#when Terry comes out to him and everything too

[bri-the-bi]

Why did everyone think Callum when Aaravos said Viren’s other child my first thought was Terry 😭

[pedrospatch]

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[henneseyhoe]

Sunshine

Aaron Pierre x BLACK!FEM!Reader

ORDER:Coffee (Smut) Tea (Fluff), Strawberry Cheesecake (Hair Pulling) , Jelly Filled Donut (Creampie) , Vanilla Beignet (Blind To Love) and a Brownie (Sunny vs Grumpy) served by Terry Richmond.

SUMMARY: Shitty jobs are made worth it cause pretty, funny girls exist!(ig idk chile)

The Bakery<3

✮✮✮✮

“How the hell do you deal with that?”

Was what people would ask Terry when they saw you two together. You were loud, anyone could hear your laugh from miles away and your smile radiated bright happiness that annoyed most, especially in your field of work. You were enthusiastic about nearly everything, seeing the bright side to dark situations that some just couldn’t bear. Maybe that’s why Terry held onto you the way he did. He even gave you the nickname ’Sunshine’ to show.

Everything that was listed, he indeed was not. He was not happy go lucky, he was not enthusiastic about things he had to do and he definitely wasn’t looking on the bright side, for reasons that could probably be justified.

When he was happy, it was mostly because of you. You were best friends (or he was definitely YOUR best friend) and working together in close proximity made it so much easier for Terry to get use to you. It was hard for Terry not to crack a smile when you were constantly in a good mood, bouncing off the walls. You found the spots in him that were soft and poked at them until he gave in, you learned his humor and kept him laughing when he didn’t want to.

He couldn’t lie, he was growing accustomed to being with you, he could even say he loved having you around (he would probably never say that out loud) . He just couldn’t help but feel a little warmth in his chest when you were near, butterflies in his stomach when you made eye contact with him. Little did he know, you felt the same.

Your heart beat down on your rib cage faster than it was on your first mission. You loved a challenge, and Terry was exactly that, testing your abilities to be professional, dangerous, light on your feet, but also keeping your brand of being the happy person you were.

Whenever Terry came into work, even if it was just to train, you were up in his face cracking jokes like you hadn’t just ran two miles. Of course because he was a rank higher than you, he use to send you on about your way the first few times, a little annoyed with your presence and attitude until realizing he couldn’t get rid of you even if he tried. You were everywhere and the crew was slowly growing a liking to you too.

You were like a leech, as he would describe. A cuddly and cute one, but a leech nonetheless.

Coming up on the date of the official homecoming for soldiers, it was time to head back to your respective states and you offered Terry a day to spend with just the two of you, enjoying the scenery of downtown and all it had to offer..as friends, Which he accepted after a huff (which was obviously faked, his ass was happy you asked) . Somehow, Terry found himself not wanting to leave when night had came. Something he had NEVER felt before, and he hated it. He hated that he knew it was because of you too, nothing else. Hell, he didn’t even like the state he was in, he was ready to go when he landed.

Babysitting a beer in your hand, you two sit close around the fireplace of your apartment, or what was yours till tomorrow.

“Feel like we been here forever” He breaks the silence, sipping on his drink while staring at the flicker of the fire in front of you both.

You shrug.

“It kinda has been? Seven months, two weeks, five days, and 21 hours is a long time!” You nod, Terry giving you a look before stifling out the chuckle he tried so hard not to free. You smile, satisfied at how easy it was to make him laugh now.

“So!…You ready to go home to the missus?”

Terry raises a brow, swallowing the bitter drink in his mouth. “Missus?”

You hum, waiting for an answer, but he never confirmed.

“Yeah. I mean, you never said anything about a wife or a kid, but I just assumed-“

“Never said because I don’t have” He interrupts, laughing. He couldn’t even imagine what about him gave husband. He didn’t wear a ring, on the right finger at least, and he thought the flirting he did confirmed him to be single already..Or what he thought was flirting. The making sure you ate and drank every day and teasing about how many push ups you could do didn’t really connect the dots for you. You were looking for a more forward approach considering he was a blunt man.

“What the hell about me made you think I was married with a kid?”

You laugh along with him to save yourself the embarrassment. Truthfully, you asked on purpose to see if he was single or not. To your surprise, no one had snatched him up yet.

“I-…I don’t know. I just see a nigga like you and just expect it” You respond, the palms of your hands already sweating. Your body was once again defying you, you felt like you were in highschool again.

Terry’s laugh shrunk until it was no more and his eyebrows rose at your statement. “A nigga like me?”

“…Yeah. Ya know…” You trail off, shyly looking away. By now regret had already set in your stomach for bringing up shit and snooping in his business. It would have been easier to search his name in the database and read his files, keeping your stalker shit on the low.

“Hm…Elaborate, sunshine. I wanna know what that mean” He presses, his squinted eyes searching for yours, but you refused to give in and see what may have been rejection.

“Look” You huff, shaking your head. “I just mean…You are a very handsome man, and I expected you to be…spoken for? Can you even say spoken for when talking about a man?”

You both laugh, but tension was still thick in the air, you just didn’t know what kind of tension it would turn to. Whether sexual or awkward tension, your nerves were getting worse by the second.

Terry on the other hand seemed cool as a cucumber, his tongue subtly tracing the rim of his beer bottle as he thought to himself before taking his last drink, finishing the beverage off.

“I don’t think so, but still. I appreciate that…so”

“So…”

He tilts his head. You could see it all from your peripheral view. His strong presence demanded attention from you. It was like that while working and it happened to never change outside of it.

“You aren’t spoken for?” He asks, his shoulder softly bumping yours to pull an answer quicker.

You shake your head, simultaneously setting down your bottle.

“Not since a year ago. Maybe if it was possible to pack a niggas dick with you when you leave for work, it wouldn’t be inside your bestfriend, right?”

“…You shittin’ me?” He leans, almost shocked that anyone would dare to cheat on you. Not only because of the person you were on the inside, but also because you could be classified as a high threat even while ass naked. That’s just the type of woman he wouldn’t cross, even at his rank.

“Nope, deadass”

“Damn..” He mumbles. “Whatever nigga out here silly enough to let little miss sunshine walk the earth without being right behind her need his ass beat. Shit, i’ll do it for you actually”

You giggle. “You’re silly”

“Nah, I’m serious”

Who knew that conversation alone would end with you getting ate out by someone you considered a friend, someone who you looked up to just a little, someone who just admitted he’d fuck somebody up for you…maybe giving it up was justifiable.

On the couch with your legs spread to each side, you forced yourself to open your eyes and bask in reality as Terry began the journey of taking you apart and putting you back together again. He placed soft kisses around your lips and on your clit before he licked long strings from your entrance, then sucked, earning a soft gasp from you.

His hands gripped your thick thighs while holding them apart, his strength not allowing you to hide from him at all. He wanted to taste all you had to offer, his tongue doing all the hard work slithering inside of your warm walls as his nose nudged your clit. You tensed up with every nudge, watching as he freely put his face in it. He made it messy enough to admire when he pulled his mouth off of you, your pussy glistening like he just doused you in oil.

“Look at that, mmm” There was a grumble that came deep from within his throat. His green eyes on you made it so hard not to be bothered even with him not doing anything, your poor clit jumping with excitement as he spread your lips open.

“She happy to see me, huh?”

You moan and nod eagerly, bringing your hand to your mouth to suck on a finger. Terry smiles at that, sharp teeth flashing from under his lips. He just wanted to bite you all over.

“Yeah, I know. When the last time you had some?”

“I-I don’t remember” And you truly couldn’t. Nothing worth remembering.

“Yeah? Imma make sure you remember this shit” He ends off with a bite to your thigh, almost as if he was warning you for what’s to come before he dove back into your heat, slurping up your soaked clit. Your belly was doing summersaults, you could barely contain your volume. It seemed Terry didn’t care about his.

When he ate, he made noise. He moaned, grunted, groaned. He was having just as much fun as you.

Your legs had began to shake the longer he was down there, your hands gripping onto the top of his white tank since that was all you had to hold on to after he practically ripped your oversized shirt off of you beforehand, and you feared ruining the couch if you got to pulling on it.

“Yes, yes, yes! I’m so close” You struggled to keep your eyes on him even with his staring back up at you, low lidded and dark. They beckoned you to stay, but pleasure had came rolling through like natural disaster and wiped all thought from your brain, leaving you a shaking, blubbering mess.

His mouth pulled off of you and his hand moved in place of it, rubbing your clit in tight circles.

“Feel it, baby. Let it happen” He coos as you fight against his hand, thighs closing around his wrist which he just smacked away and kept at it until he felt he was done.

“Stop moving, let that shit happen, baby”

You felt like you were literally about to float to heaven, back arching up off of the couch just to get away from the overstimulation.

“Okay! Fuck!”

He moves his hand and allows you to go through the motions, twitching until that special feeling left your center. “Good job, pretty girl” A kiss from him was placed beside your opened mouth as heavy breathing left you.

He gave you time to recover while undressing himself, items of clothing fluttering to the ground until he was in nothing but his shorts.

Your eyes never left his length as it bobbed out of the bottoms. You hadn’t even noticed there was nothing under the shorts till now..So all of that print you were eyeing was all him. He was nothing little, nothing that you had ever seen before and it almost made you ask if that was all of it, hoping he had added something extra, if possible. You wanted to taste him, to lick up the dribbling precum from his tip and test if you could take him in your mouth first, but Terry desperately wanted to be inside you. You protested, pulling him in and stroking his shaft to solicit him into going your way, but he was stern, nearly completely ignoring your advances and lifting you to your feet.

