now 21.

unlike most people, that number doesn’t mean a lot to him. he’s not that thrilled about the knowledge that he can now get his hands on anything that was previously denied to him, alcohol and substances of those sorts. he never liked them, and he doesn’t think he will just because of this newfound freedom.

he’s now getting the full experience when someone, sharp-eyed and drunk on audacity, spots the wooden door to his dad’s wine cellar left slightly ajar and suggests seven minutes in heaven with the kind of enthusiasm jeongguk imagines newton felt when that apple hit his head.

on his right, jimin panics for jeongguk, “you’re not going to fuck in mr. jeon’s wine cellar.”

“who said anything about fucking?” dahye, a friend of yours, the complete opposite of you with a mean aura and sliced eyes, intervenes and has everyone laughing.

jimin rolls his eyes and plops down from where he straightened up on his knees, and jeongguk stays silent. he gave up fighting long ago, when the first drink spilled on his carpet.

he just gives a tight-lipped smile when his blonde friend tries an apologetic look, shaking his head and studying the room. jeongguk gulps when his eyes inevitably fall on yours, and he finds you already staring, an intensity he hasn’t seen often. when he’s sure he’s perfectly resembling a deer caught in headlights, you tilt your head amusedly, and he hastily focuses back down on his lap.

“well, since jimin is so afraid we’re gonna break his boyfriend’s stuff,” dahye continues, feeding off the childish chuckles coming from around her, and maybe also off jimin’s annoyed glare, “why don’t we let the birthday boy go first?”

at that, jeongguk’s head snaps up, his fluffy hair bouncing with the sudden movement, and he looks around wide eyed. he’s not sure what the game entails, he just knows something is supposed to happen, but he’s not sure exactly what the people hungrily gawking at him are expecting.

taehyung is about to add something when dahye interrupts once again, resting her hand on your lap beside her, “he can go with ___. i know that would make his day.”

sitting at her left, you’re the only one who doesn’t laugh at the sneaky implication; instead, you glare at your friend, who shrugs in response.

both jimin and taehyung fall in total silence, their eyes alarmingly looking at their friend in the middle. jeongguk seems a hundred times more panicked, but not because of the same reasons.

while his two best friends are simply excited at the prospect of jeongguk’s every dream coming true, eagerly expecting a positive answer from his mouth, jeongguk’s whole focus is on you, and your seemingly impassive face. his mind spins with haunting worries, giving at least twenty different interpretations to the way you’re looking at him, brows subtly twitching up.

he clumsily parts his lips to say something, but with absolutely no senseful thought swarming his brain, nothing comes out.

a beat of anticipated silence goes by before you gracefully stand up, all eyes following you, and even if quiet, your voice goes through the music, “let’s go, gguk.”

jeongguk loudly gulps, and he hopes the sound isn’t heard, but he doubts it since he’s receiving a scary amount of attention that goes over what he’s received his whole life.

if it wasn’t for the two guys at his sides pushing him to stand up, he would have stayed with his ass perched to the floor. instead, he stumbles and almost trips, meeting your eyes with awkward shame as you just softly smile at his gawkiness.

you don’t wait for him, daintily walking to the room victim of the game, pushing the door open and curiously peeking inside. jeongguk hastily jumps over the people sitting on the ground, still quietly observing the scene, and he’s at your side way faster than the time it took for him to even realize what was about to happen.

he exhales loudly at the proximity, standing behind you and basking in the height difference, your head barely reaching his chest, and he thinks he truly sees heaven when you turn around to look up at him, grinning delicately as you tilt your head back, “wanna go in?”

jeongguk is sure he has lost the capability to speak. no matter the sounds he tries to force up his throat, they’re not strong enough to fight their way out. he simply closes the door behind the two of you, and he’s glad when it significantly helps drown out the loud music and drunkish chatter.

he’s less glad for it when it means he’s officially left alone with you in a relatively cramped space, the silence almost more suffocating than the room and its strong smell. but he’s convinced you must be an angel when you don’t complain, not even slightly, your face the expression of composure.

he stands in the middle of the cellar while you explore it in a circle, letting your heels click on the parquet floor and your fingers carefully brush the wine bottles.

the simple action makes him feel hot, naughty mind conjuring up images of you tracing his skin with such care, and he releases a shaky breath before you can stop him, blurting his messy thoughts out, “we— we don’t have— have to do anyt—”

“sit on that stool, gguk.”

the command is anything but harsh, your voice a soft melody of calmness, but it still startles him. no, it shakes something in his chest, traveling all the way down to where he’s starting to feel a strong urge.

you point to a wooden stool in the corner of the room, which doesn’t look too high, but when he obediently goes to sit on it with his knees wobbling, you promptly place yourself in front of him and grin at the way he’s still almost at face level with you, his forehead reaching only a little under your chin.

his huge proportions compared to yours have always managed to make your head spin and thighs squeeze together whenever you managed to sit next to him in the few lectures you shared, lashes fluttering seductively to have him fix nonexistent bugs on your computer just to see his wide hand close to yours on the keyboard.

now, with his puppy eyes staring up at you expectantly, his drawn up brows only emphasizing his yearning, you need to steady yourself with hands on his shoulder to hold back from quite literally grinding on him. you whisper, “good.”

his orbs shake impossibly more, and from the corner of your eye you see his fingers fidgeting in his lap, fighting a delirious need. his legs are spread just enough for you to be standing right in the middle of them, but you push yourself further into him, his chin lifting up even higher to never be forced to look away from your firm gaze, hanging from your lips when you voice an apology, “i didn’t bring a gift, ggukkie.”

jeongguk is almost panting, the endearing nicknames only adding to the warmth of your sweet body, your vanilla scent clouding his senses and gouging the truth out of him, “th—that’s okay, ___. i—i’m very happy you’re here.”

you smile, but it’s one he’s never seen on you. it’s not one of those you flash when you’re grateful, understanding, or even amused. it’s mischievous, almost belittling. “are you saying i’m your gift?”

his eyes widen, and he’s ashamed of the way your accusative tone causes him to throb in his jeans, and in his speech too, “huh— oh my god. i’m so sorry. that must sound so—”

you chuckle, stroking his broad back with your hands sliding across his width, “hey, slow down. it sounds so very cute coming from your lips.”

jeongguk appreciates your efforts at trying to put him at ease, truly. but your soothing touch and words only have him in a state of alert, even more when your fingers travel up his nape and find home in his locks. you’re impossibly close now, and he feels your voice resounding within him, “but i’m still not satisfied. i wanna give you more, make you forgive me.”

your whisper fans over his lips, and he unconsciously parts them for you, his eyes hooded by the second and glassed over with desperate want. you smirk.

stepping back enough for his neck to rest at a comfortable angle, he whimpers deliciously at the loss of your touch, but you shut him up just as quickly when your dress is off you and on the wooden floor in a swift motion.

jeongguk is definitely panting now, breathing manually and focusing too much on having his heart pump oxygen for him rather than the view of your exposed body in front of him.

he gradually realizes he could care less about dying right now if it means the last thing he’s going to be faced with is your nipples hardening with the cool, and hopefully something else, and your lacy white panties barely covering your core.

jeongguk stares like a starved man being met with his first meal after weeks of seeking, his hands trembling on his thighs and squeezing into suppressing fists.

his gasp turns into an awfully high-pitched moan when you hook a finger under the hem of your lingerie, sliding it daintily down your legs and walking out of it, never breaking eye contact with him. only thing you’re left with are your high heeled boots.

the next thing you do has the organs that keep all his vital functions going completely stop working, his heart missing more than ten beats and catching up with an alarmingly fast speed, causing his voice to shake, “___, wh—what are you—”

swinging one of your legs, you sit on him with your ingloriously stained panties pressing right on his crotch, hands placed back on the base of his neck, basking in the way you can feel his rapid beating under your fingers.

you lean into his ear, “if you like what you see, you can put your hands on me, baby.”

jeongguk throws his head back for air, his chest heaving with trembling exhales before he finds your eyes again, and in the fraction of second he needed to look elsewhere if he didn’t want to bust in his tight pants already, you’re a whole different person.

your eyes are sliced, pupils blown and hooded, and your parted lips stretch just enough to paint a wicked smirk over your face, its effects flooding right down his stomach and making you feel his hardness through the material.

his hands dance a panicked rhythm hovering over your sides, not sure what to do, not deeming himself deserving of feeling your skin under his touch. but you take it upon yourself to guide them, pressing his palms against your hips and letting them ride up your exposed breasts.

he whimpers, fingertips unconsciously testing the sense of the soft curve of your boobs with a subtle press, but it’s not enough. you can’t feel him.

with your hands still on his, you arch yourself further into his touch and have his thumbs slice over your sensitive nubs, letting out a moan of your own that goes over his low groan. you lick your lips and struggle to find your breath and words too, but you whisper them through an already too fucked out smile, “see? you can touch me, just like that.”

the go-ahead is all he needs for him to dive his head right into your chest, his tongue catching your nipple in an unpracticed hunger, messily sucking on it and quickly leaving your skin soaked with spit. he works clumsily with his hand on your other tit, movements uncoordinated and unsure.

but the fact that he seems to not care about his inexperience, willing to learn right at this moment all it takes for you to keep whimpering and trembling when he touches, has your usually composed senses lost in a haze of desire, the need to give your all to the nerdy boy that is finally being properly touched just as he turns 21 clouding your senses and pushing you to unconsciously buck your hips against his.

he moans with his mouth full of you, his free hand gripping your thigh, and he tries to stop it but he can’t help the way he meets your grinding, snapping up as if he lost all sort of control over his body. he quite literally wails in desperation, “fuck— don’t— don’t do that. i’m gonna— oh, god.”

“you’re gonna cum?” you sound just as crazed, hips rutting at a faster speed on him, the slickness smearing all over his jeans and leaving a wet patch right where his dick stays confined.

“no! i— i mean, just give me a second, shit. i swear, i—”

“ggukkie, this is about you. i’ll make you cum, hm? how’s that sound?” the sweet sound of your promise has him seeing stars, eyes squeezing shut as he feels himself getting close to a point he doesn’t think he’s ever reached before.

until he’s back to zero.

you lift your hips off his, helping your weight up by placing your hands on his broad shoulders, and you sport a devilish smile when he opens his eyes again, protest ready on his tongue. his brows are furrowed and there’s tears ready to spill out from his eyelids, but you don’t let them.

the huge palm that was still fondling your breast is now being led by you further down, until it disappears between you. you have him cup your wet core, the intensity of the moment only heightened by your gaze never leaving his, “touch me.”

when panic flashes over his expression once again, you instruct him through it just how you did minutes before, and he quickly gets the hang of it. you always appreciated him being a fast learner, but you couldn’t imagine that it would come handy in a scenario like this one.

you hum when his ring and middle finger trace your slit, only to come up to try and find your clit in a surprisingly good attempt, “good, get all of it. make your hand wet.”

the moment squelching sounds reach your ears, you leave your seat from his lap and stand on your heels again. he whines, unknowingly reaching for you, but you halt his hand and redirect it on the zipper of his jeans. you tilt your chin, “take them off.”

he’s quicker than he was at the beginning of his seven minutes in heaven now, freeing himself from the tight pants, boxers going along with it, and his cock springs free deliciously, standing tall and proud against his tummy.

you groan, almost already falling to your knees like you are planning to do soon. it’s an adjective you don’t think you’ve ever used on any of the guys you’ve been with, but jeongguk’s cock is pretty. its pink tip matches his lips, swollen from the harsh biting, and it doesn’t look rough. it has just the perfect length, girth, and when it twitches under your awe, you see it bend subtly to the right.

you smile, meeting his face again, delirious need written all over it, “stroke your cock with the hand you touched me with,” the second the order is out your lips, he’s already working himself. you can see him trying to go at a merciful speed, his grip loose, and it makes you grin amusedly, “mh, aren’t you so obedient. let me have a taste, gguk.”

you clearly have noticed that he’s not as quick on his feet as he usually is, brain clouded, so you once again take it upon yourself to lead his hand, this time introducing two of his fingers in your warm mouth. you hum loudly around the thick digits, eyes rolling back, and you speak around them, “fuck, you wanna try that?”

you don’t wait for him to reply, knowing it would get him minutes that you sadly don’t have to formulate a senseful answer, and you simply feed him his own fingers, carefully watching the way he lets his cheek hollow around them. you chuckle feverishly, “we taste so good together, don’t we?”

he nods eagerly, eyes glassy with more tears, and you think you can see one drop at the side of his face just as you fall to your knees in front of his seated body, your pretty figure even smaller from his view, and he’s graced with your bug eyes staring up at him through long lashes.

you don’t waste any more time, knowing there’s not much left in the heaven you’ve created for your own, and you wrap your ravenous mouth around him, showing none of the previous mercy in your speed.

he lets his mouth hang open, moans uncontrollably loud, and he needs to grab the sides of his stool to get the illusion of some sort of power still left within him. he closes his eyes in bliss, but quickly snaps them open when he realizes what he’s missing.

you’re bobbing your head up and down his length, and you still manage to maintain that dainty elegance that characterizes you, slim fingers gripping around the base and making up for the spots you can’t reach. he pants on the verge of a heart attack, pitch high as he begs, “fuck. look— look up at me, please.”

you do, aligning yourself better to meet his frenzied state, eyes communicating all the words you can’t say, too engaged in having him unravel all over your lips. he groans at the eye contact, thinking back to all the times he’s seen this exact scene flash behind his closed eyelids, and he’s a fool for even believing his mere imagination could compare.

it will never be enough, never again. not after this. not after knowing what you look like as you devote yourself to him, precise movements getting him closer, the way your tongue flickers out to reach down further and how you let his tip meet the back of your throat finally causing him to snap his hips up involuntarily, and before he can say something to warn you, he’s painting your warm mouth with his cum.

ropes of white, hot liquid spill out from you, but you promptly collect all of it, making sure not a single drop is missed, gulping it down with eager want. you wordlessly smile up at him, infatuated with the way his chest heaves and his lips part, trying to regain some composure.

he thinks he will need hours to fully recover. and he’s not even sure he wants this moment to end, blurting his predominant thought out before he knows it, “i wanna make you feel good, too.”

you chuckle as you get up, quickly soothing your knees before collecting your panties from the ground and walking back inside them, “it’s okay, baby. this was my birthday gift for you, hm? besides, we don’t have much time left before the others come in.”

“but…”

jeongguk helplessly watches as you get dressed, cringing at the stickiness of your wet core but nonetheless slipping your flowy dress back on. he just had the best orgasm of his life from the girl he firmly believes to be the love of his life, and he doesn’t get to give it back. oh, he feels like an absolute asshole.

you seem to read it all simply by scanning his face fondly, words soft, “that doesn’t mean you won’t get to do that, you cute boy. you will, and soon.”

when you’re done fixing the creases over your clothes, you walk to him and help him back in his jeans. tucking his softening length in, you lift up the zip of his pants and you’re glad for the way the patch of your wetness seems to have dried.

standing between his spread legs, you brush a hand through his hair, tenderly watching the way his curls fall and tickle his forehead. you smile and whisper quietly, “i got your number from dahye. i’ll text you, okay?”

he gulps, nodding hastily at your rhetorical question and feeling the blush creep up his neck. god, he must look like a total fool, “o—okay…”

humming lowly, you press your lips to his cheek, then to the tip of his nose, “you’re so pretty, you know that? don’t be sad.” next, your mouth rests on his, molding in a kiss that has his eyes shooting wide, and that ends way before he can even realize what’s happening. you chuckle at his expression, and you can’t resist another peck before promising, “happy birthday, gguk.”