You yelped, legs wobbly from your first orgasm, but you had no need to worry about falling because you were lifted off of your feet as fast as you got on them.

“D-don’t drop me!”

You begged, holding onto him while he bounced you to catch you in the right position to fuck you good, your legs swinging over his arms and his hands cupping your soft ass.

“I gotchu, baby”

He reassured as he kisses your lips. You could smell and taste yourself all on him, slightly sweet and herbal from the beer. All while sucking on his tongue, you felt the tip of him swipe against your entrance, your heart beating so hard in your chest that you were convinced he could hear it, and it was the same for him. He couldn’t wait to feel you, to be connected in other ways than just conversation and friendship. He longed to know what it would be like, and when he got a taste, there was no turning back from then on. Not that he would want to, anyway.

There was no way you were getting away from him. You were strong, but Terry was strong. The man trained relentlessly and always being on his toes payed off at work and apparently in the bedroom too.

Your thighs ached with a burning sensation as he bounced you on his long dick effortlessly, the tip of him kissing your cervix ever so slightly, but he knew good enough not to hit it dead on, fearing hurting you in the process. You appreciate the thoughtfulness, seeing as you were already losing the part of your brain that made thought out decisions.

“So fucking deep!”

You cried out weakly, nails scratching down his broad shoulders, creating red streaks he’d try to hide with a long sleeve the morning after, the feeling of you still dancing on his tongue as he got dressed. He grunts, palms squeezing the fat of your ass as his pace never seemed to falter. He was determined to get you there. To feel you cum around his dick so hard that the neighbors would wonder if you were hurt, that they would think about calling the cops just to check on you.

“Cmon, baby. You a big girl, take this dick like I know you can” He encouraged you sweetly, voice unshaken and stable as if the ribbon of release in the pit of his stomach wasn’t threatening to come undone, spilling his seed deep inside of you.

It wasn’t long until he decided to change the position and lay you on your stomach instead, a soft pillow placed underneath your hips to make sure you could meet his height and your ass stayed up right for him. Before he entered back into your warmth, he took his time to spread your cheeks and licking up whatever your pussy had started to drip, earning whiny, pathetic mewls from you.

He licked from your clit to the winking rim of your asshole, the tip of his tongue circling around it before going back down to your sensitive bud, teasingly suckling on it softly.

You drooled into your sheets. You knew you looked so damn stupid right now, but you couldn’t help it with how he was turning you every way but loose.

“Taste so fucking good”

He says from behind you, fully standing now with a hand in your silk press and the other laid directly in the middle of your back to help that arch. He didn’t even have to guide his dick into you, you were so wet and open for him already that all he did was wind his hips back to line up with you and push forward.

You could swear your breath was being sucked out of your lungs with each inch he dropped into you. It felt so good that you could almost ignore him pulling on your hair, forcing your head back to meet him for a slow, nasty kiss.

“Fuck- My hair, Terry!” You whined against his plump lips, one of your hands reaching for his wrist, but the tugging only made it worse for you. The sharp stinging in your scalp oddly satisfied something within you, your clit twitching at the newfound feeling.

“Fuck it. I’ll pay for it” He grunts, his teeth tugging at the bottom of your lip.

You both kissed with teeth and all as he fucked you, your ass loudly clapping back on his toned body with every thrust. He felt every motion of it, the waves clashing with his hips so mesmerizing that he couldn’t help but wanna stare.

As he pulled away from your lips, he opted to grab a hold of your throat instead, your moans immediately getting caught.

He made sure to grab you by the part where it was safe to hold, safe enough to where you could still breathe a little, but still got the sensation to feel held.

“Why-“ You managed to choke out, yet you couldn’t finish a sentence.

He cracked an almost cocky smile then moaned out a curse, his dick violently throbbing inside of you and reaching beyond what you thought was gonna be his limit.

“Why what? Spit it out, ma” He teased, his low cut nails almost scratching up the side of your throat when his thrusts got more fluid, the man putting way more wine into every collision.

You began to cry out, him muffling them slightly by letting go of you and pushing your head down into the bed. He only fucked you harder when your arch fell with your hips, your legs giving out as your pussy cried right along with you.

This position had you feeling everything. From the tip of him grazing your gspot to the veins that traveled up his dick and massaged your walls, giving you texture that you never felt before.

Him demanding a word out of you was like speaking to a brick wall. You had already came without warning, now you were just wetting up the sheets with incoherent words spilling from your mouth. He imagined you fucked out under him like this plenty of times before but he never knew it’d feel and look this good.

“Shit! Keep doing that and imma cum” He warns, but that’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted to feel him fill you up to the point you were leaking. You began purposely clenching around him, the first squeeze prompting him to lay a smack on your ass, and the second one making his hips stutter against you. He could feel himself becoming lighter, a swirl of heat blooming in the bottom of his stomach.

“Nut in this pussy, baby. Let me feel it, please” You begged hopelessly, doing your best to keep a good hold on his dick until he released with a loud groan, grinding his hips into your ass. You could feel each and every spurt of his cum being released inside you, warmth and fullness is what laid in the bottom of your belly.

“Mmm, fuck” His hips bucked one last time before he was pulling out with a grunt, large hands gripped on your ass and spreading you apart to see what he had done to you.

“So pretty. Push it out” He demanded, and you abided by it, pushing his cum out of you until you no longer felt full.

✮✮✮✮

💌- I’m criiine, this was supposed to be a headcannon too- LMFAOAOA. and yall wonder why i take so long, lawd. i told yall, i cannot do shit right smh. Anyway! i hope you liked this, homegirl 😭 i also managed to get this out before my first college class so hallelujah! *does ring shout*. also this was the longest smut i wrote in a whiiile lmfao. a whole 3k+ words so yaaay! eb clap for henny and wish her luck on this class 😋

[theblacklewinsky]

Note: this masterpiece being on repeat made me like this 😵‍💫

HOUSTON'S BEST. | Aaron Pierre

Terry Richmond x Black! Female Stripper Reader.

Warnings: MDNI!! this story is 18+ with depictions but not limited to; sexual content ( oral sex, (male receiving) penetrat!on (unprotected p in v, don't do that!), breath play, water sports, slapping/hitting, degradation), extreme language (cursing, use of b-word and others.) slight daddy kink if you squint. Not proofread.

Summary: in which Terry meets an exotic dancer during his deployment and recounts their heated sexual relationship.

you used to strip out of east Atlanta,

probably where you learned all your talents.

He never knew her real name, or anything that was actually concrete to her, but he did know how his hazel eyes stayed trained on the exotic dancer in front of him the first time he saw her, the strobe lights made it a bit impossible to focus in on her face—as well as her many tricks and whirls around the pole. But her silhouette was perfect, and with a body as perfect as hers he was sure her face had to be a perfect match.

That wasn't his usual scene though, he'd been nearly forced there with his homeboys. Due to his recent breakup at the time, and a dreary deployment, his friends swore he needed a night of fun. And obviously their idea of a night of fun, was six deep in an east Atlanta strip club. He didn't usually spend his pastimes in Atlanta strip clubs, blowing his last dollars on a half-dressed woman, but if every stripper was enchanting as this one, he understood.

They introduced her as Houston, something he only understood when he found himself at her apartment. Only a few blocks away, from the club she worked at four nights a week, the other three days were supposedly spent in trade school where she was training to be a dental hygienist.

Not to mention, her face definitely did match her body.

Terry was unsure of how he made it to her quaint apartment the first time. He remembered how she sauntered over to the bar sometime after her set, she sported an oversized jogging suit, her low, brown eyes seemed to stare right through him, her smile was sinful. Everything about her screamed, trouble.

Anyway, even with a couple of shots flowing through him he was sober enough to hear the country edge to her voice—soft, elongated vowels, with that slight drawl that captivated him with each word. For a man who'd been deployed in and out of the states, he knew a Houston accent from anywhere, he'd spent four years there after all. That's where her stage name came from.

She'd never volunteered her real name, and always seemed hesitant when he asked about it. Obviously there was things she was keeping secret from this arrangement, and even three months deep into this said arrangement, she was still just Houston.

Terry never knew how they advanced to sex so quickly, the first time. Maybe it was the amount of alcohol in his system that night, maybe it was how naturally bold Houston was. Maybe it was because she kept casually sitting on his lap, complimenting him. Looking at him with those low, seductive eyes.

But it wasn't the first time anymore. Or the second. Or the third, and that was because Houston kept him coming back. She was a needed stress reliever. She knew what she was doing.

Houston knew exactly what she was doing though. And she was best at the shit too. The art of seduction through her dance—had nothing on her art of seduction in the bedroom. She would stare at him through her long lashes and low eyes, when she had him halfway back in the back of her throat. Coughing, gagging, eyes watery and red, but she still managed to hold that mockingly innocent gaze with him. Her hands nuzzled in the thin material of the strip lingerie she wore for him, vigorously rubbing away at her hard clit. Pleasing him, pleased her—and all that shit pleased him.

"Fuuuuckkk," he'd grunt, his eyes threatening to flutter closed as she fucked her own throat on his dick, almost like she was eager to taste all of him, her tongue swiping the underside of his dick as she eagerly took all of him. Her almost violent gagging and choking seemed to not deter her in the slightest, and it definitely hadn't deterred him either. Both his hands cradling the back of her head as he fucked himself into her throat, his own brows furrowed, lips parted as his grunts and groans seemed to follow one after another, eyes boring into hers. The feeling of the tightness of her throat, around him was unmatched. The way she did this shit like she had no regard for him was unmatched. Breathing clearly didn't matter to Houston. The hardwood flooring underneath them had collected a puddle of the saliva that seemed to pool out of her mouth and off of him, in the process.

"Fuckkk, imma nut! Imma nut, bae—jus' like that!" He rushed out, breathless and slurred. His hips stilling, but she never stopped taking him in, fucking her own throat once again, she looked up at him. His own eyes, slowly falling closed as she kept up her volatile movements.

"Mhm," she hummed on his dick, her blurred vision taking him in earnestly, her own fingers slipping inside her hole once again as she watched his facial expressions hungrily, as she brung him over the edge. The loud, groans queuing her to his orgasm, she pulled back from him with a loud pop. A growing smile on her lips as she stroked him off over her face, the warm ropes of cum painting her face just as she liked. What a messy girl she was, indeed.

She was the best at that shit.

But then again, she was the best at everything. She was definitely the best at doggystyle. Her face pressed into the cushioning of her sofa, his fingers squeezing and kneading the meaty flesh of her hips as she sat on her knees, ass perfectly arched up for him. Tip pressing against the spongy spot that caused the slight trembling in her thighs, and those deep gasping breaths to leave her mouth. Her hands flying up to the arm of the couch to gain leverage to slam back against him, her ass ricocheting off his pelvis with loud plaps. He'd run his thumb over the small butterfly tattoo etched into the skin right on the top of her ass.

"Don't run," he'd coach firmly, his voice stern hands growing tighter around her waist, his knees following hers, a harsh slap to her ass following his words, "don't fuckin' run. I can't get in that shit?" He'd ask over her whimpers.

"Yesssss," she'd slut out loudly, his stern voice and harsh slaps always put her back into motion, taking it like he knew she could.

"Right there, right there, right there!" She'd urgently call out, voice shaky and strained. "Right there, baby! I'm bout to cum, daddy!" Her whimpered voice muffled by Terry pushing her face down into the cushions, his focus solely on hitting against the spot, she repeatedly referred to.

"Where it's at?" He'd mutter, the lingerie of her little strip tease outfit now bunched around her waist, in his grasp as he used it as more leverage to thrust into her. "Where it's at, baby?" He'd ask again when he received no proper response from her, just her inaudible babbling and squealing moans.

"It's right there, daddy!"

"Give it to me then," he coolly replied hand roughly slapping at against her reddening brown skin, "give that shit to daddy, paint my dick. Lemme see it," he'd coax her orgasm right out of her, with her erratic breathing and faltering limbs.

Houston was also the best at missionary. And she didn't even have to do anything in this position, she just always looked so pretty and dazed. Mouth agape, eyes soft and low, darting back and forth between Terry's gaze, and his dick slipping in and out of her slick pussy. Her loud guttural moans would follow behind Terry's soft groans, his hands placed steadily on the back on her thighs, his knees allowing him to steadily drop dick in her. Her walls squeezing around him tighter and breathing hindering, every time he went just a little too deep.

She always looked too good in this position. His hands clamped tightly around her neck, he'd watch the color in her face tint to red. "You wanna breathe don't you? Yeah? Squirt on my dick then, show me how bad you wanna breathe. Show me that shit." He'd taunt, his dick roughly plowing into her, he'd watch with complete adoration as her eyes rolled back, her chest heaving, no sound leaving her lips but he strained breathing as he neared her orgasm. No sound would alert him, just her juices spurting out of her wildly, drenching her lower tummy and thighs, as well as his.

Or maybe she was the best at riding. Balancing her weight on the tips of her toes, her hands fisting the top of the couch on either side of him, strings of sticky arousal from her pussy connected the two, as she milked him up and down with loud sticky plaps. His thumbs and pointer fingers tweaking with her pierced, sensitive mounds. Pulling and pinching at her nipples as he muttered, lewd phrases and exploitative words against the flesh of her neck.

"You gon nut?" He'd ask her at the same time. Watching her nod eagerly over a series of moans. He'd slap against her cheek firmly, not quite satisfied with her non-verbal response. "You gon nut?" He'd ask again.

"Yesss!" She'd cry out, nodding vigorously, big brown eyes brimming with tears, the tightness in her belly threatening to burst open.

"Nah you ain't," he'd reply, eyes staring into hers so casually as if he wasn't having her plow herself onto his dick for his pleasure, "you been cummin' all night. It's my turn."

"Look at you fuckin' yourself on my dick," he tsk'd, his hand coming up once again to firmly slap against her cheek, "you ain't gon tell nobody about this right? Bout how you bein' such a lil easy bitch on my dick, makin' a mess. You ain't gon tell nobody?"

"No, daddy!" She'd stammer out through hindered breaths and broken moans. Her eyes slowly falling open as she continue to fuck herself on his dick, he was making her edge herself, and the shit felt torturous.

"Jus' like that, baby," he'd praise, hands dropping to knead both her ass cheeks as she rode him, "make me nut. Make me nut in this pussy." Hand leaving a series of hard echoing snacks there, until he came deep inside her.

Houston knew exactly what she was doing.

Hope you enjoyed, Houston! <3

tag list: @avoidthings @megamindsecretlair @nickidub718 @keehendrixx @planetblaque @blowmymbackout @b2hotty @partypoison00 @grooveoftiro @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @dxddykenn @motheroffae @kaylaahisthebestest- @hello-therree

[megamindsecretlair]

Make Me Weak, Part 3

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sexual issues. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: Your third session with Dr. Richmond gets more intense as he finally figures out how best to help you. He makes you dig deeper and uncover uncomfortable truths about yourself.

Word Count: 4,751k

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3 Link

A/N: Alright now, I'm feeling a smidge bullied about this series. I am very thankful that ya'll love my series and while I know that it's out of love, I have a squirrel brain and bad noodle days. I would never want to put out a subpar fic. So the best way to encourage me is tell me what you liked about the fic! I have a praise kink, babes. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Terry

Terry sat in the office breakroom stirring his tea while it steeped. He had your file spread out on the small round table as he went over it one last time before your appointment today. Though, it remained a mystery if you’d actually show.

For the past week, he had been pouring over your file backwards and forwards trying to glean what you weren’t saying. What you were holding yourself back from saying. He didn’t usually like to bad mouth his professional colleagues, but their notes were sloppy; and that was putting it mildly. 

Terry rolled the tea bag around the spoon to squeeze excess water out and then placed it on the napkin beside his mug. He sighed and stretched, stuck too long already in one position. 

It was clear that he couldn’t bully you into opening up. That wasn’t what you needed. You were already on the precipice. So much of your insights were spot on. You didn’t really need him, but you needed a guide. Someone to mentor you or mold you…no, that wasn’t it.

Terry scratched out the word on the notebook he started for you. It’s not molding you, you already have a strong foundation. You weren’t putty for someone to play with. You were more resilient, more open, more determined. 

So if not mold…Terry rubbed his short goatee and adjusted himself on the orange plastic chair. He thought a change of scenery would help give him an attack plan. A way to approach your next session, but he was at a loss. He was uncomfortable in these cheap ass seats, for starters. And the ideas weren’t coming in the quiet, rigidly styled break room.

It was like playing wack-a-mole with you. Every method he thought of, you shot down. Every time he thought he had a way into that pretty head of yours, you switched gears. It was challenging and frustrating and exciting as hell. 

His pen hovered over the notebook, full of crossed out words and methodologies he could try. And for the first time in a long while, his mind was blank. He had nothing. How did he combat nine therapists and a woman hell-bent on doing everything herself? 

“Hey, Dr. Richmond! Funny seeing you here!” Dr. Crawford waltzed into the breakroom and opened the nearest teak cabinet. He pulled down a mug that proclaimed him as the best dad ever and he hummed to himself as he poured himself some coffee. 

Terry eyed the older man with a bushy mustache but a “dad” demeanor. He treated everyone kindly and he came highly recommended for good reason. He seemed to zero in on everyone’s problems like he had a nose for it. 

“Dr. Crawford. I’d actually like your help with something,” Terry said.

“Me? Oh, cool. Cool,” Dr. Crawford paused as if he were a deer caught in headlights. Regaining himself, he patted down his army green button up and approached Terry’s table. 

Terry flipped your file closed and made more space for Dr. Crawford. The older man sat down with a quiet huff and sipped loudly at his coffee. Terry hoped his face didn’t reveal his disgust, but the man was a good guy. Just a bit odd. 

“What’s on your mind?” Dr. Crawford asked, placing his mug down on the table. 

Terry rubbed his hands while he thought over how to approach his question without coming off like a creep. His feelings for you were strictly professional. Okay, maybe not strictly but Crawford didn’t need to know that.

“I have a female patient, difficulty achieving climax, well-researched, with issues with control. We’ve had two sessions so far and usually I’d wait for more data, but at the moment, she’s been through nine therapists,” Terry said.

“Nine?” Dr. Crawford asked.

Terry smirked and nodded. “Nine. She’s committed to the process and seems willing to try new things, but I’m concerned that I can’t find my baseline with her. She’s been through so many therapists, she’s done copious research on her own, like…how do I compete with that?” Terry asked. 