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mikiruma · 2 years ago

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i need to redesign my pokésona. i have the gym leader one from ages ago. but now i need to make my new one. he's a breeder-turned-social scientist who primarily studies the ethics and interactions between pokémon and humans, as well as their environmental impact. his goal is to inform the public about proper pokémon care, make sure any work pokémon are treated well and rehome/rehabilitate mistreated pokémon. (as much as i love an idyllic world where they live in harmony, unfortunately im a realist. people are people. this guy is a self proclaimed pokémon advocate with that in mind)

#talking #oh yeah and he dabbles in genetics/breeding as well #i like to think pokémon media are simplifying everything in terms of that to make it more digestible #i think. my guy studies thinks like crossbreeding/morphs/egg groups #again he's not the most knowledgable but it is a side interest he just hasn't pursued as much #his team also cycles depending on his current focus. he isn't the battling type bc it makes him sad but he loves spectating #i just imagine him having maybe one or two personal partners and the occasional oddball 'work partner'#grimer in a wagon mostly :)#this turned into an oc dump but!!!!! i love those critters they are my friends

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makeitlookdecent · 2 years ago

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its oc time

#wip #i need a new oc tag #battle ready battle maids #idk what to call 2&3 #2 is like a school with magic slice of life #and 3 was. dnd character who i didnt get to finish the campaign with because group kinda died #but it had the side effect of me giving him like. a whole story that has nothing to do with the campaign adventure #and tbh i like it more than whatever i was doin at the table im so bad at picking things to do (thankfully dm saw that and was like just #make him very similar to you(so its natural) but make him dumb.(he needed a major flaw/vice)

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dollfat · 2 years ago

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i never wrote up the final characterization of my boymage warden but ive thought a lot about him i wanna make him his own character. maybe in another game with magic. he/she/they named alice.

#shes arrogant and cold but kind and fair. loyal to no particular group but would do anything for their friends.#spirit healer and battle mage #dove plays dao #my ocs

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hoseoksluna · 11 months ago

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STEAM | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: smut

word count: 9.2k

summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.

playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam

warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names

note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3

The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.

He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.

You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.

And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.

The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.

But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.

It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.

Showers with him are something else.

Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.

That has become your new version of hot long showers.

And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.

You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.

That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.

You feel him everywhere.

You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.

Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch.

That’s a good girl. Messy for me.

The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.

It’s a part of the solo girl's night.

A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.

You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—

A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.

You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.

He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is.

Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.

Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully.

His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses.

Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth.

He is not, in fact, on his way home.

It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy.

You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny.

Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.”

He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?”

The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display.

He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.”

Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself.

Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen.

Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking.

A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do?

It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice.

You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on.

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.”

Naked.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.”

And with that, he hangs up.

The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you.

You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend.

His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form.

Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer.

Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience?

The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad.

Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you.

What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done?

You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you.

That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.

Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer.

By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.

You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you.

The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had.

The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to.

Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all.

The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream—

“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”

Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment?

Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call?

“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person.

Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult.

You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there.

This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—

“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.”

It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred.

Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body.

A healer with big, round eyes. A good man.

With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”

It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.

You made Yoongi drink a lot of water.

And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober.

He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross.

So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially.

Was it out of the question or would he consider it?

Your leg jitters harder.

You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin.

“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.”

He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion.

You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—

Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek.

“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?”

You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one?

You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks.

“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness.

And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you.

“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.”

You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?”

Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”

You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did.

Your arousal returns at full speed.

“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently.

You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side.

“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.”

He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?”

You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself.

Yoongi coos. “Good girl.”

A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you.

“Can I feel how wet you are?”

A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.”

You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted.

“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue.

He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently.

“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?”

You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.”

He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”

You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?”

Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?”

The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine.

He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?”

Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.”

A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?”

You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—

You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath.

“Spank my pussy again, please.”

Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while.

“Apologize first.”

“You didn’t tell me how.”

He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—

“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.”

Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours.

You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples.

“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”

You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.

“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”

You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged.

“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?”

Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times.

You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think.

When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants.

Roses, opening. Roses, sighing.

You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—

“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half.

There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath.

Such a stark, sudden change.

You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.

Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.

Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?

You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.

You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.

Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that.

“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.”

The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving.

“Keep your legs where they belong.”

“No.”

A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage.

“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin.

You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under.

“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.

“You want to get fucked by someone else?”

A question for a question.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration.

Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home.

The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy.

There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.

“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?”

Truthfulness, at last.

Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start.

You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down.

You fight against it.

Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness.

And you decide to repeat history.

You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants.

The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat.

“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?”

You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether.

And then, you collect your essence again.

This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest.

“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.”

Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you.

He parts his lips for you.

And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally.

You’re in charge. And it feels divine.

His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue.

“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.”

A straight hit to his core. A glee for you.

But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince.

And then—then he manhandles you.

Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does.

He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden.

Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter.

“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?”

You gulp, frozen, eyes widening.

Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion.

“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.”

So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit.

Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free.

You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off.

“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.”

Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused.

“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.”

You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation.

“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way.

A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum.

“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.”

Yoongi has had enough.

He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’.

Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.”

You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?”

He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix.

You moan his name, gone—entirely gone.

“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?”

He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him.

“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”

Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.”

He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you.

“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.”

You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.”

He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something.

Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—

Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.”

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you.

“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.”

You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come.

It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them.

“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.”

You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes.

“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.”

With that, he hangs up.

You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again.

Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself.

You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you.

“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing.

You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?”

Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.”

You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief.

“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you.

He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—

Yoongi loses his mind.

And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles.

“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.”

He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours.

But you don’t let him take charge.

“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.”

Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you.

His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed.

You hold onto his neck with your dear life.

“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.”

You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours.

“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.

“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.”

Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him.

It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock.

It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit.

It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life.

And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.

And it’s you who checks up on him.

“You sure you’re okay with this?”

You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too.

He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring.

“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.”

You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation.

“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?”

You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness.

“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him.

“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.”

“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.”

Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you.

BACK to masterlist / READ part two

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raguiras · 6 months ago

Text

Music Weeks at NRC!

A Twisted Wonderland fan event

For a big event, Night Raven College splits into four large music groups, each with their own unique style and aesthetic. Follow the beat of your heart and create something miraculous!

These are just some quick sketches, but I'm pretty happy with them!

SHARING IS SUPER APPRECIATED!!! ♡♡♡

DEADLINE: none :) // My other ongoing event (ship art trades)

ALL INFO BELOW THE CUT!

☆ LORE ☆

RAGU Entertainment, an up-and-rising music company focusing on young talents, has offered Night Raven College a sponsorship and cooperation! The student body is being split into four large music groups, each with their own aesthetic and style. For every song made by the students, Night Raven College is rewarded with both exposure and money in exchange for promoting the company through the students' music. Some of the teens chose their groups themselves, others were assigned to one; some are performers, others work behind the scenes. Additionally, everyone is turning the music weeks into an unofficial battle — who makes the best, most well-received songs?

The NRC faculty members supervise the groups themselves, and Allen, the Ramshackle student known for his lyrical talent, organization skills and passion for music, is in charge of supervising the event's quality while simultaneously also working as the co-leader of his own group.

☆ GROUP INTROS ☆

Hazard/Riff: hip hop/rock fusion // street style aesthetic // leader: Deuce (+ Allen)

PASTEL BXMB!: bubblegum/dance pop fusion // pastel aesthetic // leader: Kalim

GLOWCHAIN: k-pop/EDM fusion //sparkly, mature aesthetic // leader: Vil

lonely lantern: indie/soft pop fusion // light academia/cottagecore // leader: Silver

The descriptions are rather vague so there's more room for you to be creative.

You obviously aren't limited to these pictures and can expand on the aesthetic as long as it's still similar! Draw your OC in whatever clothes you consider to be fitting.

☆ HOW TO PARTICIPATE ☆

Pick one of the four groups for your OC. Which one suits them best?

Use said group's designated background (scroll down in this post to find them) and make a TWST event card for your OC!

Write some voicelines, such as gacha or homescreen ones.

OPTIONAL: Make a GROOVY version portraying your OC in a music video scene (may be posted separately).

OPTIONAL: Include a few fun doodles or outfit-related stuff.

Post it with the hashtag ragu music weeks, tag (@) me so I can see it, and link this post in it!

I will link your OC's card in the official lineup section of this post.

Writing a fic, drawing something other than a card, or just doing anything creative in general is also allowed! You can obviously mix multiple of these things, too.

I'm looking forward to ALL types of entries.

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ RULES ☆

No NSFW.

All types of NRC student OCs are allowed (except for fan children/another generation)! Faculty OCs are also allowed, but as supervisors instead of performers.

Your student OCs can be anything: a vocalist, rapper, dancer, instrumentalist, producer, lyricist, makeup artist, stage designer, director, choreographer, whatever! Just don't make them a co-leader without my approval.

You can obviously enter with multiple OCs!

Making cards of canon characters is technically allowed, but the event is supposed to focus on OCs. (I will draw Deuce's OFFICIAL card and maybe also some others.)

There are no canon ships (other than Deuce x Allen, which is only canon/extremely implied because Deuce's planned event lore is heavily dependent on his relationship with Allen), so please don't bash anyone for implying that their OC is dating/crushing on the same canon character as yours.

Don't make your OC beef with other people's OCs unless they've given you permission to do so.

Don't move a canon character into a different group. The official lineups can be found below.

☆ CARD BACKGROUNDS ☆

Hazard/Riff -> PASTEL BXMB! -> GLOWCHAIN -> lonely lantern

☆ OUR LINEUPS ☆

[Your OC will be added here with a link!]

Hazard/Riff (supervised by Vargas)

DEUCE, Allen, EPEL, ACE, LEONA, RUGGIE, FLOYD, Zian, Estella, Iyad, Estelle, Yuhua

PASTEL BXMB! (supervised by Sam)

KALIM, LILIA, IDIA, ORTHO, SEBEK, Carla, Bonbon, Astrid, Romeo, Fiend, Yumi, Yuya, Forsythea, Ben, Ruby, Victor (links will be added once I've regained them... they got removed 😭)

GLOWCHAIN (supervised by Crewel)

VIL, TREY, CATER, AZUL, JAMIL, MALLEUS, Ryuuni, Viviroe, Stephanie, Erin, Kyoi, Aurinelle

lonely lantern (supervised by Trein)

SILVER, JADE, RIDDLE, JACK, ROOK, Jinx, Cass, Yorrana, Illysabeth

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ OUR LEADERS ☆

DEUCE: Having adapted music as an outlet for his delinquent tendencies from Allen and enjoying himself with this form of self-expression, Deuce is the born leader of Hazard/Riff. Not only have his vocals and especially his rap greatly improved by now, but he also writes lyrics together with Allen.

KALIM: Spread joy! Despite it being different from his usual aesthetics, Kalim immediately felt intrigued by the concept of PASTEL BXMB! and knew that this was the group he wanted to join. Through his naturally positive aura and ability to bring people together, he fits them incredibly well, and serves as a vocalist as well as the main dancer.

VIL: GLOWCHAIN has a mature, elegant sparkly aesthetic — it was a no-brainer that Vil would be its leader. The ambitious, talented artist makes sure that the group stands out and draws people in with his preexisting popularity and charisma. He is a vocalist as well as the visual of the group.

SILVER: Being calm, kind and well-liked, Silver is a fitting leader for lonely lanterns, an indie group welcoming to all kinds of personalities and skill levels. With his soothing vocals, good looks and somewhat odd aesthetic, he became the face of the group.

(ALLEN: Being the person who introduced music as a coping mechanism to Deuce, Allen is the co-leader of Hazard/Riff. Not only is he a talented producer and rapper as well as an exceptional lyricist, but he also has a blind understanding with Deuce, and the two spend tons of time together. When it comes to the group, Allen is perfectionistic but enthusiastic.)

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ GROUP FOCUSES ☆

Hazard/Riff: Partial usage of instruments. Focuses on rap, rock vocals, and meaningful lyrics.

PASTEL BXMB!: No usage of instruments. Focuses on positivity, good vibes and dance.

GLOWCHAIN: No usage of instruments. Focuses on aesthetics, elegance and good vocals.

lonely lantern: Partial usage of instruments. Has no focus and is the most open-minded group.

☆ INSPIRATION PLAYLISTS ☆

Hazard/Riff — PASTEL BXMB! — GLOWCHAIN — lonely lantern

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ OTHER EVENT NOTES ☆

You're very much allowed to include my designs, Allen (his profile is linked in the leader section), or the Deuce x Allen ship (they have duo magic too!) in your OC's card's groovy version. No need to ask for my permission!

Interactions between your OC and Allen are very much encouraged! Feel free to mention him in your OC's voicelines, too.

I'll make a card for Allen, and I'll also make Deuce's OFFICIAL card. If the mood strikes me, I'll possibly also draw official cards for some other canon characters.

I'll reblog every entry on my reblog blog and also link all entries in this post!

If this event ends up being well-received, I'll do a second part someday! So far, the idea is that it would be vkei/electro swing/weirdcore/Europop.

All resources were found on and downloaded from Pinterest, then edited. The event art was drawn by me.

If you have any questions, please leave a comment!

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luvrsluxe · 14 days ago

Text

GOING THE DISTANCE FT. JEY USO

Summary: Jey receives an unexpected surprise during Royal Rumble Weekend.

Pairing: ROYAL RUMBLE CHAMPION! jey uso [papi coded... we're so back!] x black! fem reader/OC (Cheyenne)

Warnings: 18+/NSFW under the cut, fluffy fluff fluff, so many cuddles, plenty of petnames, oral (f! receiving), talking her through the process, fwbs to lovers, flirting, kissing, fingering, hotel sex, creampies, p in v (wrap it before you tap it!) breeding kink (slight), aftercare, and another cliffhanger!

Word Count: 6k... grab tissues, i guess?

Author's Note: This was written after SNME, and I wanted to hold onto it and share right after the Rumble- I initially wrote it as Jey winning so the entry number is different - i kept my John Cena/Jey Uso theory in the story and... COME TO FIND OUT POOKIE WON EXACTLY HOW I SAID HE WOULD 🥹… not much else to say, except that he deserves this SO much - I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing this one. as always, comments, reblogs, messages to my inbox, likes are all welcome!

Inspo: this song, the victory lap fic and this request - slightly modified

Part 1 is here

"Alright, Group Y - 5:30pm, you guys can line up."

Jey had been listening to the Fanatics Fest crew list the previous 24 letters of the alphabet in the last two days while meeting eager fans prior to one of the most important days of the PLE calendar. The Royal Rumble was a high stakes match, featuring thirty WWE superstars that would enter in at random to battle it out and determine one winner to main event Wrestlemania.

He had been so locked in, working out with Roman, Jimmy, and Sami Zayn - attending panels with other WWE superstars in between the meet and greets, making appearances at the various fan events. It was safe to say, he was busy.

However, he never missed his late night calls with a newly made acquaintance in Cheyenne. Two weeks prior, they’d met at a RAW after party in downtown Atlanta. After lengthy conversation and a few too many shots of Hennessy, the rest of that night was spent with their bodies tangled up between her bedsheets. Well intentioned were the activities, as Cheyenne sought out a new experience. No longer wanting to be acquainted with little boys, she desired a man.

That’s who Jey was to her.

Every single night since leaving her house, Jey made sure to call. The most recent call they had; he’d been stuck in a trance. The sight of her usually curly tresses pulled into a bun, glasses askew on her nose, and her signature glossy pout had him flustered. She was undeniably pretty, and with her stoic grace, he knew he had to put in work to eventually shift from friends with benefits to something more.

He missed her soft giggles, the way she ran her fingers over the Samoan ink that first night. He missed how Chai made him feel - like he was the only man for her. In the time they’d spoken, Jey realized that she was the calm breeze that weathered his energetic personality- the budding chemistry was undeniable.

“I miss yo’ fine ass, Cheyenne.” He’d said the night before, and she rolled her eyes playfully.

“I done told you; work is so busy at the moment. I would’ve loved to be at the Rumble, babe. But you got it. I know you do - never forget that ambitious energy.” She’d said, and the reassuring message replayed in Jey’s head from time to time during the interview panels he had done with Fanatics Fest earlier that day.

Jey had chuckled at the prospect of Chai surprising him. He understood she was a busy, hardworking, and ambitious girl. Everything he wanted in a woman. The last thing he’d ever want to do to her was stress her out.

But deep down, he wanted to see her in person again, wanted to feel her skin against his, and wanted to spoil her beyond understanding. FaceTime calls were not cutting it.

Little did he know, Cheyenne was already ten steps ahead.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEET!"

As the photographer snapped the last of Group Y's photo ops, Cheyenne snuck behind one of the curtains, a blue gift bag in hand. Jey had just wrapped up his final set of photo ops, smiling and thanking everyone for waiting and being patient with him. It warmed his heart that so many fans had come out to show support and give him a plethora of beaded bracelets, gift cards, and other heartfelt gifts.