Dr. Crawford took a few sips of his mug and stared out of the windows towards the cityscape. “Nine therapists, you say? And no one’s helped her?” Dr. Crawford’s bushy mustache moved with his frown. 

Terry fought off a smile. Dr. Crawford hadn’t even met you and he was reaching conclusions faster than Terry. Nine therapists was a lot for anyone to not find any kind of solution. 

“I ask probing questions, I’ve given her some things to think over, but it’s only going to work if she’s willing to do all of it,” he said. 

“My advice? Start from the beginning. Find a way for her to trust you. If she’s been through nine therapists, I imagine they’ve done everything under the sun already. And if she’s as well-read as you say, you better come up with something better before she’s on to number eleven,” Dr. Crawford said. 

Terry chuckled. “Right, because she’s done it all, said it all…”

“And yet no one’s gotten to the core of the issue. You can talk solutions all day long but if you don’t know what the hell you’re treating, you’re just wasting her time,” Dr. Crawford said and knocked on the table. “It’s not competing against the others. It’s erasing them completely.”

Terry mulled that over as he took some notes. He liked that. It wasn’t molding you, more like shaping you. Stripping away all the misconceptions and untruths and whatever it was that you’ve read thus far. Everything your previous therapists had tried. His job was to uncover who you truly were.

Reveal…uncover…sculpt…that was it. He was merely helping you sculpt the woman begging to be let out. You were a sexual goddess trapped in marble. You were already there, just unpolished. He had to chisel his way there, not jackhammer it. You didn’t need kid gloves but you needed more finesse. 

Terry smirked as his pen scratched against his notepad, jotting down idea after idea. He hoped you showed. He hoped you took a chance on him and let him help you. Let him be your tenth and final therapist. And then release you to whatever bum caught your eye. 

“This is incredibly helpful, thank you Dr. Crawford,” Terry said. He threw away his trash and then gathered his tea, your file, and your notebook. 

Dr. Crawford’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, his neck turning cherry red. “Oh, I’m sure you would’ve gotten there without me,” he said with a wave. 

“I’m sure I wouldn’t have. See you around,” Terry said, tapping Dr. Crawford on the back. Talking to him reminded Terry of his own father. A tall, imposing man who was larger than life yet nothing but a gentle giant. 

Terry exited the break room and steamrolled down the bland, drab hallway towards his office. His mind filled with more ideas than he knew what to do with. New things to try. New things to explore. If you let him, he would show you exactly what you needed. 

He rounded the corner in time to see you step back from his office door. He stopped in his tracks and watched you for a moment, watched your unguarded expression as you hovered. You were dressed in dark jeans and a red sweatshirt, a small purse over your shoulder, and you clutched your journal against your chest. Your hair was neatly styled and it fit you. 

Many expressions played across your sweet face. You had a tilt to your head and a lilt to your mouth. He would pay top dollar to know what you were thinking. What mental battle you waged inside. Or whether or not you’d knock on the door.

&&&

You

You sighed and rubbed your head. You had been debating if you would attend today’s appointment or not. You felt less than grown up storming out of his office. He must’ve thought you were the biggest goof in the world. 

You fought yourself the entire ride over, constantly looking at every corner as an opportunity to escape. To flee. But you kept passing it up because each corner also tasted terribly like defeat. 

In two sessions, Dr. Richmond had you re-thinking everything. Besides being drop dead gorgeous, he had a big brain to back it up. And damn if it wasn’t working. You wanted more. You wanted to explore everything about yourself. 

Living in your body was painful. But god, you felt so alive. The numbness receded with each passing day as you practiced. You needed to see it through. So with a rumbling gut and sweaty palms, you forced yourself to stay on the road and attend your appointment.

You sighed. This was going to be fucking painful. You raised your hand to knock when soft footfalls sounded behind you.

“No need,” Dr. Richmond said. 

You turned to your right to see him come to a complete stop in front of you. Sugar Honey Iced Tea, he was dreamy. He wore a tan colored long sleeved T-shirt and dark navy pants. The sleeves were rolled on his forearm, veins poking out in his deep almond skin, peeks of tattoos, and he held a mug in his hand. His other hand clutched a notebook and a thick file. Your file. 

You looked from it to his hands to his forearms. Your eyes pinged everywhere on him but his face. Dr. Richmond cleared his throat and tilted his head.

You pinched your lips together and smiled, your eyes crinkling at being caught staring. “Dr. Richmond, great - uh - good to see you,” you said. God, if you listening, strike now, please. Please. Please? 

“I’m glad you’re here. I feared I would’ve been alone for the next hour,” he said. 

You sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I was definitely debating. But I said I was committed, and I meant it,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond nodded and then waved his hand forward. You opened the door and held it open for him to enter behind you. You practically skipped to the couch and stood awkwardly in front of it. You held onto your journal but threw your purse on the coffee table.

You watched as Dr. Richmond deposited the mug, notebook, and your file on his desk. You watched the long length of his body, drooling at the fluid way he moved. He must live in the gym or something.

His shirt hinted at a rock hard body, but you wanted to see more. And that was totally the wrong thing to think about your sex therapist. You huffed and looked away from him, up towards the ceiling. 

There should be a law against attractive authority figures. He should be banned from the profession. Retire and go on somewhere. 

The door closed behind you and you jumped. “Would you like it open?” Dr. Richmond asked.

“Nope, I’m good,” you said. You turned to him and gave him a wide smile. “I’m just nervous.”

Dr. Richmond smiled and put his hand in his pocket. “There’s no reason to be nervous. You’re in charge here, remember that,” he said.

You nodded and watched as he crossed the room. Instead of going towards his chair, he perched next to the desk and faced you. “Before we get started, I want to clear the air. I didn’t mean to push you so hard. I approached our session wrong and I apologize,” he said. 

“In what way?” You asked. 

“I assumed that with so many therapists that you didn’t need the song and dance. That you didn’t need the introductory session,” he said.

“No, that was right. I need a push. I know I have more issues to work through than I thought. And so far, everyone’s just been coddling me. Treating me like what I’m feeling is in my head. And I spend all my life in this motherfucker. I know it’s not in my head. Sorry for saying motherfucker,” you said and smirked. 

Dr. Richmond rocked back on his heels and matched your smirk. He nodded his head. “Then we can both move forward together,” he said. He moved around his desk and then sat in his high backed chair. He pulled the mug towards him and blew on the steaming mug. 

His lips should not look so damn kissable. Lush and pink, he had big sexy lips that just made you want to kiss forever. He was a work of art made real. He took a sip from his cup and then pulled the notebook and your file closer. 

“Have you been keeping up with your homework?” He asked.

You nodded. “Yup. Living in my body. Feeling my feelings. Admiring myself,” you said. You finally felt calm enough to sit down on the couch. You stared at the Lego set in the zen garden and shook your head. 

“And?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes and opened your journal and flipped to the pre-appointment jitters. You listed main points that you didn’t mind sharing with him. You told him all about what experiencing living your body felt like. 

It was scary and there were times that you slipped back into your head without realizing it. Zoning back in was always painful, like stepping into the sun after sitting for a three hour movie. You talked about how strange it was to feel like you had been asleep all this time, pushing everything to the back of your mind.

Later, later, another time, when you weren’t so busy. But you were always busy. Always running and moving and thinking and stressing. 

“That must be exhausting,” he chimed in. 

“You have no idea,” you said. Your shoulders dropped from around your shoulders and you mentally groaned. This was going to turn into your Sisyphus. You were going to kick that healing rock up the mountain and just when you thought you’d finally make it, you’d just go tumbling back down. Hope, you fickle bitch. 

You and hope had a toxic codependent relationship. It didn’t really fuck with you like that, but you kept letting it back in your heart. 

“Where do you think this need to cut yourself down before someone else does come from?” Dr. Richmond asked.

You fanned yourself and gaped at him. “Buy me dinner first at least, Dr. Richmond,” you said. You shared a laugh with him and shook your head. “So I wouldn’t be disappointed with my parents when they didn’t give me the reaction I wanted for my accomplishments.” 

Dr. Richmond leaned forward, his eyebrow shooting up above the golden rim of his glasses. “You really do over-analyze yourself,” he said.

You shrugged. “It’s a compulsion. If I don’t, the world burns,” you said softly. Your eyes pricked with tears but you forced yourself to meet his gaze. You weren’t going to shy from this. You weren’t going to disappear into your mind. 

Dr. Richmond took another sip of his mug but to his credit, he didn’t write anything down. That would have somehow been embarrassing. You waited while he sat there and you busied yourself with picking at your nails. 

“We need a fresh start,” Dr. Richmond said. He picked up your file and then opened a drawer. He dropped the folder and the metal popped with the weight. He closed the drawer and then faced you. 

“I’m not your tenth therapist. I’m your first. If you let me, I’m going to help you achieve what you want. You’re going to find sexual satisfaction whenever you want. Whether that’s alone or with a partner,” he said. 

“That’s what I want,” you said.

He nodded and then gripped his mug but he didn’t bring it to his lips. “You said if you didn’t over-analyze yourself, the world would burn. Do you believe the world will literally burn or do you just think something bad will happen?” 

You rubbed your sweaty palms on your jeans and scooted forward on the couch. “Rationally, I know that’s impossible. But irrationally? I’ve never been brave enough to test it,” you said. 

Your mind spun at a thousand hertz per second. It never shut up. Never stopped rolling. Never stopped running. Never stopped with the constant chatter in your mind. You didn’t know what would happen if you had a calm mind. The only time you got some semblance of relief was when you were high.

And even then, your mind was still running in the background. Popping up with new tabs constantly. Because if the chatter stopped, you’d have to face the silence. And you just didn’t know how you’d act. Or if the world would burn. All you knew was that your mind kept spinning and so did the world. 

“Tell me about how you were treated as a teen. How did your parents treat you and how did your peers at school treat you?” He asked.

You giggled. “Okay, if not dinner, then ice cream? I’m a simple cookies n’ cream girly,” you said. 

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “Jokes are just a way to procrastinate,” he said. Goodness that voice. That subtle twang in the back of his throat that hinted of a Southern background. 

You huffed and leaned back on the couch. No one said healing was easy. So you told him. You told him about your over-analytical helicopter parents who were so fearful of something happening to you that they placed you in an invisible bubble. 

They had to know where you were at all times, they had to know your friend’s parents and have them on speed dial, they asked after your every move, and you asked permission before even thinking about going in the fridge. 

You had to become hypervigilant and pick up on cues that your mother was going to grow a second head from all her yelling. You never knew when she would give you a kiss on the cheek or yell at you for no reason. You had to scan her face for microexpressions, trying to gauge which way the wind would blow with her. 

As for your friends…they were cool for what you had at the time. You were no longer friends with them as they’d moved on and left you in the dust. But at the time, any little weird thing you did they poked fun at. And if it wasn’t them, it was the boys in your class. As if you couldn’t step a toe out of line without someone pointing it out for everyone to hear. 

If you jumped onto a chair, then people would turn and stare. If you waved your hands, there were three people there to call you weird. And if you joked and sung badly on purpose, people thought you were serious and made fun of you for being tone deaf.

You tried on plenty of personalities throughout the years, trying to mix and match what people expected of you. You eventually grew comfortable with being weird but that hypervigilance never left you. 

“Would you say you feel safe to be yourself at all?” Dr. Richmond asked. 

You twisted your lips and shook your head. “I wouldn’t know what that is. My mom read my diary once and I never wrote anything down ever again. Until you gave me my homework,” you said. 

&&&

Terry 

You just…listened so well. He knew now that it was a product of your upbringing, being the child who was only seen and never heard. Marching to hundreds of orders given by your overbearing mother and absent in spirit father. 

Add onto that that your peers at school treated you as if there was something wrong with you, it was impossible for you to become comfortable. To achieve safety of mind and body. Who could explore themselves like that? When so many conspired to convince you that you weren’t a person deserving of grace? 

Terry took a sip of his mug and watched you deflate further. Like every truth you kept trapped inside was what kept you animated and full. Without it… 

Terry stood up and rounded his desk, somehow needing the boundary out of the way. Maybe he’d sit in the other chair opposite the table from you from now on. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. 

Fuck. You never even had a chance. He prayed that you hadn’t been abused or hurt by anyone ever. It was a miracle that you didn’t have a string of abusive ex-boyfriends or a thicker medical file in a hospital somewhere. Sweet, open women like you deserved to be cared for. Protected. 

You were a sub in more ways that you realized. And his fondness for you, his attraction, only grew with each session. How? How would he let you go when you graduated from his help? 

“I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to really think before you answer,” he said. He replaced his glasses on his face and tilted his head forward to emphasize his point. This was a hard question but it needed to be asked. 

You leaned forward, clutched your journal to your chest, and pinched your lips. But you nodded and mimed zipping your mouth. 

“Who said they were right?” He asked.

He watched as your face smoothed out to an adorable blank. Your mouth flattened as you looked at him. Again, he wished more than anything to know what you were thinking. What questions raced in your mind. 

He grew concerned when you continued to stare without saying a word. But he didn’t interrupt. He wanted to see where you took it. What you would do. So as you stared, he stared. 

He took in your sweet, rounded features. Your adorably styled hair. The red in your sweatshirt highlighted your beautiful brown skin. You finally took a deep breath and then stared up at the ceiling.

“In all my life, no one has ever asked me that,” you said. You brought your hands to your eyes and swiped at them. You needed to let them fall but he wasn’t going to push you on that right now. 

You stood up and then rubbed your forehead as you paced back and forth. He continued to watch you self-soothe right before his eyes. He wondered if you were conscious of that too. Did you miss anything? 

“And…people just accept it when everyone seems to agree that you’re uncool or weird or whatever, ‘cause of what you said about the group thing. People want to fit in and belong but…no one died and made them the fucking authority on what’s cool. No one put them in charge and they’re not the popular police,” you said as you continued to pace like a ping pong ball. 

“Misery loves company. Hurt people hurt people. However you wanna spin it, nothing brings people closer together than hating the same thing or same person. There’s a sense of validation when people agree with you. And people think mob mentality only applies to bad situations, but it applies everywhere. Because there’s safety in numbers, people would rather go with the flow than be singled out.” 

You threw up your hands. “Why didn’t I learn this years ago? And now I just feel stupid for it never even occurred to me that they weren’t right,” you said. You sat down on the couch with a huff. 

Terry put his hands in his pockets and smirked. He glanced at the clock. He didn’t have you for much longer. He flexed his jaw at the thought. What he wouldn’t give. 

“You shouldn’t feel stupid. Think about what kind of environment you were raised in and continue to live in. You had to be aware to avoid danger. To avoid being singled out. You had to adapt to survive. That takes courage and bravery. You did what you had to do to survive and that’s all anyone is doing.

“But you don’t have to just survive anymore. You get to choose. You get to choose right here and now to live. Live with your whole body because you are here, you are perceivable, you matter, and you can take up space and the world will be fine,” he said. 

Tears swimmed in your eyes and you stood up to face away from him. You faced the window and your shoulders shook. You gripped yourself in a low hug, not making a single sound. 

Terry moved to his desk to grab the box of tissues silently. He made noise so that you knew he was approaching and he placed the box on the end table under the window. You turned your body from him but grabbed a tissue and swiped at your eyes. 

The only sounds he heard was the tick of the clock on the wall and your random sniffles. The shake in your shoulders subsided bit by bit until you looked up at the ceiling. 

Terry remained close by so that you knew you weren’t alone.

&&&

You

Fuck, you felt like a fucking idiot. All these years. Nine fucking therapists. Shitty boyfriend after shitty boyfriend. Your mother’s latest tirade and your father’s empty shrug. All for this man to ask you the one question that shook you to your core. 

Who said they were right? Who said? Who gave them the right to make you think that there was something wrong with you? That your very existence was a plight on the world and it’d be better if you weren’t there? 

Who fucking said? 

It was all so simple and yet complicated. You hung your sense of safety on the need to “do the right thing at the right time”. If you did something “normal”, then no one could make fun of you, and you passed through another day fooling everyone with your disguise. 

And fuck! Wasn’t that freeing? Your chest ached and your eyes pricked with unshed tears, but it was already embarrassing that Dr. Richmond witnessed you crying. You liked to reserve that for sappy, cheesy romance movies on Netflix. 

Your heart felt heavy, weighing down your chest to a near uncomfortable level. You knew you needed to release all of it but not now. Not after only three sessions with this man. 

Who was he? Why was he like this? Where the fuck did he come from? 

“I see why they pay you the big bucks now,” you said, wiping at a tear that dared escape your eye. And you had a random ache in your belly? Feelings were weird. And sticky. Like constantly stepping on glue traps plastered all over the kitchen floor. 

“Why did you place so much bearing on their opinions?” Dr. Richmond asked. You liked that he had stayed close by while you broke apart. It was so rare that you did it in front of others. You were glad that he wasn’t the hugging type. Or the one who filled the room with hot air about how much it was needed and you should let go. 

“Because I don’t want to be alone forever. I want proof that I mattered to someone,” you whispered. You sniffled but held back the tears. You blinked a few times and held firm. Later.

“How can you matter to anyone if you don’t matter to yourself?” Dr. Richmond asked softly. 

The clock ticked in the background and you glanced at the clock. You were a little over your session and you were thankful that the next person hadn’t barged in. You wiped your face once more and then turned to Dr. Richmond.

He stood with his hands in his pockets and a kind smile on his face. His biggest strength was that he was unassuming despite his size. He knew when to use it to his advantage and when to switch it off. He was in tune with those around him and it was rare to find a man with a calming aura. 

“I matter to myself but probably not as much as I think,” you said. “I’ll work on that too.” 

Dr. Richmond nodded. “Your homework is to practice loving yourself. Speak kind words, think nice things about yourself, and remember that your brain is a big ass liar,” he said.

You giggled and ducked your head. “Alright, alright. I’ll be nicer to myself. You missed your calling as a mind reader, Dr. Richmond,” you said. You grabbed your journal and purse from the couch and coffee table and then exited the room, feeling way lighter than when you went in.

Wheww! Need some more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1 | Part 2

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[theereina]

Big Mama Pt. 4

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +3.9K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, heavily dialogue-centered, use of Daddy, Mama, and other pet names (lil' mama, pretty girl, good boy, etc.), fluff, P in V, oral (female receiving), spanking, Dom!Terry *if you squint*

A/N: I don't know how many parts there will be. However, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Big Mama Pt. 1 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 2 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 3 => 🦋

knock knock knock

I rolled over in Terry's bed to find his side empty. I leaned up from the comfort of his pillows and sat quietly for a minute as a quick form of meditation. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. My body felt a little restless. I yawned while stretching my arms and legs. I could hear voices coming from the front room. Lifting the covers from my legs, I slid out of the bed. I walked towards the bathroom. As I walked in I noticed multiple hygiene products, towels, and a fresh set of clothes had been left out.