"You got time for one more fan, Jey? She's waited all day to see you, but couldn't get a ticket in time." One of the coordinators asked, and he tossed his blue rimmed YEET shades over his head, smirking playfully.

"Hell yeah, uce. Bring her in."

The coordinator brought Cheyenne to the line up area, and when Jey turned around, his eyes widened.

There she stood, clad in hip hugging low rise jeans, the small sliver of her brown skin catching in his line of vision. It was cut off by the bright blue and pink custom vest and a cropped "YEET" tee she had carefully paired together. True to Jey's character, she had a pair of new white Air Force 1 sneakers and the pink rimmed YEET shades rested on her head, a pretty contrast to her dark curls, which had cleverly been decorated with gold beads.

A certain foreshadowing of what the future would hold.

"Surprise, Jey!”

The simple two words had him blushing, and he didn't even wait for her to come forward, pulling Cheyenne into the tightest hug. "Fuck's sake, mama. Is this real? Are you f'real right now?" He says softly, inhaling the sweet scents of dark cherries and jasmine as he rocked Cheyenne in his arms.

She giggles softly, burying her head in his chest, the sweet mix of coconut, amber and vanilla flooding her senses. "Two weeks... a deal is a deal, right?"

He nods, pressing a kiss to her forehead, not wanting to let go of her just yet.

"Besides, Jey - I know how important this is to you."

He sighs, clearly unable to put words together. Rather than stand awkwardly, he tilts her head up, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It takes everything in both of them to not prolong the tender embrace, especially while the photographer was waiting for them to finish greeting each other so photos could be taken.

"Right, this is for you, baby." Cheyenne says, handing him the blue gift bag.

"Shit, you shouldn't have, ma." He whispers, his hand squeezing her hip gently. "Always surprisin' me, huh?"

"Maybe... or maybe, I took a little time to rewatch the RAW episode in Atlanta, along with all of your other promos from late 2024." She begins, tears welling up in her eyes. When one stains her cheek, Jey's quick to brush it away with his thumb.

"Cheyenne... y'ain't gotta do all that. Don't cry, ma." He says warmly, pulling her into a hug and gesturing that the photographer take a quick break while he comforted her.

"I got a little help from Creative...and your fellow wrestlers, and your fans." She murmurs, and he chuckles softly. "Maybe save it for after the Rumble, yeah? Y'gotta focus on that before anything else. Just know you deserve nothing but the best."

Jey's eyes soften, the round chocolate orbs crinkling in disbelief at Cheyenne's revelation.

"Creative? My peers? You did what?"

She smiles at his disbelief, and he kisses her cheeks, happy to see that at least she wasn't crying anymore.

"I'll explain after, Jey. Right now, we've got photos to take!"

He chuckles again, taking her hand and leading her to the taped X on the ground.

"How many pics we doin', uce?" He asks the photographer.

"We have a 6 set, Jey. You'll get a photobooth strip as well to do with your girlfriend after!" The photographer says, positioning behind the camera.

At the mention of 'girlfriend', Chai tenses for a moment, only to find her resolve as the countdown of the shutter begins.

"Keep it cute out here, mama. M'gon be all over you in that photobooth." He murmurs, wrapping his arms around her for a hugging pose.

____________

The photos go by quickly, and while the Fanatics Fest staff take down the meet and greet setup, Jey and Cheyenne walk to the photobooth rooms in the convention center. Some of them are cordoned off in different locker rooms, but luckily for you two, Jey had secured a photobooth in his personal changeroom.

"You knew I was comin'?" She quips, and he smirks, locking the door behind her.

"Nah, but I wanted one for my spot for each day. Them lines be too long, ma. M'not that patient." He chuckles sheepishly, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her back flush against his chest.

"It's understandable - believe me, I don't like waiting for shit. Said I wanted a man - didn't have to wait long to have one."

As Cheyenne leans her head back, Jey's hands grip firmly onto her waist, thumbs circling slowly on the sliver of bare skin between her vest covered top and jeans.

"Y'look so good, I must say. Got all cute f'me, huh - wanted to make sure I remember this weekend?" He teases, and she nods.

"You're not slick... those photos you sent me after you'd left... had me wanting to come back to you immediately." Her tone is hushed, and it sends Jey into a frenzy.

One of the attachments was her polaroid from the guest list at the club only it had little doodles of what Jey liked about her written in and around the photo. The second one, a little more risque and displaying Jey's state post-shower - it barely left much to the imagination.

"I know they did." He murmurs, peppering wet kisses down her neck. The soft pleas for him to continue spurred him on, wanting nothing more than to make her feel good in the moment.

"Cocky as ever, but -mmm- m'not complaining." She hums in approval when he finds the sweet spot on her neck, nipping at it slightly before soothing it with his tongue.

"Nah, 'cause you love it so much, don't you?" He mumbles, pulling away slightly. "But m'gon' have to pick up on this later - we got a polaroid strip to make."

The polaroid strip took them a while to get right, but by the time they'd figured out the process, Jey and Cheyenne had decided to spend ample amounts of time taking a variety of polaroid strips.

"You're a little photography afficianado, huh?" She teases, noticing how he'd helped her pose in the little booth each time.

"I mean, in this business, photos will take you a long way, mama. Y'learn as you go." He mumbles, squeezing her hand as they exit.

"I gotta go for a meeting with Creative - Rumble's tomorrow night." He whispers, giving her one more kiss on her forehead. "But i'ma come see you at the hotel before you sleep, yeah?"

"You promise?" She whispers, interlocking her fingers with him for a brief moment.

"You have my word, Chai. Gon' head and get some rest, pretty mama."

_________________

9PM - Marriott Hotel, Indianapolis

The rest of the evening seemed to drone on by, as Cheyenne sat in her hotel room, finishing up the last couple of details on her outfit. She hadn't told Jey that she had met up with his gear designer, Mikaze, much earlier that day to pick up his pink and white attire that he would don to the ring on Rumble night.

She hummed along to the r&b track playing from her phone, gluing down a few gemstones to a white pair of shorts she'd brought along. Her concentration however, was interrupted when the door handle clicked, signalling Jey had likely asked for a key to her spot. She had done the same upon her arrival in Indiana earlier that day.

"Look 'atchu... little miss arts and crafts, huh?" He teases, kicking off his sneakers and making his way over to the bed, stopping at the sight of his ring gear, spread on the desk.

"I'm a little bit of a designer, if I say so myself." Cheyenne beams, slinking off the bed to meet him in the middle of the luxury ensuite. "Mikaze did such a beautiful job with this, by the way."

Jey nods, running his hands over the white and pink gear, the style reminiscent of earlier times when the YEET movement had begun. The palm trees on the legs, filled with pink flowers - similar to blossoms were a foil homage to his big 2023 SummerSlam Match in Tribal Combat, where he donned the same silhouette style in white and orange.

"M'gon' have to call him tomorrow. This is amazing." He says, practically awestruck.

"He says you gotta try it on... have someone present to make sure there's no tears or risk of seams ripping while you're fighting off the likes of Seth Rollins or Gunther." She mutters, a bitterness detected at the sound of the latter's name.

"Y'sure you not just tryna see me get undressed, Chai?"

She rolls her eyes, pushing him towards the bathroom.

"Get changed, please."

With a playfully serious look on his face, he takes his gear into the bathroom. Once he's busy, Cheyenne finalizes the last of her attire for the night. She knew that regardless of the outcome, her outfit would be a staple reminder of how proud she was of Jey's tenacity and perseverance shown over the years.

"A'ight, mamas, y'like it?"

His voice broke through her continued chain of thought, and she felt a throb in between her thighs when she finally saw him in the gear.

"More like love it, baby. You look....so beautiful. My winner."

She slid off the edge of the bed, pacing towards him in mere seconds. Her brain was scattered, taking in the contrast of his tanned skin and dark Samoan ink to the white and pink gear.

He was beautiful.

A real man.

Everything she had ever wanted.

"Your leis will be waiting at the arena tomorrow, by the way." She managed to say, tears welling in her eyes as he smiled at her. It was something special about her belief in his ambitions to be a star and inspire the kids and young people watching him every single week.

"Nah, now don't you cry on me. A pretty girl...matter of fact, my pretty girl ain't got no damn reason to be cryin', alright?" He whispers, pulling her into a hug. The affection he shown her since their first meeting had withered her familiar nonchalance every single time, and she couldn't help but hold onto him a little tighter.

"Your what?" She says after a few moments, lifting her head up to meet his reverent gaze.

"Yo' ass heard me the first time, Cheyenne." He murmurs, punctuating his reply with a kiss.

She'd missed his touch for two weeks, and in a few short moments, she was already melting like butter in his hands. The kiss was desperate, as if to communicate how pent-up Jey's feelings were - a way of letting her know that all he'd need in a woman was her.

No one else.

He pulls away from her for a moment, and she smirks mischievously, kissing down his jaw, eliciting a throaty grunt from his lips.

"Y'ain't...mmm... gon' get me that easy, baby girl."

It seemed that Cheyenne had forgotten Jey had to test the gear, and decided to playfully toss her onto the free bed, earning a yelp out of her.

"You okay, mamas?" He says, and she giggles in reply.

"Thought I would've succeeded in distracting you from testing your gear out."

Jey shakes his head, stepping back to carefully remove the new attire, clad in his pink hoochie dad shorts underneath.

"Y'failed, but I'll give you something to distract you from tomorrow." He teases, pulling Chai to the edge of the bed by her ankles.

In raising one of her legs, he kisses her anklet, a thin gold chain that was often hidden in her sneakers. "I ain't noticed y'had this, baby girl. Real pretty." He purrs, bending the held leg onto his shoulder as he settled onto his knees.

It was rare for Cheyenne to see or have a man treat her like she was some sort of prize that was meant to be cherished. She never really gave the right guys any chances, and was often dismissive because the 'men' of her past never brought anything to the table.

Moreover, they were nowhere on Jey's level.

The feel of his bottom grill trailing up her inner thigh had her trembling - the throbbing in her core was clear evidence to them both that she needed him badly.

"Just relax, mama. Toss that head back f'me - there you go." He coos, pulling up the oversized tee to her hips, revealing the lace panties she wore underneath.

"All f'me, huh? She's soakin', mama. Just beggin' for me."

Cheyenne's breaths grew all the more shallow at his words, but hitched even more when he pulled her panties to the side. He doesn't waste time in claiming what's his; spreading her soaked folds with his tongue, causing her to writhe beneath him in pleasure.

"S-Shit..."

The gasp is music to Jey's ears, and he groans into her pussy, alternating between dragged out, deliberate laps of his tongue on her clit and quick-paced flicks, sending her into overdrive.

With every last ministration, Cheyenne loses her composure, falling apart at the seams when the arousal pools in her lower belly. Just as she parts her lips, exhaling loudly as he devoured her ravenously, he slips his tongue into her velvety walls, stroking in tandem with his lips wrapped around and suckling her clit.

"Oo-Oh, Jey, please." She pleads, the french manicured nails massaging his scalp as he carried on, grunting emphatically against her pussy. If he had it his way, he'd eat her pussy until she cried.

Her toes curled when he found her g-spot, causing her eyes to flutter shut and her back to arch inward as she bucked up against his mouth, drawing out breathy moans from him.

"Mhmm, just like that, baby." He encouraged, suckling her clit a little more intensely when her walls inevitably clenched around his tongue. He held her thighs in place, keeping her stationary as their eyes met.

"I gotchu, sweetheart. Gon' head and cum f'me, pretty girl." He implores, and Cheyenne simply complies. The myriad of her pleas, her soft moans, and the continued repetition of his name leaving her lips created a cacaphony made solely for his ears.

"Atta fuckin' girl. That's my fuckin' baby girl." He purrs, lapping every last drop of her sweet nectar; pulling her panties back into position when he gets back up onto the bed with a shiny, soaked beard and glossy plump lips to match.

"You're fuckin' insane, but hey - they say pussy builds strong bones. Anything for my future world champion." She teases, and he smiles at her, a warmth building in his chest.

The clock read 11PM, and with Jey set to film a few social media clips prior to the Rumble, he would need to get some sleep. As would Cheyenne, who had been with Jey from the meet and greet only a few hours after touching down in Indianapolis.

"You got this, Jey. I believe in you." She murmurs once more, and he brushes his lips gently against hers, cradling her head in his hands to deepen the kiss. She whines at the taste of herself off of his tongue, and Jey does everything he can to keep his composure.

"I appreciate you so much, y'don't understand." He mumbles, pressing a few tender pecks to her cheek as he pulls away, standing up to grab his new gear and pull on his sneakers.

"Me too. More than you know."

---------------

RUMBLE NIGHT - 10PM EST

Jey hadn't spent much time speaking with Cheyenne on the actual night of the Rumble, having done photos with his twin brother, Jimmy and the rest of the Bloodline, a few poster signing ops, and spent time chatting with a few of his colleagues while waiting for his theme music to hit.

He knew it was his time to shine. Something he had worked so hard for, had shed blood, sweat, and tears for. And now, with Cheyenne's reassurance from the night before, was determined to make a statement unlike anything the WWE Universe had ever seen.

On the other hand, Cheyenne had arrived to the Lucas Oil Stadium, clad in her bedazzled white shorts, upon which she had ironed on a YEET patch on her back pocket. Given how cold the stadium was, she'd decided to wear fishnet tights that matched her brown skin tone. After many deliberations, she'd opted for a black bralette and a cropped zip up hoodie, featuring Jey's palm tree logo on the back, and her trusty pair of YEET shades.

Very on brand, for a friends with benefits scenario.

"Right this way, chiquita...he's about to enter in at number #18." The voice was none other than that of one of Jey's close friends, Damian Priest. The man was much taller, probably about 6'5, wearing a black and grey ensemble. His laugh was hearty, making Cheyenne feel right at home backstage.

"Jey's been raving about you lots, lately - might I add. Pretty clear that he loves ya, that's for sure. Always tells the guys how important you are to him."

She blushes at his words, visibly shocked at the revelation. He helps her to Gorilla Position, and there he stands.

Her winner, regardless of the outcome that night.

The floral lei and matching YEET shades complimented the pink and white gear perfectly, a fresh new pair of white Air Force 1 sneakers laced up with pink socks. He looked like a shiny piece of candy she couldn't wait to get her hands on, and once he heard her walk in, he turned around.

"Holy shit, Chai. Gahdamn, mamas." He chuckled, eyeing the clock. There were two minutes left until his music would hit.

"Talkin' about yourself, huh?" She teased, grabbing his outstretched hand, the warmth flooding her veins as a stark reminder that he was happy to have her there with him.

"Nah... m'talkin' 'bout you... and how I'm tearin' that ass up when we get home."

His much lower tone causes her to squeeze his hand involuntarily - the butterflies in her stomach quadrupling with just his words alone.

ONE MINUTE FOR THE NEXT ENTRANT

"One more thing.... y'wanna smile f'me daddy?" She purrs, and that alone fires him up all the more, especially when he notices that Cheyenne remembered to pack his polaroid camera.

"Always."

A mouthful of grills and the cockiest of smirks, Cheyenne knew she'd bagged a man who knew exactly who the heck he was.

The polaroid is quick, and as she shakes the frame, she notices the clock has run down to the final ten seconds.

"Go get 'em baby. Get them all." She encourages, kissing his cheek before stepping away. As she does, the familiar intro and uproar of the crowd echoes across the entire stadium.

"Believe me, I will." He says, pushing past the curtains and running towards the ring.

_______________

11:50PM - FINAL TWO.

Cheyenne had been teetering on edge, seated with the rest of the women's division as they watched John Cena and Jey Uso battle it out. Both were valiant, well-loved, and most importantly, humble and hardworking men who set out on their missions to defy the odds.

As her foot tapped impatiently on the floor, Chai felt a squeeze on her shoulder and she turned to see his sister in law, Trinity standing behind her.

"C'mon now, girl. We takin' you to the front row to see this." She said sweetly, helping Cheyenne to her feet. Her heart was pounding with every thrum of crowd noise, a chorus of "YEET" for every single hit Jey made.

"M'so fuckin' nervous... it's too close." She whispers, making her way through the crowd with the help of security guards once Trinity led her to the aisles.