Terry had to be one of the most thoughtful men I had ever met. It was the little things that added up for me when it came to him. His ability to effortlessly indulge in my humor— his ability to stimulate my mind and body in the most exhilarating ways, his dominant yet caring demeanor, his small gestures of kindness and consideration, etc. I was in awe of everything about him.

Last night, we talked and talked. Some conversations were harder than others, but certain moments made the night feel like taking a deep breath. Terry's aura was so refreshing and calming. I had never expected that level of vulnerability from him. He was open and honest, and every question I asked was answered. What would have been another night of me crying and drinking my pain away turned into a comforting moment with a — “friend”. Even though I did most of the talking, we shared personal stories and even talked about our dreams. It was as if we were both coming undone the more we talked— layer by layer.

Finishing up in the bathroom, I cleaned up my mess and placed my used towels in his laundry hamper. I walked out of the bathroom and returned to the bed. As I stood there, my impulsive thoughts got the best of me. I needed to make the bed—not because I slept in it but because I had to show my “value and worth.” I hated that my mother instilled those kinds of values into me. I always felt like I had to please people to be worthy.

As I was fluffing the pillows, the bedroom door opened. “Havana,” Terry whispered while entering the bedroom. “Yes?” I said turning to face him. I was standing near the bottom of the bed. “Glad you're awake. I made breakf—. Hey, you didn't have to make the bed,” he said walking up to me. “I know. It just seemed like the right thing to do as a thank you for last night,” I said smiling up at him. “Yeah, I think both of us needed last night. Thank you, mama,” he said kissing my forehead.

Terry reached out and grabbed my hand. He positioned himself behind me to lead me out of the room. “You rushing me out?” I giggled. Upon entering the front room, I could hear Terry sigh deeply. His hand felt warm to the touch and slightly damp. I could feel Terry’s chest rising against my back and hear every breath he took. Was Terry— nervous?

As he pulled me into the kitchen, I saw it. There wasn't only breakfast set up but a large bouquet of red roses resting on the island. I tried to stop walking. Terry gently nudged me the rest of the way. He leaned over me and grabbed the roses from the counter. I turned to face him with teary eyes. I couldn't believe it. I was honestly shocked by this gesture.

“I know you said a relationship wasn't on the table, but just hear me out. Ok?” Terry lulled while handing me the flowers. “Terry,” I whined. He leaned over and kissed my lips. “Ma, I really do like you. Last night, we talked about things I hadn't in years. Things I hadn't been able to say. Somehow, I was able to share that wit’ you. ‘Vana, I know you ignored me because you were scared. I'm okay with being patient, but I need somethin’. Whether that's a relationship in the future or a friendship now. I like you, and I want you, Havana,” Terry said assertively. His face was serious yet soft. “Terry, I would love to, but I feel like… like… Shit! I don't know anymore,” I mumbled, looking down at the floor. “Is it the fact that you still feel like we don't know each other?” Terry asked holding my chin. “Yeah, it scares me. What if���,” I started. “What if we go on a date, tonight?” he asked with pleading eyes. “Terry, I…,” I said trying to find suitable words. “Havana?” Terry said holding my hands in his. I looked down and watched as he used his thumbs to stroke the back of my hands.

“Fine. Yes, I’ll go on a date with you,” I said looking up at him. “Thank you, mama. It wasn't like you had much of an option anyway,” he said kissing me on the forehead. “See, this is why I can’t be nice to you!” I yelled hitting him in the chest.

*Later that night

“Do you like the food?” Terry asked while glaring at me. “No,” I said smiling while taking another bite of salmon. “Funny,” Terry responded smugly. I looked up and winked at him. His eyes had darkened slightly, allowing the hazel in his eyes to overshadow the usual green. The small flame of the candle at the center of the table flickered and intensified the goldish hues. They were captivating and low, almost hypnotizing. The last time his eyes looked like that we were—. I leaned up and cleared my throat. I sat up straight crossing my legs as best as I could under the table.

The restaurant was gorgeous. The dark ambiance added to the sexiness of the aura. The glass ceiling provided a marvelous view of the night sky. This— this was all I wanted. I wanted to be treated to nice dates without being the one to ask or plan. Fuck. This man was making it hard for me.

“You good?” I asked trying to break whatever this stare was. “Yes. How are you, mama?” he asked leaning over and resting his chin on his left palm. The look he was giving me only intensified with his movements. I shifted my body so that I was leaning on my hip. “Of course. Thank you, again. I’m sorry if I made things difficult,” I said placing my hands in my lap. I dropped my head. “No, ma’am. Eyes up here,” he said leaning over the table and gently nudging my chin.

He sat back down and placed his hands on the table with his palms upward. He nodded his head, motioning for me to put my hands in his. I raised my hands and placed them on top of his. The warmth of his hands was soothing to the touch. His fingers began slowly caressing the back of my hands. I was captivated by the tenderness of the way he touched me, as if every brush of his skin against mine was an unspoken display of affection. The strength in his hands was diminished by the way his fingers graced over mine. His fingers were light as feathers, and his touch seemed unreal. The world around us was moving at its own pace while we were locked into each other's eyes. Our gazes grew lustful by the second. I squeezed his hands gently and allowed him to continue his movements.

I knew where this was going.

“Okay, no more wine. I'm done,” I said pulling away and finishing my third glass of a Riesling white wine. “Yeah, I agree. If I drink any more of this Hennessy, I’m gonna be a problem,” he says finishing his fourth drink of the night. “I’m just glad we didn't drive,” I said sitting with my hands in my lap. “Same. If you're finished, we can leave now. No rush though, baby girl. It’s all on you,” Terry said smirking. That smirk had something hidden behind it. “What?” I asked. He paused for a moment before continuing. “Can you do something for me?” he asked softly while slightly leaning across the table. “Yes. And, what are you up to?” I asked sitting at attention. This man had me on high alert.

“First, my place or yours?” he asked glaring at me again. “Mine, and stop looking at me like that,” I said feeling hot. My body was sweltering. The middle of my thighs had to feel like a pool of honey— warm and sticky. My panties were ruined and all he had done was look at me. “When we get there remember this moment, okay?” he lulled. “Why?” I asked confused. The way he was speaking to me had me on edge. Every word sounded sweeter than the last. “’Cause when we get there, I'm gonna fuck you like I hate you. Like I've been holding a grudge against you and fuckin’ you is the release. I don't think you understand how bad I need you, baby girl. I just want you to know that. Understood?” “Y…yes,” I whimpered as a moan slipped from my lips. I was squirming in my seat at this point. “That’s not how you answer me,” he grunted. “Sorry. Yes, Daddy,” I said while rubbing my legs together. “That’s better, but you can show me how sorry you are when we get home,” he said leaning back into his seat.

*Later, back at Havana’s home

“I’m sor… I’m sorry, Daddy. Please, can I cum?” I whined. I wanted to touch him so badly, but he had tied my hands up using his suit tie. “I don't remember telling you to speak,” Terry said removing his fingers from my pussy and stuffing them in my mouth. I moaned around his fingers. “Shut the fuck up and suck,” he said pushing his middle and index fingers into my mouth. He was positioned on his knees between my legs. My back was arching off the bed.

He had already stripped me completely naked before we started, but he had chosen to remain shirtless with his pants unbuttoned and belt undone. His chest rose and fell rapidly. Sweat was dripping down his chest in between his pecs and down his abs. He went back down again and dove face-first into my pussy. This time he used his mouth to cover my clit and sucked. His tongue flicked the underside of my clit vigorously. I was suffering under his touch— weak and desperate for any form of release.

I felt that feeling again. I was about to come, but I was too afraid to acknowledge it. The pit of my belly grew tight, and my mouth slackened around his fingers as he held them between my lips. “Uh oh, what’s that? Baby girl, you wanna come?” he asked leaning up while removing his fingers. He placed his fingers back inside my pussy and curled them upward. The moan I released was laced with pure desperation. “Yes, Daddy. Please!” I begged through fresh tears. This would have been his fourth time denying me an orgasm.

He slowly leaned over me. His chest hovering over mine. His left hand pushed down on the bed right by my ear. He was holding himself up so that he could look me directly in the eyes. “Eyes on me. If you look anywhere else; I'll stop, and we gone start the fuck over. I don't give a damn how close you are. Your eyes stay open and focused, ” he leaned over and whispered into my right ear. His lips were so close that I could feel his breath on my skin. “Please!” I begged again. “You better let me have all of it. Now, let's go!” Terry said pushing his fingers deeper inside me.

Every touch and plunge felt like I was on fire. His fingers produced an ache only he could relieve. In and out, in and out. He was pulling my orgasm from me by making a come here motion while inside. My abdomen locked, and I felt it coming. I wanted to look down so badly; however, I knew Terry would follow through with his threat.

My eyes remained locked on his. His mouth turned into a permanent smirk. His fingers were unyielding to the pain in my belly. “Let go, ‘Vana. Give me what the fuck I want,” he growled into my ear. His fingers relentlessly worked against the walls of my pussy. The tips of his fingers glided against my G-spot over and over again. The pressure was building, and I was suffering through it.