"He's got this. And most importantly, sister... he's found happiness in what he's building with you."

Once at the barricade, John and Jey were fighting - both men scrapping for that main event spot. When John missed his opening for the Attitude Adjustment, Jey was able to land a pop up Hurricanrana, and a devastating Superkick, tossing John out onto the floor.

When they'd both realized what had happened, Cheyenne burst into happy tears, the eruption of the crowd reverberating throughout her eardrums.

"AND HERE IS YOUR WINNER OF THE 2025 MENS ROYAL RUMBLE, WHO WILL MAIN EVENT WRESTLEMANIA 41.... MAIN EVENT JEY USOOOOO!"

Jey had his head in his hands, soaking in the moment as the entire stadium lit up. As he rolled across the mat, he looked across and saw her, tears in her eyes yet again. As a way to communicate to her, he waved, mouthing a very genuine "Thank you for being here."

He was the people's winner - someone they could root for, cheer on, and encourage on his way to WrestleMania.

He was also her winner.

Her Champ.

And, most importantly her man.

____________

Following Jey's press conference and the official photo alongside Triple H, and the Women's Rumble Winner, which happened to be Trinity, Cheyenne was escorted by some of the WWE officials to Jey's locker room.

He was standing by the door, scrolling and reposting his big win to his Instagram story, clad in his usual black joggers and a Royal Rumble 2025 tee, signed by his family members and Cheyenne earlier that day.

"My baby." She says softly, and he looks up, arms outstretched as she ran over to him.

"Congratulations Jey... I'm... gosh, I'm just so fucking proud of you." She murmurs, and he carries her up, sending her into a fit of giggles as he spun around.

"Besides my family bein' proud of me, hearin' that from you... means the fuckin' world." He says, finally putting her down, neither of them ready to let go just yet.

"M'glad to hear that. Just know, that gift I gave you earlier..." She trails, stopping when he hushes her with a finger against her lips.

"Read it all before I got here. The most thoughtful thing I've ever received, honestly, Cheyenne. I love it... I really do." His voice slightly breaks, the pupils in his dark brown eyes almost glitter when he speaks, like he's enamoured by her.

Which he is.

And it prompts him to say one more thing:

"And I love you."

The way her chest practically caves when she hears what Damian had confirmed earlier.

He... he'd practically fallen for her and couldn't get up.

So had she.

She fell harder - an immediate spiral that had her clutching her chest every time she'd thought of him.

"You...what?" She murmurs incredulously.

It had been two weeks. Not two years. Not even two months... and he was in love with her.

She could barely fathom it being possible.

Then again, when soulmates meet - anything is possible.

"I said," He repeats calmly, brushing his nose against hers, causing her eyes to flutter shut as she processed the next three words.

"I love you."

What emphasized that love... that resounding love he had for her was the brush of a wet tear from his eye onto her cheek, which caused him to bring his finger up to brush away, but she stops him.

Cheyenne shakily pulls back, catching the tears that fell from his eyes with her much smaller hands.

"A wise man once told me, there's no need to be crying as long as he's with his girl." She mumbles, echoing the words he'd told her earlier. He chuckles, taking a shaky breath as she continues.

"For weeks, you've let me uncover parts of myself, both physically and emotionally... in ways I never thought were possible for me. I ditched nonchalance...to you, to be more vulnerable with you. And each day, you surprise me, Jey Uso. You really do."

Her eyes water yet again, overcome with a range of emotions, from happiness, to realization, and most importantly...

To love.

"I'd be a fool not to say that I love you, because I genuinely do. I really do."

________________

By the time they'd gotten back to the hotel, it was well past 2AM, having spent time with the rest of Jey's family before heading back to the Marriott for some time alone.

When Jey steps into the room, he's noticed all his items had been moved in while he was gone, and the room set up had a bunch of blue, pink, and silver decorations to celebrate his big win.

"Cheyenne.... you did not have to do all of this, mamas." He says, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he sat on the bed, letting her stand in between his legs.

"You deserve nothing short of a proper victory lap, Jey." She says sharply, pushing him back onto the bed, but he stops her.

"Nah... none of that fast paced shit. We ain't got nothin' to do tomorrow... meaning I'm gon' take my time tonight." He says, laying her down on her back. He then steps back, pulling his shirt off, watching her as she shimmied out of her hoodie.

"That's all I want you to do. I wanna undress you myself, if that's alright."

If Cheyenne were asked at this point to marry him, she'd do it in a heartbeat.

"It's absolutely okay, I promise." She whispers softly, watching him discard his cargos, clad in his designer label boxers. The mattress dips as he climbs onto the bed, hovering above her as he cupped her cheek.

"I meant what I said. About loving you. Being in love...that shit is scary, y'know." His softened tone made Cheyenne turn to putty in his hands, eyes all shiny and glossy as she listened to him.

"You make falling in love, easy.... and worthwhile."

"You got me all sorts of fucked up, Jey." She teases, squeezing his hand as a subtle assurance that she felt the same.

"Already? Thought that only happened when I'm in your guts, mamas." He chuckles at the joke, which causes Cheyenne to smile for a moment.

His hands graze the little bralette she's wearing, lifting it up and over her head when she nods in approval at his request to do so. To ensure she's comfortable, he lets her lay back, propped up against the pillows as he settles between her legs.

His lips kiss on every bit of her upper body, whispering to her between each one that he loved her.

Loved her to the point that he wouldn't know what to do with himself if not for her.

He shuffled downwards, tongue flattening against her nipples, taking his time with her as she whined out loud, a contrast to the heavy breaths he took, clearly both overcome with emotions.

"Feels so good, Jey. So -fuck- so good." She says, nails digging slightly into his shoulders as he gave attention to her other breast, drawing out more sweet sounds as he reverently spoiled her body with endless affection.

His hands held onto her waist, unbuttoning the carefully made shorts, ensuring not a single gem fell off. "I loved these, by the way... creative as always." He praised, tugging them down her legs, leaving her in the fishnet tights and lace panties.

"And I love you." She mumbles softly, to which he whispers the same three little words.

"I love you."

When he settles onto his stomach, he looks up into her eyes, noticing a larger hole had formed in the fishnets. On impulse, he snags them, tearing them apart and down her legs as he pressed needy, deliberate, hot kisses onto the lace fabric concealing her wet pearl.

"M'gon' cherish this night, mamas. Want nothing more than to make you feel the way you deserve, which is loved and appreciated by me." He whispers against her core, leaning up to tug them down with his mouthful of grills once again, like he did on the first night two weeks prior.

His hand meets hers, interlocking their fingers as he wasted no time suckling her clit. The illcit moans that left her lips were barricaded to their room, ensuring no one could eavesdrop on their sensual and passionate exchanges.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck, that's it, papi. Right there." She whimpered, and he hums, wetting his fingers with her slick before slipping them into her.

This was new... a whole new feeling to her. The delicious stretch of her walls being split open as his thick fingers scissored in and out of her quivering entrance had her seeing a thousand dots a minute.

When she draws out a broken moan, Jey grins softly, revelling in her enjoying what he dished out to her.

"There you go, baby girl. Just feel it...y'feel that? Look how well you take me, sweetheart." He coos, causing her to convulse immediately when she looked down to see his fingers buried inside her down to the knuckle. With an added curl of his fingers, his lips returned to her clit, nibbling it softly as she shook beneath him, his every ministration coaxing out her orgasm.

"Mm...Jey...please." She cries, dragging out the final syllables of each word - a needy buck her hips ensuing as the climax washed over, yet he carried on through the after shocks, wanting quite literally to savour the moment for as long as possible.

"Good fuckin' girl... my princess." He whispers, fingers pulling out of her swollen pussy ever so gently.

"I love... you so bad." She babbled softly, watching as he stepped back to remove his boxers, eager to feel her walls around his thick dick once more.

"I love you more, mamas." He whispers, tapping his wet tip against her entrance, eliciting a mewl so needy, just for him.

"You got it... and I gotchu, a'ight... that's...shiiiiiit... that's it."

When he bottoms out, Cheyenne's eyes squeeze shut, opening to see his big brown eyes staring right back at her.

Full of love.

Fully devoted.

Completely devoid of any doubts - he loved her.

The grip she has on his forearm tightens with every thrust of his hips, his brow furrowed as her walls clamped him like a vice.

"Kept it so fuckin' tight f'me, baby girl. Y'feel so damn good around this dick... around me." He grunts, breathing erratically as her body arched up involuntarily with every single thrust.

Her jaw slackened as he spoke, clinging onto him as he pistoned his hips over and over again.

"Because it's yours. I'm yours... and you're mine." She whispers hoarsely, leaning up to brush her lips once more against his. He sucks her tongue gently, both of them breathing heavily as Jey kept his pace.

Steady and with fervor.

When he pulls back for a moment, Cheyenne tugs him close by pulling on the small gold chain around his neck, goading a gravelly moan out of him that left her breathless.

"Damn, it's like that huh?" He taunts, causing her to giggle.

That is up until he pushes her legs back a little further, ankles on each side of her head, plowing deep into her cervix.

"Right in yo' tummy mamas, takin' me so well," He croons, feeling her legs tremble in his hands, and it only worsened when clenched around him once more.

"So...close, baby." She huffs, and Jey's thrusts grow all the more slow and sloppy... lazily pounding into her cervix as his climax drew near.

"Where do you need me, Chai?" He whispers, and she squeezes her walls as best as she can, mewling a soft plea for him to bury his seed in her depths.

She wouldn't be mad in the future if they decided to have children... and the plea clearly sat well with Jey, as he groaned loudly when she hit her climax, his own climax following quickly afterwards, finding refuge in her core.

They stayed enveloped in each other for a while, both sighing as she traced out the intricate patterns on his chest.

"You gon' stay wit me tomorrow, or you gotta go back to Atlanta?" He whispers after a few brief moments of silence.

He understood things had moved quickly, and would've loved for her to stay a little while longer.

"I leave tomorrow afternoon...won't be able to travel because of work...things are... busy." She says, cupping his cheek.

The rest of the time spent that night has them dozing off, slipping into subconsciousness as they slept, yet never let go of each other.

____________________________

ATLANTA, 5PM

iMessage

Jey: Pack a couple bags. We're going to Miami.

Jey: 4 attachments.

Part 3 (Interlude) is here

_________________________________

tags: @4milly @charmed-dreamssss @cyberdejos2 @prettyfilmz @trippinsorrows @lov3rla03 @uceyliyahh @fearlesschimera @playgurlxoxo @spiicii @theusotwinzcom @punksyeet @usoinked @kenshisluvrgirl @420days @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @clubsoft @empressdede @sheaabuttaababyy @mselenalovebug @sayyestoheav3nn @shantinextdoor @minsingular

to be tagged in future works, just comment <3

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uzumaki-rebellion · 2 months ago

Text

Lick Back 2 (Part 2) by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Angst, Domestic Drama, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Violence, AITA!Terry Richmond.

Summary: Terry Richmond didn't expect to become a father over night. A surprising photo in the mail reveals that an illicit affair he had with a married woman eleven months ago resulted in a baby girl named after him. Ecstatic to be a new dad, he races to South Carolina to reunite with Nova, and bring their new family to Louisiana for Christmas. Unfortunately, Nova's estranged husband Jordan has different plans.

Word count: 14.5K

Read Lick Back (The Beginning) HERE.

youtube

"Like sweet morning dew

I took one look at you

And it was plain to see

You were my destiny

With you I'll spend my time

I'll dedicate my life

I'll sacrifice for you

Dedicate my life for you"

Method Man & Mary J. Blige—"All I Need"

Terry went into battle mode, thinking as a soldier doing an extraction.

The retreat stayed hidden within a vast area of forest, swampland, and the black river. He pulled over near a grouping of trees to hide his truck. According to his mapping calculations, the treehouse encampment was ahead of him, but he didn't want the noise of his truck to alert Jordan of his presence. He'd gone off-roading to enter the grounds since the main entrance was closed. Digging into one of his travel bags, he donned a black jacket to blend into the darkness. His black jeans aided the camouflage. Grabbing a small military tactical flashlight with various light settings, he chose night vision green to help him see and blend in without the brightness of the white flashes alerting Jordan. Slinging a small pair of sportsman's binoculars around his neck, he set off into the forest.

The potent scent of river water compelled him to move faster. He was in the correct geographical location. He turned on Nova's phone and placed it in quiet mode. The Airtag signal was good for one hundred feet, and the cell signal flitted in and out. Moving in stealth, he followed the river and scouted for treehouses. He couldn't find Terrina's signal. Touching the screen, he switched over to Van-Van's…there. A bright white arrow pointed to his left on a black screen. One hundred feet away. About six car lengths. The signal dropped, but he felt confident about finding them.

Keeping close to the trees, he found the dark sedan that ran down his truck partially hidden under a dark tarp. He turned off Nova's phone and stuffed it in his back pocket. Ahead, a shadowy structure loomed. Using the binocs, he confirmed the ground-level structure was empty. The building appeared to be used as an information kiosk. He read the name of the retreat all over the walls and found a wall map of all the treehouses available. There were ten in a half-moon pattern. Nella said they used the ones closest to the river and there were four shown. He snapped a picture of the map for reference and traveled on, using Nova's phone app as his guide.

Bingo!

Van-Van's Airtag pinpointed the exact spot.

In the darkness, a pale yellow light glowed high in the canopy of an oak tree further away. The treehouse stood on stilts that raised it up high so that tall, slender trees surrounded it. Brightly shining white Christmas lights hung on several trees. They prevented Terry from sneaking up the narrow steps to the housing platform without being seen.

Creeping quietly toward the structure, he climbed a tree and roosted in its canopy to look inside a picture window using the binocs. He made out two figures. Jordan pacing frantically waving a weapon, and Nova seated facing him. Exhaling a sigh of relief, he planned his next move.

He could wait until Jordan fell asleep, but that might not happen if he was hopped up on meth. The longer Nova stayed with him, the more chances the man might amp up toward violence against her. Storming in to surprise him could put Nova and the children in harm's way if he started shooting.

He needed to lure Jordan out.

Terry ran back a great distance to the covered sedan and smacked the driver's side door handle. The alarm screeched with a high-pitched series of annoying sounds. The car was too low to the ground for Terry to crawl under for a surprise attack. He hid behind a tree and waited for Jordan instead.

Sure as shit, Jordan arrived to check on the car and made sure there were no other campers showing up. He moved with caution, holding his gun out, ready to pop off rounds.

Although Jordan was a trained soldier, he was also an addict, so his warped mind might not have been too sharp. Terry hoped that was so. He lifted a medium-sized rock and threw it far past the river. It made a loud thunk about eighty yards away. Jordan slowly went to investigate the sound and waved his gun in every direction.

Terry waited until he was out of sight before he hastened to get into the treehouse. Jordan had switched all the lights off. He ran up the narrow, rickety stairs and burst into the dwelling.

Van-Van sat on a pallet next to Terrina's car seat. His baby slept quietly in it. Jordan had tied Nova to a chair with her arms behind her back. He jammed a sock in her mouth to keep her quiet. Terry held a finger to his lips for Van-Van to stay silent.

Pulling the sock from Nova's mouth, he worked on untying the rope. She whimpered in relief with tears pricking her eyes.

"How did you find us?" she whispered.

"The Airtags you put on the children. I found your phone and Nella showed me the tracking app."

"He's crazy, Terry."

"Listen to me, I want you to get Van-Van and we're going to escape in the trees to find my truck. I'm right behind you with the baby. Head west…that's straight past the fire pits outside."

She nodded and moved to grab her son the moment he freed her. He handed back her smartphone, and she dashed out of the treehouse carrying Van-Van down the stairs. Terry lifted his sleeping daughter in her car seat and hoped she wouldn't wake up.

He ran down six steps and Jordan glared at him from the bottom step with the barrel of the gun pointed at him. Terry exhaled a breath, gripping the handle of his baby girl's car seat tighter. He looked around for Nova and Van-Van.

"Don't worry about those two. This is about you," Jordan said.

Terry stared at him.

"Put her back inside," Jordan ordered.

"Jordan—"

BANG!

A bullet ripped through the step below Terry's feet.

"Put the fucking baby back inside the house," Jordan yelled, while slowly slithering up the steps.