“Mmm,” I whined. The euphoria I was feeling made words inaccessible and futile. “You got one minute to cum or this little party is over, Mama. Better yet, fuck that. Maybe you need a little help,” he said dragging his fingers out of me, leaving my pussy clenching around nothing. I was spent as exhaustion coursed through my body.

Terry sat on his knees and grabbed both of my legs by the ankles. He peppered each ankle with feather-like kisses. “It's okay, Mama. Daddy's gonna get it. Just remember to breathe,” he smirked as he lifted me, placing me closer to the center of the bed. “Daddy!” I moaned out in disappointment. His eyes shot up to meet mine. “Shut that shit up! I don't wanna fuckin' hear it. You had your moment. Now, it's my turn!” he said standing up and pushing his pants and briefs to the floor. He stepped out of them and got back between my legs on the bed. His dick sprang up and bounced in the air.

He placed his hands on the tie around my hand and undid the knot. Finally, my hands were free. I wiggled my wrists in joy. “I wouldn't get too happy if I were you. You weren't exactly a good girl, Mama. Daddy's gotta do something about that. Don't I?” he asked holding the tie in his hands. He leaned over and grabbed the condom from the bed, ripping it open with his teeth. He glided it on effortlessly— a trained fuckin’ professional. He slid his hand through the slickness between my legs. He placed his hand on his covered dick and began to stroke himself.

“I… I don't know what happened. I tried. I swear it was…,” I said before he pushed the tie into my mouth. “Shh… It's okay, princess. Daddy's gonna fix that,” he grabbed my legs and flipped me over. He pulled me back so that his hard dick was now sitting right on my ass. I was tempted to grind on it, but I didn't want any more problems than I already had.

He spread my legs and pushed my head down. “So, we did all of that work for you not to come, huh? Alright, that's fine. You tellin’ me Daddy not doin’ enough? Is that what you sayin’?” he pressed his thighs against my body and pushed my ass further into the air.

smack

That was the first one right across my left ass cheek. I put my arm behind me and broke my arch. He leaned over me and snatched the tie from my mouth. He pushed me down using his body weight. Of course, he would tie my hands up again. “Lessons are learned through punishment,” he said holding my bound hands in one of his and using his free hand to rub my right ass cheek.

smack

smack

smack

smack

smack

I let out the most lewdest moan ever. The pain from each smack was met with the sweet aftertaste of pleasure. I yelped in between each sob. I wanted him to do it again. “More, Daddy. I deserve to be punished,” I begged. “Daddy's nasty whore wants more? Oh, you wanna be the perfect slut fa’ me, huh?!” he says rubbing his hand all over both of my ass cheeks. I nodded my head yes. It's as if I could feel him smiling.

“Remember, you asked for it!” he asserted.

smack

smack

smack

smack

smack

He let each hit rain down on me like fire. I was feeling it now. Both cheeks ached and throbbed. I tried to lay flat on the bed. “Where the fuck you think you going’, huh?” Terry said through gritted teeth. “I'm not done with you yet. You wanna be a slut for Daddy, right? Ass up, face down. You better not move, or I swear. I fuckin' dare you!” he said squeezing my ass cheeks as a reminder.

Without warning, he slid himself into my wet pussy. This was the first time Terry had me in the doggy-style position. His dick felt unreal against my walls. He felt both thicker and longer in this position. He corrected my arch to the point that it was painful and pressed his hand on my lower back to keep me there.

He slammed into me and pulled all the way out to the tip. Oh, God. I was well aware of what he was doing. He slammed into me again. Each time pulling out until his tip was all that was left inside me. He was forcing my pussy to feel and take every inch with every thrust. I felt him dip his hips upward and quicken his pace. His strokes never weakened.

He let go of my wrists to grab my hips. He was pulling me back onto his dick. I could feel the pulse his dick made inside me. I clenched my pussy around him. He yanked me back against him and began pounding my pussy mercilessly.

I instantly became a sobbing mess. “You ain't got shit to say now, huh?” he asked. His hips snapped against my ass with so much force that the sound reverberated off of my bedroom walls. “Take it, Mama. This my pussy, right?” he asked thrusting upward again. His hips were moving at the speed of light. My mouth hung open though no words could come out. “Mmhmm…” I moaned into the mattress. “Say it. I wanna hear you fuckin' say it!” he growled. “It's yours. Daddy, it's yours. This pussy is… ugh… it's all yours. Take…it…from…me,” I said slumping my head back into the mattress.

“Nah… I gotta prove it,” Terry said leaning over me. He placed his right hand on the front of my throat and secured his left hand through my arms behind my back. He yanked me upward. His chest was now against my back. He continued to punish my pussy. He leaned close and began to grunt in my ear. “Ugh, come on. Let's go, Mama. This my pussy, right?” he said kissing my neck. His hips just would not stop. The way he was doggin’ my pussy out had me gone. He pushed me back down on the bed and slid right back inside me. “Fuck, princess!” Terry moaned throwing his head back. He pushed my arch back into position again. Ass in the air, face in the mattress.

He pulled one of his knees up so that he was kneeling on the bed and began to thrust into me again. Terry wasn't giving me a breather, just straight fucking. I started to throw my ass back to match his rhythm. He grabbed my hips to steady his pace. His dick was kissing my cervix at this point. “Ya’ know what's funny…,” Terry laughed. “You said you could beat me on your knees. Well, you're on your knees right now. What's wrong?” he said taunting me. “Fuck you,” I whimpered.

BIG MISTAKE!

Without a word of acknowledgment, Terry started fucking me even harder. It was as if I had unlocked a monster. He pressed his hands into my back and wrapped them around my hips. He forced me to slam back into him. Every thrust was fucking me up, and I couldn't care less. This was what Big Mama needed.

I was keeping up with him, but every time I felt like we were equally matched; he'd started to fuck me harder or faster. “I'm sorry! Shit!” I moaned out with my face turned away from the mattress. “Fuck that! You said fuck me, right?!” he grabbed a handful of my hair from the roots. “Nah, talk shit now!” he grunted. He slowed his pace and began to slowly grind inside of me with deep hard thrusts.

Without warning, I started leaking all over Terry. My orgasm started to surge through my body. I tried my best to breathe, but Terry just kept fucking me through it. I couldn't focus on breathing— all I could focus on was coming and taking dick. Fuck it. If I died, I died.

I could feel Terry’s hips tighten. His strokes were still not getting sloppy. He was close, but not on edge. He kept thrusting into me. His hips were snapping against my ass hard enough that I expected to see a bruise. The grip he held on my hair slackened and he held onto my hips again. His strokes slowed but remained deep. I clenched my pussy around his dick hoping to help him get closer. “Ah, fuck. That's it, mama. Daddy's close. Stay just like this,” he said stirring my insides. “You gone be a good girl, fa’ me? Huh?” he asked biting his bottom lip. “Yes!” I screamed. His dick started pulsing inside of me. The throb of him caused my pussy to grip around him. “Here it comes, argh. Ugh! Shit! Fuck, Mama!” he said throwing his head back, slamming into me two more times. Holding each thrust deep, I could feel his nut fill the condom.

He held my hips until he came down fully. He pulled out of me and stepped off the bed. He looked down at the condom that was now loaded with his semen. “I hate I couldn't nut in you. It feels like such a waste, ‘Vana,” he said untying the knot that bound my wrists together. He removed the condom and walked towards the bathroom. “Terry, I told you—,” I started to say. “I know, Mama. I respect it. That's why I didn't fuss!” he yelled back into the room. “Thank you!” I yelled back at him. “But that's why we're both getting tested. I know it don't matter now, but I can't keep this up!” he yelled back. “Yeah, we really suck at keeping our mouths off of each other!” I laughed as I lay on my back. I gazed at the ceiling as I waited for Terry to return.

This man had singlehandedly given me the best dick I had ever had two times in a row. Each time exceeding the last. At this point, how could it get any better than this?

Taglist: @avoidthings @brattyfics @5headsupremacist @creartivefairy @miyuhpapayuh @megamindsecretlair @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @nayaxwrites

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@cocooned-butterfly

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

P.S. I Love You.

Summary: You suddenly receive letters that re open the wounds of grief. But they turn out for the better.

Warnings: ANGST, FLUFF, FLASHBACK

The call you hadn’t expected to receive came through your cell phone one hot, summer day in Charlotte. It changed the trajectory of your life from then on. A horrifying scream pierced the air, causing your mother to drop her coffee mug while sitting out in the yard, the ceramic glass shattering against cobblestone. When she’d found you in the kitchen, you were in the fetal position, body trembling as you wailed. She rushed to your aid, down on her knees with frantic eyes and a continuous chant of ‘what happened’ spilling from her lips.

“TERRY! HE’S GONE!”

The words didn’t seem real. When the tears came, hot and endless, you ached from the pain entering your world without the decency to knock first. Your mother’s words couldn’t be heard over your despair.

You cried as if your brain was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of your every pore. From your mouth came a cry so raw that even the eyes of your mother’s were suddenly wet with tears. You grabbed onto your mother, your violent shaking almost causing her to to fall flat and from your eyes came a thicker flow of tears the more you begin to understand.