"Alright…alright…stay calm."

Terry turned around and set Terrina's car seat in the doorway. A rustling in the forest distracted Jordan, and Terry grabbed his wrist and twisted it. Jordan's close quarter combat skills were still sharp, and he used a quick countermove that Terry trained him on to aim the gun under Terry's throat. He shot a round, but Terry had already deflected the weapon, and the bullet shot up into the night sky. They tussled and Terry tried to get his footing anchored on the steps to prevent a gunshot from striking his child. Both men crashed through the rotted railing of the stairs and landed with a hard thud on the crunchy fall leaves below in a fifteen foot freefall.

Terry blacked out for a minute.

He came to and noticed the shine of a rising moon and the faint twinkle of stars appearing in the sky. He groaned and rolled over, shaking his head. Nothing felt broken, but his side was going to hurt later. He glanced at the top of the stairs.

No car seat.

Jumping up, he caught the fading sound of running feet and he chased it down. Adrenaline took over, and he pushed away any fear he had for his daughter. He had to stay focused on catching Jordan. Fear would kill his mind and prevent him from thinking rationally in his pursuit.

He heard a splash and sprinted full force toward the sound.

Jordan stood at the edge of the river, looking down into the dark, swirling waters.

Terrina's car seat floated upside down in the frigid water, and her little blanket snagged on a large jagged rock that jutted out before being swept away by the fast-moving current.

"What did you do, Jordan? What did you fucking do!?"

Terry splashed into the freezing water waist-deep and grabbed the car seat. No Terrina.

"Now you and Nova have no connection anymore," Jordan said in the coldest, most frightening tone Terry had ever heard in his life.

"Noooo!" Terry screamed.

He charged further into the water.

"Terrina! Terrina!" he screamed.

His heart rose into his throat and he tripped over slippery rocks, hitting his hand in the icy river, searching for his baby. He pulled out his flashlight and put it on bright white, aiming it downriver.

She was gone.

A splintery, raw rage surged out of him, and he flew at Jordan, slamming him to the ground. He punched him over and over, breaking his nose and fracturing his cheekbone. His knuckles split open and bled, mingling with the bloody horror he made of Jordon's face.

"She was just a baby, you fucking murderer! You could've just killed me…you should've killed me, you fucking bastard!"

Moonlight illuminated Jordan's hateful face. Blood covered his teeth like shadowy black paint. He spit one out that Terry knocked loose.

"Now you know what it feels like to lose everything, T. How does it feel, nigga? How does it feel to have everything you love taken from you?"

"You never loved Nova!"

"You stole her from me…now I stole something from you. We can both be in hell together."

Jordan pulled out the gun and Terry snatched it from him, aiming the nozzle at the center of his forehead. The evil sneer on Jordon's face transformed into the hopeless countenance of a man who had nothing to live for anymore, and Terry didn't care. A life for a life.

The piercing wail of a frightened baby stopped Terry from squeezing the trigger. The cries came from behind a nearby tree. He emptied all the bullets from Jordan's weapon onto the ground and tossed the gun into a bush. Stumbling and feeling nauseous, Terry searched for his daughter.

He found Terrina lying at the foot of a live oak. Her tiny limbs squirmed in the cold and Terry lifted her in his arms. He unzipped his jacket and placed her against the warmth of his chest. Her hair and body were damp and smelled of river water.

"I got you baby girl, daddy's here…oh, I know… that wicked man scared you so much…"

Terry wept, the relief washing over him as he held his baby. Had she not been alive, he would've killed Jordan and thrown his body into the river.

"Terry! Terry!"

Nova's voice broke over the sound of Terrina's whimpers.

She wasn't alone. Nella, Titus and Michelle were with her, along with two police officers.

Nova grabbed a hold of him and he gave her the baby, pulling off his jacket to wrap around her.

"We gotta get her warmed up," he said.

He showed the officers where Jordan was located, and they lifted him up, pulling him away. A distressed Michelle followed them with Titus.

"I had to call them after you left, Terry," Nella said.

She patted his back and hugged Nova. They all walked back to his truck. Two police cruisers awaited them. After handcuffing Jordan, the officers put him in the back of a cruiser and questioned Terry.

He tried to answer, but his eyes stayed on Nova. She held their little one in the passenger seat of his truck. Van-Van peered at him from the back window, safely buckled into his car seat. Terrina's head rested on Nova's neck, her eyes closed in a safe slumber, wrapped in a warm blanket.

He told the police where to find Jordan's gun. There would still be traces of Nella's blood on it. Terry took one last look at Jordan. The man rested his bruised and bloodied face against the window of the cop car and stared at Nova and Terrina. He would do some serious prison time. Assault and kidnapping charges loomed over his head.

Van-Van and Terrina would probably be grown adults by the time he ever got out.

It took a week of police statement interviews and the coming together of the Pattersons and Eastons rallying around Nova that finally freed them from that terrible night on the Edisto River. Jordan didn't fight the charges, but because of South Carolina law, Nova would have to fly back to Charleston and testify, anyway. That court case was a long way off. When asked why he took Nova to the treehouse, Jordan told his parents that it was the place where he and Nova had shared fond memories in the past. It was where they fell in love as teenagers and he longed to bring her back to that time and away from Terry.

One thing bothered Terry, though.

During his interrogation, Jordan admitted to tossing Terrina in the water strapped to her car seat out of anger and jealousy. But he didn't remember pulling her out and placing her by the tree. His public defender had the confession stricken from the record since Terry found the baby unharmed under the oak tree. Perhaps Jordan's rational mind fought against the nefarious intentions and saved the baby from certain death. Either way, Jordan's lawyer could use it as part of his defense. The meth made him hallucinate…or something of that nature.

The Walker clan treated Terry like a hero. Even the old lady trio from the couch wept their thanks for saving Nova and the babies, hugging him and slipping peppermint candies into his hand from their purses. Brielle and Nella preened, feeling good that their niece was in excellent hands with him.

Uncle Pete came down from his lofty, hypocritical heights and shook Terry's hand at a family dinner to see them off finally. When Terry took some time to look at the blue bottle tree, Mawmaw walked outside with him without her walker. She had replaced the two broken glass bottles with new, clear ones.

"Dis bottle tree, Terry…been standing since 1943. My daddy put it up to replace the one him mama put up after the flood of 1908…my own Mawmaw. Not one time has a bottle fell down and broke…not 'til dat day Jordan grab my grandbaby and her chirren. Signs and wonders are real, una hear me?"

"I do."

"My great-grandbaby came in my house smellin' like black water. Dat man threw her in. But somethin' else brought her back out."

"The cymbee?" he said, wearing a half smile on his face.

"Not s'posed to say they name out loud," she said, with a sly grin.

She patted his arm.

"Una no longer a comeya…una beenya now. One of my people here."

"Thank you," he said.

He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Had the original bottles broken to warn him of trouble? Did some captured spirit from long ago feel sorry for him and dared to burst free to get his attention? He easily could've walked into the house and thought everyone was out taking care of family business and slept through the ordeal. As for an African-rooted Gullah river spirit plucking Terrina out of dangerous waters…he didn't care if it happened or not. His daughter was alive and well.

Terry glanced over at Nova, sleeping in the passenger side of his truck. He'd driven for five hours after a pit stop to change Terrina's diaper and help Van-Van change his pull-ups. Glancing in the rearview, both children were fast asleep. Terrina's car seat had a giant satin red ribbon tied on it. They stopped at a Target and bought Van-Van a little red bowtie to wear for his debut. In thirty minutes, they would arrive at his parent's house, and his mother kept texting for ETA confirmation every fifteen minutes once he crossed over into Louisiana.

"Babe, we're here," he whispered, tapping Nova's thigh.

She opened her eyes and checked her face in the vanity mirror.

"I swear we were just at that gas station," she said.

"You were knocked out. Ready?"

"Yeah."

He drove the truck into the driveway. His father had moved their giant RV onto the street so he could keep the truck and U-Haul on their property. He barely switched off the engine before his parents, aunts, uncles, and cousins poured out of the house to greet them.

His mother was already crying again while his father waved and waited anxiously for them to get out of the truck.

"You take her," Nova said.

He climbed out of his seat and hugged his mother first, then his father. His family swarmed around Nova, showering her with hugs and kisses…so much love. Their embrace of her filled him with comfort. She looked so pretty. Back at their pit stop, she changed into a forest green empire waist dress. A white headband pushed back her hair because she didn't know what to do with it since it had grown out.

His mother held Nova's face and poured a ton of affection into her. He watched his true love lift Van-Van out first and his family spoiled him with compliments on his bowtie. While the family fussed over Van-Van, he slipped around the truck and pulled Terrina out.

Tonette held her hand over her mouth and cried again. Gordon stepped forward and admired his granddaughter.

"Look at that…will ya'll just look at that?" he kept saying.

Tonette touched the pretty red bow and then Nova helped him unfasten Terrina from the car seat.

"Here she is, Mrs. Richmond," Nova said.

"Call me Mama or Momo like my nieces and nephews, baby…oh, Lord…look what you brought into the world."

Tonette cradled Terrina and fawned over her.

"Look at my grandbaby, Janice!" Tonette said.

Terry's Aunt Janice grinned and touched Terrina's covered foot.

"Let's get them inside. It's chilly out here. Nova, honey, come on inside. Let Terry get your bags and stuff," Tonette said.

"I got the bags…Mike, Clint, y'all help me get their things," Gordon said.

Terry hugged his favorite cousin, Mike, and then unlocked the truck bed cover. They all made two trips and Gordon set them up in his old bedroom. The room hadn't changed since his college days. Big queen-sized bed. An old orange loveseat that once belonged to his maternal grandmother and faced his old flat screen TV. Their bags took up a lot of space, but his mother had set up his sister's old bedroom into a nursery for Van-Van and Terrina.

"You can put the portable crib over there, and Van-Van will get his own bed," Tonette enthused.

Nova and Terry stared at each other. They hadn't slept in a room alone together since the last time they made love and conceived Terrina. He noticed a flicker of excitement in Nova's eyes. Alone time in a bed with a house full of adults who were dying to look after Terrina and Van-Van? God was good. All the time.

Terrina became alert and anxious by all the attention from new family faces. Van-Van was the opposite. He thrived under the adoration.

Tonette guided Nova into the spacious livingroom. His maternal grandparents waited for them there.

"Sit, Nova, relax," Gordon said.

"Babe, these are my mother's parents… my grandfather Arneux LeBlanc and my grandmother Jessie-Belle," he said.

Arneux had slicked his hair back with heavily scented pomade for the occasion, the long silver waves reaching to his shoulders. Jessie-Belle twisted her graying brown hair into a stylish chignon. Nova stared into his grandmother's bright green eyes and smiled, recognizing Terrina's family heirloom in genetics.

"So happy to see you, Nova," Jessie-Belle said.

She gave Nova a hug, and Arneux did the same.

Nova didn't know what to do with herself. His family treated her like a queen. He told her that would happen. She wouldn't need to lift a finger and just take in the experience of meeting his family.

Tonette handed Terrina to her mother Jessie-Belle and the brand new great-grandmother cooed with Arneux over the tiny addition to their family. Jessie-Belle touched Terrina's earlobes.

"Oh, her color is going to come in nice and deep…Bear, she's going to be your pretty brown skin tone. Watch and see."

Jessie-Belle looked at Arneux—Bear—and grinned.

"Now who is this gorgeous little fellow right here?" Jessie-Belle said, looking at Van-Van.

"I'm Van-Van!"

"You're my new great-grandson."

Van-Van grinned while staring into Jessie-Belle's eyes. The boy reached for Terry's hand and held it.

"Come sit next to me, young man. Let me get a good look at you," Arneux said.

Van-Van touched his lips and looked up at Terry.

"Do you want to sit?" Terry asked him.

Van-Van nodded enthusiastically. Terry released his hand, and the boy streaked to Arneux like a rocket.

"Lookin' like his mama," Jessie-Belle said.

The relatives gently passed Terrina around for an hour, then Nova slipped away to his bedroom to feed her. Van-Van entertained everyone else with his chatter, and Terry's parents relished that time, beaming from head to toe. He chatted with Mike and seeing his cousin so animated made him happy. Mike had plans to stay with Terry's brother in New York and try his hand at a culinary school there.

Terry joined Nova in his room and closed the door. She sat on the loveseat and lowered the top of her dress. He watched her feed Terrina before ducking into the next room to put together her portable crib and set up the baby monitor. A peek at his watch revealed the time for Van-Van to nap. He wondered if his son could handle sleeping by himself in his new auntie's old room.

Son.

Terry grinned. Hadn't he always treated Van-Van like he was his own, even before he was born? There was no need to call him stepson or bonus child. The boy was now his. He earned the right to claim him as his own.

Sitting on his sister's bed, he wondered what he and Nova would tell Van-Van about his biological father. The boy didn't seem traumatized by the kidnapping. Perhaps it was because he knew Jordan. It wasn't some random stranger that grabbed them from the street.

"Terry…"

Nova's voice came through the baby monitor.

He went back to his room and lifted Terrina from her mother's arms and walked her into the new children's room. Putting the baby down and covering her with soft lavender blankets, Terry pondered his new life. He had everything a man could want. Maintaining that lucky gift reinforced the responsibility he had as a man to keep his ducks lined up in a row of stability. Nova needed that. The children needed that.

Nova walked into the room with Van-Van who rubbed his eyes. Terry helped take off the boy's shoes and pulled back the covers on the bed.

"I'll stay with him until he falls asleep," Nova said.

"You go rest in our room afterward, okay? I'll join you there in a bit," he said.

He headed back to the living room and caught up with his parents, who gushed over Nova and their children. They made plans to go to Yazoo for Thanksgiving so Terry's paternal grandparents could meet his family and then his siblings planned to return to Cypress Bend for Christmas. His mother insisted that he go take a nap from their long journey. He took a shower first.

The house already smelled like good food, and he knew dinner was going to be amazing, especially with his mother and aunties running the kitchen. Back in his room, Nova was already in the bed resting with the TV on.

"She was really hungry and fell asleep fast, huh?" Nova said.

"That means she'll be out for a few hours. How did Van-Van do?"

"I'm surprised. I thought he would whine about being left by himself, but he fell asleep as soon as he crawled in the bed. The trip and all the new people tired him out. I turned the monitor low."

He sat down on the loveseat and finished drying his hair with a fluffy towel.

"Gotta get this shit cut, starting to get long," he said.

He ran a hand over the waves that were curling. Nova climbed out of the bed and sat next to him. She had changed into a form-fitting T-shirt and sleeper shorts. Her soft fingers rubbed on his scalp, feeling his curls.

"I looked at your football pictures. Your hair was so cute longer," she said.

He glanced at the dresser with the photos on top.

"Yep, used to rock braids, a messy 'fro…all the styles."

He grinned and patted her thigh.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"I used to wish I could have a girl in my room when I lived here. I'm laughing because eighteen-year-old me would've given anything to have a fine ass woman on this old couch."

"Oh, yeah?"

She stroked the side of his neck and tendrils of pleasure cascaded down his throat.

"What would you have done back then?" she purred.

The shine of arousal danced provocatively in her eyes. He leaned over and kissed her…really kissed her. His tongued sought reciprocity, and she gave it, matching his energy. Their mouths watered with the joy of connecting romantically again. They spent six weeks raising babies and waiting on court matters cramped in a hotel room without any privacy. Now they had it. She sucked on his tongue slowly, lavishing his mouth with a tenderness he yearned for. His dick slowly plumped up. He pulled off his shirt and his sweatpants. She took off her shirt and shorts. They each took a moment to look at each other's bodies, marveling at the complementary nature of curves and hard muscles, soft heavy breasts, and solid thighs built for fat asses, with huge biceps ready to lift. He kissed her again without touching her, entwining their tongues and listening to the soft moans they released. His big, fluffy lips enveloped hers and she groaned his name.

He looked down at his dick. The firmness highlighted the girth, and his tip leaked pre-cum. Staring at her tits aroused him even more. Their weight and mass made his dick spit out more pre-cum. He couldn't stop staring at her areolas. Had they gotten bigger? Stretched wider because she was full of milk? He palmed one of them and Nova reached for his dick and slowly moved her hand up and down, just under the ridge.

Squeezing her tits after a long absence of doing so almost made him come unhinged. Those big ass titties belonged to him. Those thick thighs? His. That little pot belly from where Terrina stretched the skin and left faint tiger stripe marks on her mama? All his. The part at the apex of her thighs where he could see the pink of her pussy? Fuck yeah…all his. He licked his fingers and gently touched her vulva, lettings his digits brush across her clit. Nova hissed and her back pressed into the loveseat. He explored her labia carefully, enjoying the slippery feel of her arousal wetting his fingers. Her pubic hairs curled with the dampness she spewed and he finally touched the opening of her vagina.

He dropped to his knees and ran his lips down her vulva, giving it a sweet kiss of thanks. He continued kissing her vulva before parting her inner labia with his tongue. Staring at the entrance of what he considered holy, he worshipped that space. It gave him pleasure. Gave him a child. It comforted him long ago when they were forbidden lovers. They didn't have to hide their love anymore. He was hers forever, and as long as she would have him, he swore allegiance to her for the rest of his life and the life after that…and the life after that one.

Joining her back on the loveseat, he played with her breasts again and kissed her wanton lips. She stroked his dick, teasing the hardness and whispered how much she loved him into his shameless mouth. Lowering his head, he sucked on her tits, stretching his mouth around each breast, and groaning into the flesh as her skilled hand jerked him off to the point of Terry grunting her name into a stiff nipple.

He leaned back and used two fingers to tease her plump clit. Their mutual masturbation of each other side by side was the hottest thing to happen to him in a year. He'd remained celibate after Nova left him. Even porn bored him because there wasn't anything as exciting as the woman he loved stroking his dick. He wished they had made sexy vids of their lovemaking back then, but he couldn't take a chance of Jordan finding anything incriminating on Nova's phone.

"Fuck! Look at these big tits! Nova…baby…fuck…you know what you're doing to me…."

Her lips poked out with what he called her pleasure face. That shit always turned him on because it meant he was getting to her. She said his eyes and the dominating way he owned her body always got to her. When he added the deep baritone by talking her through sex…she became a limp noodle every time. He knew he was always intense during sex. All of his previous partners had told him that and it was why he never ran out of women to choose from before Nova.

They both listened to the slippery sounds coming from her labia and the entrance of her pussy. She shook her tits, and he watched them entice him further into the deep zone. His balls throbbed, and those breasts kept jiggling from her deliberate movement.

She was the best. Just the visual of her spread out like that on his loveseat sent his former teenaged self into a tizzy. He kept gently playing with her clit, never venturing to insert any fingers into her. That moment would be for another time. Right now, he was relearning his woman. Reclaiming his rightful place as her man giving her pleasure.

She smeared the new leaking of pre-cum all around his slit with her thumb and hit a super sensitive spot just under his frenulum that made him jump. He let out a whimper in a tone that was brand new to him. They both laughed at the sound, and he kissed her, delighted that there were new ways she could titillate and surprise him with her touch. Lips glued together, shoulders touching, arms outstretched toward the other, they traversed every contour, scouted fresh territory on their tingly skin, sparked sensuality by gazing at one another as their touching inflamed their desire for each other. She palmed his balls next. His sack nearly filled her hand. She squeezed, and the pressure shot a zinger of pleasure through his dick. He watched her tits and his lips parted, eyes narrowed…his dick needed to be inside of her, spilling into her again. His eyes tracked all over from her face to her breasts to her pussy. He gasped and moaned low in his throat, trying to control the surge ready to gush out. Her slick fingers rubbed all over the shiny knob of his tip and he jammed his heels into the carpet.

"I know you like that, huh, baby? Playing with this big dick in my hand?" she whispered.

She knew his weakness. Catering to his ego by talking to him about his prowess. He did have a big dick. Her hand could barely control it. So hot and heavy in her grasp.

"Can I sit on it later? I don't know if it'll all fit…last time, it barely did. Remember? I had to use so much lube…you stretched my pussy so wide…ooh baby…remember what you did to my pussy?"

His tip spilled out a sticky stream of clear fluid that dripped down her fingers like morning dew. She hit that spot again under his ridge and he groaned her name. All she had to do was crawl on top of him and drop that wet pussy on his dick, and he would explode. She kept talking and telling him how good he was and he ate it all up like a giant cat spoiled with endless catnip. He didn't trust his voice to talk back to her with any coherence. Listening to her, watching those bountiful breasts, touching her clit and feeling his dick get fisted by her soft hand overstimulated his brain. It became an overload of sensory pleasure.

He teased her clit mercilessly with lazy, untrustworthy caresses. She never knew what his fingers would do next, and that edging rolled her eyes back. Soft pants spilled out of her mouth that he liked to hear. Her pussy lips throbbed after a long, languorous fingering. The expression on her aroused face pleased him.

"I'm cumming…." she panted.

He moaned, watching her.

Her orgasm spilled out in contractions that made the lower half of her vulva move with visible throbs. Nova had a deep pussy, so he already knew if he were inside of her, his dick would've been milked with divine pulses. She made the entire encounter sexier by holding a hand over her mouth as she came, shielding the room from her normal loud cries of ecstasy.

Leaping to his feet, Terry stroked his dick in front of her, lowering his body so that his dick lined up with her tits. Her body still shook from her release, but he could only focus on his pleasure now. His balls rose closer to his body, and he gasped as a thick nut splashed onto her tits.

"I couldn't hold it, baby," he whimpered.

His sphincter muscle screamed from the force of his ejaculation. Cum shot out again all over her chest and dripped everywhere.

"Fuck…fuck…fuck…" he whispered.

He rose and a final load shot onto her lips.

Standing back, he stared at his future wife, and his dick stayed firm from the sight. Covered in his creamy white semen, her legs spread wide, showing him all that pretty pink pussy, Terry knew he was in for some problems. He was going to have to make a lot of money somehow, because the urge to get Nova pregnant again weighed heavily in his nutsack. He didn't know where the breeding kink came from. Not every woman brought that need out of him in sexual encounters, but the ones that did…dear God.

Nova tried to sit there all demure, as if being drenched in cum was her right as his woman. It was, actually. Back when they were sneaking around, the sex was provocative and illicit, of course, but part of the thrill was cumming all over her. Another man's woman let him nut in her mouth, inside her pussy, and all over her breasts. His dick used to get hard just thinking about covering her in semen and watching it turn clear on her silky skin, knowing he would send her home smelling like great sex. He had a feeling that the urge would warp into something body quaking since they could be out in the open from now on. He took the woman he wanted. Put a baby in her to seal the union forever. Wrong or right, that shit got him off, and he was always going to revel in that sexually.

He shoved his dick in her mouth, and Nova slurped and choked all over him like the good girl she was.

"Stand up," he said.

She did, and he made her bend over slightly so he could see her tits hang all fat and deliciously pendulous. He stroked his dick against her ass and her tits swayed and smacked together from her movement and he ejaculated on her ass. Yeah, they were going to have problems later. He was definitely fucking her and cumming in that pussy when he had the chance. Cumming inside of Nova was everything. Watching her ride his dick while he did it made him feel invincible.

She cleaned herself with baby wipes and he dressed and snuck into the hall bathroom to bring her a warm hand towel to finish the job. He couldn't keep his hands off her ass or her breasts and she slapped them away before they got carried away, drawing attention from his family with the noise. She looked at his hands and held them. The wounds on his knuckles from beating Jordan were still healing. Nova kissed each one, her soft lips puckering and pressing into each laceration. She looked up at him with tears.

"Hey…baby…it's okay," he said.

She closed her eyes, remembering.

He wiped away her tears and kissed her eyelids.

"Nothing will ever hurt you again, understand?" he murmured into her lips.

She nodded, and they kissed, their tangled tongues promising better days ahead.

Nova fell in love with his family.

The trip to Yazoo for Thanksgiving was a blast and once they were back in Louisiana prepping for Christmas, his parents and close kin felt like she had always been a part of them. Everyone showered their children with affection, and Nova finally rested, as she had longed to do since Terrina's birth.

Gordon became an expert at waking up for early a.m. feedings, giving Terry and Nova time to sleep a full eight hours. A retired grandfather eager to pamper his first grandbaby was a godsend. Tonette held down her end of the schedule in between her hours doing part-time medical billing in his older brother's old bedroom that she converted into a home office. She took on more hours before Christmas to make a little extra holiday money to splurge on her new grandbabies.

Nova helped him decorate the room addition that was built on the back of the house and used as a game room and extra bedroom when guests overflowed. Expecting a large holiday gathering, the Richmond clan stacked and readied cots and blow-up beds among the Christmas decorations. He showed Nova the pool table he learned to play on and they played a few rounds in between feedings and shopping.

Tonette hung extra large holiday stockings across the fireplace mantle with everyone's name sewn into them. She and Nova decorated the live Christmas tree with fake snow spray and then added mauve and mulberry colored ornaments. Terry lifted Van-Van to help put a golden star at the top.

"Aw, perfect!" Tonette said. Van-Van clapped his hands.

Terry later chopped up a stack of wood with an axe in the backyard as his father enlisted the help of Van-Van to help water his winter garden of cabbage and mustard greens. They gave the boy a small watering can that was used for the house plants to help water the fat cabbages and leafy greens ready for Christmas dinner picking.

Terry and Tonette left Nova and Van-Van with Gordon at the house while they snuck away to do some Christmas shopping with the baby. He walked around a giant shopping center, the biggest one in Cypress Bend, carrying Terrina wrapped on his chest.

"Mama, I'm going to ask Nova to marry me," he said inside a food court.

Shopping bags sat spread around his mother's legs as they ate Panda Express inside a luxury mall. Tonette slurped a chow mein noodle and forked a juicy piece of orange chicken.

"When?" she asked.

"Christmas Eve. After caroling with the family."

"In front of everyone?"

"Yes."

Tonette pushed up her glasses on her nose.

"Jaybird, I dunno…I saw some TikTok videos the other day with women saying they don't like public acts of proposals anymore. It puts a lot of pressure on them."

"Since when have you been using TikTok?"

"Your dad has an account. He posts his gardening tips. Sometimes I watch them to help give him comments for the algorithm."

He grinned.

"Does she know of your intentions? I mean, is that something you two have spoken about?"

"I told her father I wanted to marry her…right in front of her, back in Charleston."

"How did she react?"

"She looked happy, Mama. Really happy."

"You really adore her, huh?"

"I do. I'd been living a good life until she came along. But now, she's made my world richer by having her beside me. The children are everything to me."

"Do you feel any pressure about that? An instant family?"

He sipped on his iced tea and rubbed Terrina's back. His baby had grown so much in three months. She could hold her head up and started trying to crawl. Mastering coordination was funny to watch, and he got a kick out of her squirming all her limbs like a turtle on her belly when they placed her on a blanket on the living room floor. Van-Van would squat in front of her and call her name, encouraging her to crawl. They weren't quite there yet, but her legs and arms were strong.

"I don't even worry about that, honestly. Having Nova and the kids kinda makes me feel like a grown-up finally. That's weird, huh?"

"No, Jaybird. It isn't. But it is an enormous responsibility to step into so soon when you weren't expecting it."

Tonette gazed at him with loving eyes.

"Her parents will be here tomorrow. I had hoped they would stay with us at the house," she said.

"Nova told them about the spa tub at the Hyatt. I think this trip is a second honeymoon for them, so they want privacy."

"It was nice of you to invite them here. Spend Terrina's first Christmas together."

"It's been rough for them dealing with Jordan's mess."

Tonette nodded her head.

"Poor Nova. The hell that man put her through. And you."

Tonette reached across the table and touched his hand.

"All you and Nova can do is love on each other and take care of those babies."

Terrina sneezed, and Terry looked down at her face. Her bright eyes stared up at him and she grinned a toothless smile.

"Hey Rina, Rina," he teased.

He kissed her cheek with a loud smack and she squealed, bursting into infectious chuckles that made Tonette laugh, too.

"You and Nova made a beautiful little girl. I don't know if y'all could've made her any cuter. Like a lil round ladybug…that's my grandbaby…hey, Terrina."

"We better head back," he said.

"I think we bought out the entire mall."

"We've made enough trips to the car with bags today. I should think so."

They threw away their food containers and stuck their meal trays on top of a trash receptacle.

"Lemme, go past the eye glasses place one more time to look at those frames," she said.

"Mama, if you want the Gucci frames, get them."

"No…I just wanna look, that's all."

Tonette carried the last of their shopping bags and he helped by carrying two. They passed by several shops and it tickled him to observe his mother's yearning to buy more things, but pretending she was only window shopping.

"Terry? Terry Richmond."

He turned his head and spotted two women he went to highschool with, Phyllis and Stacey. He gave them side hugs and showed off his baby. They both had been cheerleaders when he played football for their school with Von. He caught them up on his life in California, and Stacey kept looking at his daughter with wistful eyes. She had been his junior prom date so long ago, and although they dated briefly in their senior year for a month, he just wasn't into her like she was into him. The two women shared photos of their children and husbands, and he whipped out his phone to show them pictures of Nova and Van-Van.

Tonette watched the interaction with amusement and when they carried on their merry little way to her car, she side-eyed him.

"Stacey looked happy to see you again."

"It was good seeing her. Time just flies on by."

"She used to call the house to say hi from time to time before she got married…always asked about you after you left for the marines."

"I'm sure she did."

"You ever wonder what it would've been like had you stayed here? Settled down with someone like her?"

"Stacey was cute. Nice girl. But, nah. Had I done that, I wouldn't have this special girl."

He bounced Terrina in his arms before putting her in the car seat in the back of his mother's Cadillac SUV. Tonette tickled Terrina's chin.

"Look at my sweet Ladybug!"

Terrina giggled.

"Mama, you always give everybody a nickname."

"My mother did it. It's hereditary."

"What do you call, Van-Van?"

"My Roly-Poly because he's always rolling all over the ground like a pill bug in your daddy's garden."

"Nova?"

"Queenie, because you bend over backwards for her…as you should. Huh, Ladybug? Your mama is a queen because she gave me a lil princess like you."

Tonette kissed Terrina's cheek and his daughter gurgled and slobbered her joy at all the attention.

His mother drove them back to the house. Nova stood on the porch holding a large registered mail envelope. Her face looked pensive. He handed Terrina to his mother.

"Mama, I'll bring in all the shopping bags in a minute," he said.

Tonette glanced at Nova's face for a quick second and took the baby into the house.

The chill of the winter air froze their breath in puffs of condensation. It had rained earlier.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

His stomach churned. She handed him the large envelope.

He reached in and pulled out another smaller envelope with a court document inside. Opening that one, he read the contents, and cracked a huge smile.

"Your divorce is finalized. You're free," he said.

She nodded and he hugged her.

"Ah, baby, you had me worried."

She sniffled.

"I kept waiting and hoping. Nella sent it priority, and I had to sign for it to make sure it got here. I just…it's finally over."

"Just in time for Christmas."

He hugged her again and closed his eyes.

"Thank you, God," he whispered to himself.

On Christmas Eve, Tonette cooked their own Creole version of shrimp and grits. She showed Nova her secret of using pancetta instead of bacon in her roux for the shrimp. So many relatives stuffed the house that Terry lost count and just flowed with everyone there. His cousin Mike and his brother Dean kept sneaking him shots of rum to cope with having future in-laws in the mix.

The Eastons blended in and it made Nova so happy that Titus and Gordon shared a love of gardening and spent most of their time outside discussing weed killers and the best garden soil. Pauletta fell right in with his Aunt Janice and they were already tipsy from drinking spiked egg nog and eating chocolate rum balls rolled in coconut that his grandmother Jessie-Belle made for all the adults.

Nova couldn't get over the size difference between himself and his siblings. His sister Sage was average-sized like his brother Dean, and she giggled when Tonette took pictures of the three of them in the backyard.

Terry towered over everybody. Dean had Nova laughing every time he was around her in the kitchen, and his sister would not put Terrina down. The baby lived on her right hip. Van-Van was in seventh heaven with all the little cousins under five who ran around with him in the game room where his grandparents supervised them with a few other older aunties on childcare duty while they sipped a little liquor. The teenagers lived in the den playing Mario Kart and arguing over losses and wins.

The house was festive and full of warmth and love. His parents tended to over-do it with the holidays, so he and his siblings chipped in to pay for all the food and libations for everyone.

"Nova, try my Christmas cheesy bread while it's hot!" Tonette said.

His mother placed a ceramic platter on the dining table next to the chilled oysters, fancy chocolate candies, and champagne bottles. Two large crock pots filled with grits and the shrimp roux warmed up on the dining table, too. There'd be a couple of Creole pecan glazed hams and a brisket for the main courses later that night. Southern fried cabbage with spicy andouille sausage. Mustard greens with smoked turkey. Dean helped prepare most of the food in the kitchen as a professional chef. He dashed off to make the mac' n cheese and candied purple sweet potatoes with Mike's help. The Richmonds partied hard on Christmas Eve. They reserved Christmas day for opening gifts and recuperating from the night before.

Nova pulled a piece of bread from the top of the Christmas tree shape. His mother sprinkled pomegranate seeds, seasoning, and fresh rosemary needles on it.

"Good, huh?" Tonette said.

Nova nodded enthusiastically. His mother touched her hair.

"I'm so happy that light pressing I gave you turned out so cute. Do you like it?" Tonette asked.

"I love it. I had the hardest time figuring out how to style it now that it's in that in-between stage of growth, y'know?"

"Honey, a good bob will always fix everything!"

Nova shook her hair. It was down past her ears. He had to smell burning hair early that morning in the kitchen as Nova sat in a chair and let his mama do her thing.

Terry glanced around the livingroom where most of the family had gathered for the caroling. Dressed in the finest fits to match the holiday atmosphere, the Richmonds and the Eastons showed out. A fire crackled in the fireplace behind a glass gate and the house smelled of savory foods. Donny Hathaway's "This Christmas" played softly on the sound system and everything felt…right.

He stared at Nova.

She ate cheesy bread and chatted with his mother. Her Christmas Eve dress shined a delightful Christmas shade of green with red trim along the off the shoulder décolletage. The red heels on her feet lifted her a few inches taller, and she looked angelic. His sister joined them carrying Terrina, who they dressed in a little Santa's Helper outfit. Van-Van and the other little ones ran through the living room chasing Gordon, who donned a Santa Claus suit and carried a big red bag filled with gifts for all of them. Minutes later, they all heard Van-Van crying in the den. Terry went to investigate and all the children surrounded his seven-year-old cousin, Jennifer, on the floor. Her hand rested on the crank of a Jack-in-the-box toy.

"The clown scared him," Jennifer said.

Van-Van stood next to her wailing and pointing at the goofy-looking bobble head on a spring that bounced around. Terry lifted him up and carried him back to the living room where the boy's crying transferred to Terrina. She stared at her brother and burst out crying, too.

"Uh, oh, we have a pity party," Nova said.

Terry rocked Van-Van and rubbed on his back, soothing his cries and whispering to him until the cries broke down into whimpers.

"I don't like that toy," Van-Van huffed.

"I know. It popped out when you weren't expecting it," Terry said.

Jennifer and the other children ran out to check on their weeping cousin.

"Sorry Van-Van, we'll play with something else," Jennifer said.

"You want to go back with them?"

Van-Van looked unsure. He looked down at his sister crying and wiggled in Terry's arms to be put down.

"Don't cry Rina…I feel better," Van-Van said, wiping his eyes.

He pressed his lips onto his sister's cheek, and Nova cradled his chin.

"You're being a good big brother checking on your sister," she said.

Van-Van glanced at the other children and ambled back to them. They all cheered for him and he grinned, with two tears still shining on his cheek. A second later, they ran off like a wolf pack, whooping it up and off to some new adventure. Crisis averted.

"Hey, everybody, time to gather around in five minutes," Tonette said.

Terry's stomach dropped. He rushed to the guest bathroom down the hall. His brother noticed the panic in his eyes and followed him.

"What's wrong, Terry?"

"I'm going to ask Nova to marry me."

Dean's mouth dropped open.

"Now?"

"Before we eat."

He pushed open the bathroom door and Dean closed it behind them.

"Why the scary face?"

Dean stared at him as Terry glanced at his own reflection. The color seemed to drain from his face as his heart sped up. His brother grabbed his hands.

"Hey…baby brother…relax. You got this. Breathe."

He took a deep breath and pressed his hands on the sink, lowering his head to help ease his anxiety.

"I don't want to mess this up," he said.

"How can you mess up asking the woman you love to be your wife? Have you looked at her today? Every time you walk near her, she's grinning in your face. She got it bad for you, man."

"She's been through so much…I don't want to disappoint her."

"Disappoint her how? You drove across the country and saved her from an unpleasant situation. She's about to be posted up in an oceanfront condo in California. You got the Richmond good looks and passed them down to your baby. Your career is where you want it and you can support a family. You're head over heels for her. Tighten up!"

Dean rubbed his shoulder.

Terry stared at his reflection. His brother was right.

"C'mon, bring it in," Dean said.

He held out his arms toward Terry for an embrace. They hugged.

"Hit another shot of whiskey…better yet, ask Grandpa for a shot of his moonshine. He got some hidden under the kitchen sink. Liquid courage will smooth the jitters out. Wait here, I'll go get you a shot glass of it," Dean said.

His brother left the bathroom and Terry concentrated on a sunny beach far away in the Caribbean somewhere and calmed his mind. Dean returned two minutes later with a pineapple-shaped shot glass bought from Honolulu, Hawaii.

"Here ya go. Toss it back."

Terry wasted no time drinking the fiery liquid that burned down his throat and fired up his chest. He squinted and twisted his lips from the aftertaste.

"Shit tastes like kerosene and Satan's foot," Terry choked out.

He coughed, and Dean pounded his back.

"That means the magic is working. Let's go sing!"

They returned to the living room just in time to greet Von and Bethany, who arrived with their two little girls. Bethany hugged Nova tight and gushed over the baby. Von hugged Terry, making him feel more confident about what would happen later when he approached Nova for her hand.

"Man, we had to take our time getting on this side. It started snowing," Von said.

Everyone rushed to the windows and stepped outside to watch the rare sight in Cypress Bend of hard rain freezing into snowflakes that fell quietly from the sky like a whisper. The snow already covered a thin layer of the ground. All the children squealed as puffy white clouds blanketed the sky, making Terry feel like his family was inside a giant snow globe. The twinkling of the Christmas lights on the house added a romantic feeling. He put an arm around Nova and Terrina. Titus held Van-Van's hand and his son stared at the winter wonderland before him.

"That's snow, Van-Van," Terry said.

Delighted, Van-Van raised his hands and tiny flakes fell into his palms and melted, making him giggle with delight.

"Singing first, snow later," Tonette said, clapping her hands for everyone to come back inside.

Folks settled into the livingroom. Terry helped pass out homemade song books they'd used since he was a child that contained all the Christmas songs they liked to sing together as a family. Nova put on her new red baby feeding wrap and took Terrina from Sage's arms to feed her on an armchair discreetly. Terry stood next to her proudly, knowing his extended family watched them together with cheerful smiles and twinkling eyes. He was a family man now.

Mike and Dean helped pass out the filled champagne flutes and his aunties and mother offered the freshly chilled oysters with Champagne mignonette sauce and assorted chocolate bites to those who wanted them before they started caroling. Dean prepared hot apple cider with cinnamon, to warm up hands from the cold outside, too.

"You look so handsome," Bethany said, admiring his dark suit and holiday red tie with candy canes all over it.

She hugged him tight and whispered in his ear.

"I'm happy for you. Terrina is such a cutie and Nova looks radiant."

He grinned. Knowing he had Bethany and Von in his corner out in Oceanside invigorated him. Nova would have a friend and confidante in her, and she'd know that Von didn't play with men not living up to their roles as husbands. They would both have role models close by that they admired to guide them on their journey.

Aunt Janice directed everyone like they were a choir after everyone took their places and started belting out Christmas classics, and Pauletta looked impressed with how his rich baritone enhanced the singing. Dean was the show off and added all the runs, and his sister Sage kept the higher harmonies in check. Nova's father sang off-key during "Deck the Halls". Pauletta and Tonette kept laughing next to each other as Janice tried to help him out on the Fa-la-la-la-la's. The house sounded glorious with the singing, especially when his sister and cousins added the soul of Blackness to the songs. It was a rollicking good time, and he was grateful the Easton's enjoyed every moment. As they wound down after an hour, Tonette waved her hand at Terry.

"Jaybird, you and Junebug sing 'Silent Night' with Mouse and Boss Man," she said. "Sing for my Ladybug."

Terry gathered his brother Dean, his cousin Mike, and Von in front of the fireplace.

"Sing it like ya do in church," Grandma Jessie-Belle said, sitting next to Grandpa Arneux.

Dean tuned them all up by singing the first two lines by himself, and then Terry joined his cousin and best friend in a quartet directed toward his daughter and Nova. She didn't know he could sing so well, and gazed at him with a dreamy glow on her face. Terrina heard her daddy's voice go lower in register and she bounced in her mama's lap, gurgling and looking up at him with her big green eyes.

They made the song truly holy and from the corner of his eyes, he noticed his mother and grandmother tearing up. Even Gordon's and Pauletta's eyes misted with appreciation.

"Y'all betta sing!" Bethany called out.

Their harmony together matched the a capella smoothness of "Boyz II Men" and it was a nice way to end the caroling session. Everyone exploded in applause afterward. He kissed Nova and lifted his baby girl in his arms.

"Did you like Daddy's singing?" he cooed, kissing her forehead.

Terrina reached for his nose and he kissed her fingers. His father, Gordon, still dressed as Santa, called all the kids to the center, even the teenagers.

"Time for Christmas stockings!" Gordon said.

He passed out stockings to all the youngsters, and they dug into the red felt and pulled out gift cards, small toys, candy, socks, and candy canes. The Temptations Christmas album played softly in the background as all the adults watched the children have fun. Van-Van was so excited. He showed everyone all the things packed into his stocking. Terry's parents spoiled him, making sure he had the best out of all the children. His mother's smile was so wide with pride. She snapped her fingers.

"Oh wait, the baby has a stocking, too!" Tonette said. "Jaybird, take it down from the fireplace. My Ladybug can't be left out."

Terry handed Terrina to Pauletta and reached for her stocking that hung above the fireplace next to his and where Van-Van's used to be. He handed it to Nova, who dug into it eagerly.

"Oh, how cute!" Nova said.

She pulled out baby socks with reindeers on them and immediately put them on Terrina's feet. There were baby hand toys and a headband with wiggly ladybug antennae on them. His father bought her a gold anklet with her name on it and there were little colorful barrettes for all the hair Terrina had on her head. Nova showed them to the baby, but Terrina was more interested in touching the bouncy antennae on the headband. Pauletta had to put it away because his daughter kept trying to put them in her mouth. Everyone loved the rolled up little blue shirt that said "Help! Call Grandpa, These Fools Don't Know What They're Doing!" Gordon fell over laughing with Titus.

"Show them the shirt I made for Ladybug!" Tonette insisted.

Nova pulled out another small purple shirt that said "Half Creole, Half Gullah, All Trouble"

Pauletta laughed, "I know that's right!"

Nova reached the bottom of the stocking and pulled out a small black velvet box.

Terry dropped on one knee in front of her.

The audible gasp in the room matched the expression on Nova's face. She opened the jewelry box and the engagement ring sparkled in the firelight. His hand shook on his knee, and his leg felt rubbery.

"Nova—"

"Yes!"

An explosion of laughter and cackles surrounded them, along with handclaps and loud whistles from Von and Mike.

Terry took the ring from the box and slipped it on her finger.

"Nova…you coming into my life was divine, perfect timing. You changed my life from the ordinary into the extraordinary in such a short amount of time that sometimes…I don't even think you're real. But you are…and I want to spend the rest of my life with you and Van-Van…and that baby girl you gave me…."

His voice shuddered, and he blinked back tears.

"Take your time Jaybird!" Jessie-Belle shouted.

"Nova…will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and marry me?"

"I do…yes! Oh my God, yes!"

She threw her arms around him. He stood and lifted her off of her feet. Titus rose first and shook Terry's hand. Pauletta hugged him and then hugged Nova.

"Show us the ring!" Dean shouted.

Nova wiped her eyes, then splayed out her fingers.

"How much that set you back?" Von asked.

Bethany slapped his arm. Their family and friends gave them congratulations in abundance, along with hugs and joyful kisses. The oven timer rang out. Dean ran toward the kitchen.

"Everyone wash up, dinner will be served in a few minutes. The mac n' cheese is calling us!"

Nova wrapped her arms around his waist and he lowered his head so they could press their foreheads together.

"Whenever you're ready, baby…you set the date and time," he said.

"Okay."

Her voice quivered. She closed her eyes. He let her cry, let his own tears join hers. There wasn't a happier man alive in the world.

Christmas morning smelled of fresh coffee, cinnamon rolls, and the lingering scent of the fresh pine needles on the tree. Wrapping paper and toys scattered in heaps throughout the house as the Easton and Richmond families shared gifts and watched Van-Van zoom around in his new electric car that the Easton's bought for him, among other things. As Terry predicted, all the Richmonds and his new family dressed in matching pajama sets of red and green with white snowflakes all over them. Titus and Pauletta took plenty of pictures, especially ones of Terrina and Van-Van

Terry watched his brother-in-law Bobby open the last gift from his wife. Sage looked thrilled to give him a new bronze and onyx Movado watch. Bobby hugged and thanked her and the family all headed to the dining room for a full breakfast. His grandfather said grace, and they tucked into fresh biscuits smothered in strawberries and whipped cream, fried eggs, and maple cured bacon. Dean used leftover ham to make omelets with Swiss cheese and onions.

After bellies were full, they spoke to Nova's relatives in Charleston and wished Mawmaw a Merry Christmas, sending pictures to Nella's phone to share. Terry took Van-Van into the backyard to play in snow that hadn't melted away yet. The chilly air let the ground hold on to two inches. They made it a lazy, relaxing day with plans to go visit other relatives and deliver gifts. There were also plans to go see Christmas fireworks at the Hyatt where the Eastons had a room overlooking the area for the light show. They spent the night at the house on Christmas Eve and invited everyone to enjoy the fireworks in their extensive suite for the evening.

Nova looked exhausted and Terry begged off on them joining the trip to see other relatives. They would catch up later at the hotel to watch the fireworks. Nova prepared two bottles of milk for Terrina, and her mother took the children under her charge with Titus. Terry packed a baby bag and put in some snacks for Van-Van. He waved at everyone from the porch as they all drove off in two SUVs.

Alone.

At last.

He strolled back into the house and placed another log on the fire, stoking it with an iron poker. Nova padded out from the kitchen, snacking on another cinnamon roll drenched in thick icing. He sat next to her on the couch and they watched the flames flicker.

"This was the best Christmas ever," she sighed.

"I'm sure Mawmaw and them put on a good time."

"They do, but this was the first time I could be in the moment. Normally I'm rushing around helping to run things or cooking. It felt like being a kid again, when you didn't have to do anything but enjoy all the Christmas magic. I got spoiled here. I don't know if I can go back to the old ways."

He kissed her temple and threw an arm around her.

"You could've gone with them to see your cousins," she said.

He shook his head.

"I've seen enough of them since we've been here. We need to take advantage of this moment of quiet."

She admired her engagement ring and fell asleep cuddled next to him. He rested his eyes and soon nodded off himself. They slept for about ninety minutes, and Nova woke up refreshed and hungry. They nibbled on slices of ham and leftover mac n' cheese, drank some champagne, and then moved most of the Christmas gifts closer to the tree to clean up the living room for his mother.

"We'll need to rent a bigger U-Haul when we leave next week," he said.

They both surveyed all the presents lavished on Van-Van and Terrina. Nova lifted her Octavia Butler bookset from the base of the Christmas tree.

"I can't wait to dig into this," she said.

She stretched and wandered off to take a shower. He plopped back down on the couch and scanned a few channels for a football game. After a while, he noticed Nova hadn't returned. He scanned some new channels.

"Hey, Nova, they're playing 'The Preacher's Wife' in a few. You wanna watch it?"

"Do you want to watch that or watch me?"

He turned his head. Nova stood under the mistle toe at the entrance of the hallway dressed in the sheer red negligee that adorned her body the last time they made love in Oceanside. She spruced up her hair and added sultry make-up. The heels on her feet tooted her ass out.

Shit.

Fuck.

Goddamn.

He left the couch and prowled toward her, stopping a mere three feet away to drink in her beauty and ultra sexiness.

"Is this my bonus Christmas gift?" he said.

She nodded with coquettish eyes.

He pulled off his pajama top and balled it up, tossing it back on the couch.

"You're wearing something real dangerous," he said.

She rubbed on her breasts, teasing him with their bounty. His eyes narrowed, and she sighed. He had her hooked already with their intensity. His eyes always trapped her. They could make her do things without him having to say one word. She ran her fingers all across her tits, pinching her nipples and pushing them together. He stood silently and watched, feeling the blood in his body travel south. She did everything he wanted to see.

His dick grew thick and stretched out his pajama bottoms. Nova rested her hands on her generous thighs and shook her upper body, letting her tits bounce, knowing that would send him into overdrive.

He pulled down his pajama bottoms with his boxer briefs and his dick jutted like steel. She turned around and jumped on her heels to make her ass cheeks clap for him. He smacked her backside, turning her light brown skin red on both cheeks. She didn't even bother to put on the g-string that went with it. He smacked and rubbed out the hard strikes he gave her ass with his large hand. She bent over and touched her toes, letting him get a peek at her glistening pussy.

"Fuck…Nova…"

He gently touched her pubic hairs. They were already damp. Her wetness flowed out easily. He held his dick by the root and smacked her ass with it. A sticky stream of pre-cum dripped onto her ass, and he gripped her neck. He lowered his head and ravaged her mouth from behind, the perk of being taller than her. Nova panted and groaned in his mouth, their tongues dueling for control of the other. He lifted her breasts and squeezed them. His dick rested against her ass and kept spilling pre-cum.

They kissed like that for a long time under the mistletoe. Slow…easy…unrushed. His head arched over hers and her head bent back to accept his plundering tongue. He plucked at her nipples, causing shivers in her frame. Her lips were so succulent that he had to groan at the pleasure they brought him. His dick throbbed with a knowing anticipation. They hadn't had intercourse in over a year with one another, and the way she was carrying on with his mouth, he guessed she was ready for penetration. She purposely wore that negligee to inflame his ardor like a matador waving a red cape at a bull.

"Can I be inside you?" he asked.

Nova moaned, "Yes."

"Do we need to do anything extra?" he asked.

She was on birth control, and he brought condoms for the occasion. But she knew how he liked to get down. He could pull out for his release, but her body drove him into a breeding frenzy.

"I already used the spermicidal gel," she said.

He groaned, and his dick jumped. They had the extra back up to let him cum inside her raw.

"I'll take it slow, baby," he whispered into her mouth.

She threaded her fingers with his and pulled him toward their bedroom. He reached down and grabbed his pajama bottoms.

They couldn't keep their lips apart inside his room. Her tongue still tasted like cinnamon and expensive champagne. He rubbed all over her breasts, loving how they looked behind the sheer material, her small nipples so cute surrounded by the wideness of her areolas.

"Feel so good," he said.

He let his right hand drift behind her backside and he probed her pussy lips, inserting his fingers inside Nova a couple of inches to test her wetness. Her engorged inner labia parted open for him. He had to tamp down on his eagerness or else he'd cum prematurely. Her body had that effect on him with sex. He could pace himself easily with any other woman, but Nova drove him wild and his dick could spit at any moment, blowing the chance for them to fuck raw and uninhibited with an empty house. Finger fucking her pussy that way made her squirm and pant his name in his ear. She stuck her tongue in his ear and moaned when he inserted his middle finger into her ass. They once tried anal sex in the past, but she could only take the head in and nothing past his frenulum. It was enough for him to ejaculate, though, and she still liked when he used a finger or two.

He sat on the bed and pulled her toward him so he could fondle her breasts in his face. The tip of his tongue traced around her nipples through her negligee and she stroked his hair, letting sighs of arousal fall into his ears. He pulled down the straps and released her tits. Their warmth bathed his cheeks as he pushed a breast on each side of his face and licked the center of her chest. He smashed them closer, letting them smother him. She cradled the nape of his neck with her right hand while he sucked on one nipple and pinched the other. An expert at titty sucking, Terry latched onto her with greedy lips and a lascivious tongue. His nipple stimulation caused her to gasp.

"Terry…Terry baby, hold on, my milk is letting down…"

He ignored her warning and accepted the flow of milk into his mouth from both nipples. Holding both breasts, he ran his tongue back and forth…teasing…tasting…turning her on more. He playfully slapped them, their heft arousing his dick with a sturdier girth, ready to plunge deep into her pussy.

"Is that pussy ready for me?" he asked.

He reached down between her thighs and wove careful circles around her clit like the way she showed him how to weave sweetgrass on her grandmother's porch. His fingers had a message to relay, and he used her clit like a telegraph to her inner walls: he was coming to do some work. Be ready.

"Yes…"

She grabbed his shoulders to keep her balance. Her eyes were already half-lidded.

"Suck my dick first. Lemme stretch your mouth."

Nova's eyes were glassy. She whined with annoyance, so desperate to get on her back and let him lay that pipe on her. Stretch those walls out instead. But he knew the longer he prolonged penetration, the sweeter her pussy would be on his dick. He needed to slut her out a bit. Get her pussy throbbing for his erection he taunted her with.

She lowered herself and opened her mouth wide. Taking the bulbous head with her lips first, he groaned the moment her tongue curled on the underside. Her head bobbed in his lap with a steady motion. All mouth, no hands. Poor baby. His girth and length tired her jaw. Wrapping both hands around him still wasn't enough for her. She spit on his dick like the nasty little slut she could be for him. He remembered the times she'd suck him off while pregnant. Nova loved the taste of his dick in her mouth, but always had to take her time with his size or she'd tire out fast, especially while carrying a baby in her belly. He reached for her tits and she sandwiched his dick between them, rubbing them up and done while she watched his expression. His dick pulsed and the veins bulging on it excited her more. Her arousal made her look high. He watched her left nipple leak milk and his jumped again. His fiancé whimpered in desperation. She wanted her pussy plowed right then and there.

There would be time to eat her pussy out later. In the meantime; he needed to be inside of her. Those big titties would keep spilling milk, but he needed to spill into her and satisfy the raging urge to fuck her until he soaked her insides with cum. Her negligee beckoned him to make love to her like the last time they did. It was the best sex he'd had, and it produced a beautiful baby. He wanted to experience that type of carnal pleasure again. Being reckless last time gave him the best nut of his life. They would be extra careful this go-round, but the urge escalated in his dick. He became dizzy, lusting after breeding her with his semen. He kissed her with all the passion in his being.

Nova's legs shook from the stimulation of his tongue and lips. He pulled her onto the bed beside him and spread her legs, letting her feet rest on the edge. She kicked off her heels, and he kissed her toes, which were painted scarlet to match the negligee. Nova played with her pussy, letting him see and hear how wet she was. God, his dick was hard as a brick and his balls hung heavy. He squeezed them to show her how much cum weighed down his sack.

He stepped away to rummage in his personal bag and pulled out some warming lube. He slicked up his dick and smacked it in his hand hard. She heard that heavy sound and chewed on her bottom lip. He slid his hands up her thighs and lifted the negligee back further. Resting between her legs, he lowered his mouth to kiss her and remind her why they fit together. The first time she kissed him so long ago, he recognized the hunger within. He shared that same craving. Pressing the wide head of his dick at her entrance, he breathed into her mouth, "Can I stick part of it in?"

"Yes, baby…yes…"

That's what he liked to hear. Enthusiastic consent. He watched his dick penetrate her dripping pink entrance.

"More!" she pleaded.

Grunting, he tried to keep it together. His entry was so smooth, he would have bet she was built to sheath him from the moment they met.

"Oh! That's it…baby!" she shouted.

He let go of a loud moan of completion as he sank all the way in until his balls slapped her ass. Pulling out slowly, he admired how she could take every inch of him. He stretched her again, easily, the lube and her natural wetness perfectly aroused to handle all of him.

Terry moved slowly, being mindful that she gave birth five months ago. He loved the way her belly bunched up, squeezing her belly button area into a fold of flesh. She worried about having a big fupa later, but he told her good pussy needed extra protection. He watched her face for any signs of discomfort. There weren't any. Her lips pouted and her eyes squinted with her pleasure face. He stroked a little faster, their bodies slapping harder together.

"Yes, baby! Oh…Terry…right there…go deeper…harder…"

She wrapped her legs around his waist and he fisted his hands into the mattress, giving himself an anchor so he could start fucking her silly. His thrusts pulled out her begging. More dick. Deeper. Harder. Faster. Fuck me good Daddy energy.

He gripped her breasts and held onto them. They were slick with more milk and sweat, filling his hands past capacity.

"You'll always love me?" she asked.

Her lust-filled eyes still had a pleading quality to them. He snaked his hips to stroke another part of her pussy. His thickness tugged on her labia and stimulated her clit without him having to touch it yet.

"I'll always love you, Nova."

"Promise?"

He tongued her down and muffled the decadent cries that threatened to get louder since no one else was in the house. Gripping her waist, he owned her pussy, reminding her of what he could do.

"You'll always protect me?" she gasped.

"Yesssss."

He caressed her face and slowed down his thrusts until he barely moved, driving her insane. He used his deep voice to seduce her insecurities away.

"You're my woman…mine, Nova. Don't worry about anything. You're going to be my wife and I'm going to show you what a great man can do when he takes care of his woman and responsibilities properly…hey…look at me…don't you ever doubt my love or my intentions…okay? You're the only one for me. I put a ring on your finger to lock you down for life."

Nova lifted onto her elbows and started fucking him back as he spoke. His face grew heated listening to the sound of his dick stirring up her pussy. All the sticky, creamy, squelching noises coming from her juicy pussy had his dick pulsing inside her. She clenched on his length and he grunted. She needed reassurances. Her heart stayed cautious, and he would have to prove himself each day. He would start by making love to her as her husband. They didn't need a future wedding for him to solidify himself in that way right now. She deserved it all. His heart, mind, body, and soul.

He kissed the side of her neck and sucked on the tender skin there before sliding the tip of his tongue along the shell of her ear.

"I love you, Nova. I'll never misuse your heart baby…never…"

She arched her back, as he loved her properly.

They switched positions before he ejaculated inside her gushy warmth. Her wetness bathed him in an ocean of sensual contentment. He sat on the edge of the bed and she sat on his dick. He lifted her up and down, then clutched onto her ass cheeks while she rode him. She hung onto his shoulders and he shouted her name in time to the slapping of her ass on his thighs. He sucked on her titties, kissed her lips, talked to her on how he wanted her pussy to act on his dick…did everything he could to bolster her confidence in their love going the distance. At no time did he ever want her thinking of her unhappy past. He was a new book with a new story that had a happy ending this time.

Slapping her ass, he ordered her onto the bed and fucked her from behind. Head down, ass up.

"Hold those ass cheeks wide open," he demanded.

She pulled her ass cheeks apart so he could watch his dick sink into her. Was this the position he had knocked her up in last time? Or was it when he pounded her on the bed with her legs thrown over his shoulders? Maybe it was when he lifted her up and fucked her while standing.

Her nail polish matched her toes and looked seductive on her light brown skin. The wet pink of pussy swallowed his dick…in…out…in…out…making his dick so glossy from her slippery walls. She was close to an orgasm. Her rapid panting and clawing of the blanket warned him..

"Can I cum in your pussy, Nova?"

He gripped her hips. His balls slapped her clit, and each thrust gave her the friction she needed. From the closet mirror, he could see her tits hanging and moving with each thrust he gave her. He reached down and grabbed her hair, pulling her head back. Her breasts swayed with each hard thrust.

"…hitting my spot…keep fucking me so good…yes…yes…yes…missed this dick…" she panted.

"Will you let me cum all in this fat pussy?"

Sweat from his chest dripped down onto her ass, that clapped like thunder in the room. She acted willful by not answering him. Nothing irritated him more than a bratty woman. She knew that and played with him, anyway. He'd have to break her of that habit before they returned to Oceanside. He released her hair and pulled her arms back. The motion lifted her chest up and her tits bounced around like crazy then, turning him on further.

"I wanna make a mess in this pussy," he growled.

The shift in tone locked her eyes on him. She took the hint. He wasn't playing with her.

"Tell me I can make a big mess in this pussy."

He was on the verge of losing it. Ready to blast into forever. But he needed her to cum first. She was the lifeline to drag him into the depths of a splendid hallelujah orgasm.

"Tell me!"

He pumped into her as his balls throbbed. Her mouth parted, showing the tip of her tongue. She felt so fucking good around his dick and all he needed was for her to tell him she wanted his cum to drown her pussy. His hips rocked into her faster and his dick swelled. His friction tugged on her clit and Nova spasmed up and down that big Christmas penis he served her. Her contractions vanquished speech from her vocal chords and all she could muster were continuous breathy cries of "Oh, oh, oh, oh!" that matched the throbbing of his erection as he shot hot cum far into her womb. Terry roared so loud that he was positive every angel in heaven heard his yelling. He dropped his head down and watched the root of his dick throb hard, pushing cum into her.

"Damn, Nova…damn, baby…I feel like I'm putting another baby in you!"

No more sound erupted from his lips, just his mouth stayed open with his eyes narrowed like he was mad at her pussy for milking him like that. Up and down his shaft, the contractions of her walls squeezed him. His hips rocked into her and the final spurts felt even more intense than the first. When he pulled out, he stroked the last bit of semen all over her labia. A lot more spilled out of her vagina. She had wrecked him and he left her pussy in shambles.

"Nova…shit…"

He started laughing, and she shook with giggles. Rolling over, she held out her arms for him and he climbed on her and rested his head on those soft pillowy breasts that fed his baby and satisfied him.

"God, I fucking love you, girl," he said.

"I think I love you more."

"Impossible."

"No, I think it's true," she said.

"But I loved you first," he said.

"Impossible."

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him all over his forehead, nose, cheeks, and then finally…his lips.

Terry showered with Nova.

They changed into comfortable, ugly Christmas sweaters and jeans. Nova cooked Mawmaw's Carolina Gold Rice, making red rice with crabmeat, and scooped it into a large ceramic casserole dish. She bagged it up with some of the leftovers along with paper plates and plastic forks for everyone to eat while watching the fireworks.

He drove them to the Hyatt in his truck and once they entered the suite where his parents and her parents relaxed and cared for their babies, Terry knew in the marrow of his bones that he was right to pursue Nova.

Van-Van ran up to him with his arms up in the air and he swooped his son up, giving him kisses.

"I love you, Van-Van," he said.

Van-Van pointed to the ceiling to floor window and wiggled to be put down so he could touch the glass and watch the first bright lights shoot off into the night sky. Nova handed him Terrina. His baby girl touched his lips, and he nibbled her fingers, making her squeal and laugh. He kept her on his right arm and put his other arm around Nova's shoulder.

"Dada, look…see? Fireworks," Van-Van said, elated by the presentation of red, green and white fireworks.

Terry smiled.

"I see them, son. I see them."

Nova grinned, and they stood together with their children as a family. His daughter rested her head on his chest, wearing her Creole/Gullah shirt. He glimpsed Nova's engagement ring as she pointed out a new fiery explosion to Van-Van.

She gazed into Terry's eyes and gave him a peck on the lips.

"Merry Christmas, Terry," she said.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Nova Richmond."

The fireworks couldn't match the brightness of Nova's smile.

Nor the glow inside his heart.

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A.N:

Merry Christmas y'all and Happy New Year down the road! I hope my story gave you some holiday cheer, and a few thrills! Reminder: One of the best ways to support Black fanfiction writers that doesn't cost a dime is to reblog or comment (or both!). We thrive off of kind words to keep us going, and it's always great to extend our reach to new readers. In 2025 I'm making more of an effort to get my stories out to as many Black women as possible. We are in our #RestEra of pouring into ourselves and our own, so we deserve nice things to come home to for our reading pleasure.

On Deck: I'm finishing the last chapter of my Vampire!Terry Richmond fic "A Tattoo and the Bloodsucker Blues" by New Years, and then it's on to add more chapters to "Spinning the Block" my Terry Richmond/Jess Sims fic!

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