Not Terry. It didn’t make sense for him to die. He was strong, the pinnacle of a man who in your eyes was unstoppable. No. This was a nightmare. You had to wake up from the nightmare. On that kitchen floor you questioned God. Your mother’s cries didn’t help calm you down. The whole world had vanished for you, now there was only pain enough to break you, pain enough to change you beyond recognition.

“No, no, no, no—”

Mike and Terry were killed in Shelby Springs, Louisiana. You refused to hear the details. Terry had a thing for saving his cousin from whatever he’d get himself involved in. You developed resentment against Mike and how he called on Terry to come to the rescue because he knew that he wouldn’t say no. Something in your gut told you that this time, he really shouldn’t leave.

Dried tears made your face feel tight and your eyes were blurry. Your chest burned and a nauseating sensation settled into your belly. You had your head in your mother’s lap on the sofa as the sun set. Across from you were your aunties and cousins, all silent and attempting to comfort you with soothing rubs and kisses to your forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N…”

“Everything will be okay…”

“I can’t believe this…”

“I wish this never happened to you.”

You’d forgotten what it felt like to speak.

Going back to your shared apartment would only reopen the fresh wounds.

His pictures.

His smell.

His clothes.

His side of the bed.

What’s worse is his parents wanted you to join them in traveling to Shelby Springs to bring his body back home. You were his fiancé. As terrified as you were, you knew it was the right thing to do. Your mother joined you on the journey and her support gave you the strength to walk into that morgue and see him. It was cold and eerie. The silence unnerving. As you enter with his parents, your eyes fall to a stainless steel table with a body covered in a sheet.

Your knees buckle and you stop suddenly, too weak and afraid to carry on. Everything was happening so fast. You’d gotten the call about Terry two days ago, and now you were here barely standing in a room for corpses. Your mother had her arms wrapped around you as you take slow steps towards the table. Heart hammering in your chest, you watch as the sheet lowered to reveal his face.

You’d lost the ability to stand.

He’d suffered. Haunting images of his battered face and chest littered with bullet holes frightened and angered you. Nothing can prepare you for something like this. He didn’t look like himself. Death changed him in ways you weren’t prepared to see.

Pale. Bruised. Lifeless. Still.

It was something you couldn’t even force yourself to see even during his funeral. And neither could his parents. After what felt like hours, you all were on your way back home with Terry, making arrangements for him to be cremated. After all, it was Terry’s wish. Intrusive thoughts flooded your mind the days leading to his memorial service.

Clearly, he suffered, but what was his last words? What was the last thing on his mind? Did he think of you? What had he eaten that morning?

The morning of his memorial service a few days later, you sat within your bedroom, burying your nose in his clothes and sniffing his cologne. You wanted his belongings, but it was evidence back in Shelby Springs. They were building a case on the corupt police there and if found guilty, a multi–million dollar paycheck would be given. For Mike and Terry. The teardrop diamond engagement ring on your finger twinkled in the sun as you sat surrounded by family and friends.

Behind your black shades, your puffy eyes stared at a photo of Michael and Terry. All smiles and laughter. Terry’s deep voice and adorable smile flooded your mind and it shook you to the core. His big arms circling your waist made you wrap your arms around yourself to mimick that feeling. The smell of his beard whenever you’d nuzzle your face against his neck.

His urn sat on a podium and when you’d gotten up to deliver a speech, you touched it. You’d pressed your lips against it. Taking a deep breath, you opened a folded piece of notebook paper to read from, but soon, you found that you couldn’t speak without your voice quivering. The distant sound of sniffles and encouragement was static noise.

Fuck this.

Your fingers began ripping the paper into shreds. Fuck a proper speech. Your person was stripped of life at the tender age of thirty two. He was a good man.

You part your lips to speak, “Terry Richmond is the love of my life…and I don’t know how I’m gonna live without him. This all feels like I’m being punished. How could god take someone like him away from me?”

You spoke those words truthfully. Yes, you were questioning God. Why him? Why Terry? Why not the ones who did this to him? Why not ANYONE who’s ever wronged him? Why did his cousin call him to help? Why did Terry go instead of staying with you?

Fuck the many stages of grief. You were filled with rage and sadness so powerful. There was no way you’d come to accept this. While others moved on, you would have a constant reminder that your soulmate was stripped from your life. A part of you wanted to join him. Wherever he was.

That’s how you felt for a long while, but as time progressed, because that’s what happens with life, Terry’s absence didn’t hurt as much. Of course, during special occasions it would trigger the grief, but you’d taken the time to speak to a therapist and talk about how his death affected you. That was a year ago.

Everything is recycled, or so that is what you see with your eyes. The atoms of one thing become those of another. The energy from one place becomes energy in another. So while you have no idea where he is, or what God asked him to become next, you’re looking forward to being with him again and you feel his love so strongly in the ether. So, call it reincarnation or recycling, you’re okay with whatever. Terry’s still somewhere, and that's what matters to you.

——

“Morning!”

You walked with a pep in your step towards your mailbox after your Pilates class. Something you’d always wanted to do but never had the courage to before. It’s expensive, but you loved it. Opening the mailbox, you don’t have much but credit card bills and junk mail. As you grab your mail, you notice a thick, distressed, stationary envelope fall to the floor within the lobby of your apartment building.

Your eyes follow the envelope facing downward. You crouch down to pick it up, the pain in your legs from Pilates causing you to groan. Once you were up, you lock your mailbox and head towards your elevators. On the ride up, you think about what you’d like to prepare for dinner. Maybe steak would be nice since you hadn’t eaten it in a while.

The doors slide open and you were out of the elevator and approaching your door. As you pushed it open, you were welcomed by your orange and white cat. The new decor courtesy of your cousin who is an interior designer gave an impression of something straight out of a catalog.

A promotion.

New Apartment.

New Car.

You were starting over. It felt good to do that. You still lived in Charlotte, but letting go of the things that triggered your grief was the best way for you to move forward.

You’d kicked off your running shoes and sat the mail down on the living room table to go through. As you flipped through, the envelope caught your eye. Fancy penmanship covered the front and as your eyes scanned, your body became rigid. Your heart sank to your stomach.

From: Terry

To: My Beautiful Fiance’

You blink twice to see if this was real and what you were actually reading.

How is this possible?

As you sat on your sofa, your eyes began to flood with tears. Was someone pulling a sick joke or did Terry actually write you a letter? So many questions and a lot of confusion. You could feel your tears trickling down your cheeks and over your lips the more you stared at the envelope.

So much for getting better. The fear you felt at that moment alone in your apartment is what stopped you from opening the letter. You place it down on the coffee table and wrap your arms around you. Your cat nudged you against your leg and as you look down, her yellow eyes stared back with a softness that helped to calm you.

Terry had gifted you this cat for your birthday a year ago.

Shortly before he’d left for Shelby Springs.

She nudged you again and you felt it was her way of telling you to open the envelope. With one shaky hand, you grab the envelope from the coffee table and use your almond-shaped finger nail to open it. Inside is a folded piece of paper. You retrieve it and open it slowly, heart racing. Black ink and cursive.

Hey, baby.

Surprise. I know this probably feels a little bit morbid... But I just hate the idea that I'm not gonna be there to see you freak out over turning 30. I mean, it kills me not to be there. Heh-heh. That's funny. Okay. No, it's not. You're gonna be so impressed. I have a plan, baby. Can you believe it? I've written you letters. Letters that will be coming to you all sorts of ways. I waited till your birthday. I figured you weren't stepping out of the house for a while. Letter number one will be arriving tomorrow. Now, you gotta do what I say, okay? Don't try to figure out how the letters are coming. It's too brilliant and it'll ruin my plan. Just go along with me on this. Because the thing is, I just can't say goodbye yet. So for starters. I want you to get dolled up, and just go out and celebrate tonight. Go out with your girls. I hereby free you from a party with your family, especially your mom. I’m Sorry, I couldn’t be there, baby. I’m a need you to get a little crazy. So have a slice of cake, put on my favorite dress and get out of the apartment. Y/N, make a plan. For me, okay? And know that wherever I am, I'm missing you. Happy birthday.

P.S

I love you.

You wept silently, your tears blotching the paper. You shut your eyes tight and allow yourself to cry with a bounce of your shoulders and an aching feeling of sorrow. As you read the letter, you could hear his deep vibrato. You pictured him sitting somewhere on a hammock writing to you. Surrounded by the wild and reminded of how it was his peace. 

Bringing the paper to your nose, you smell the parchment and try your best to catch his scent. It only smelled of paper with its lignin aroma. Sniffling, you wipe away snot and tears before placing the paper on the coffee table, carefully folding it. Your birthday was indeed tomorrow and you had only planned to have dinner with your mom at her place. Just the two of you.

Your friends had suggested going out for drinks, but the thought of partying and being surrounded by so many people overstimulated you in the worst way. You couldn’t bring yourself to go out and enjoy life and what it has to offer when your forever person is six feet under. Trying your best to shake those thoughts from your mind, you meditate. Calming your breath and releasing the tension from your muscles. This was something you’d never stop doing.

Opening your eyes, you blink to adjust to the blurry view. Too emotional, you finally stand from the sofa because you were unable to read the letter again. After taking a long shower, you start on dinner with a vinyl record playing. While flipping your steak, the sensation of strong hands trapping your waist caused a shiver to slither down your spine. You drop the spatula and touch where you’d felt it, body seizing up in fear. Sharp breaths escaped your mouth.

Your mind was most definitely playing tricks on you. Terry loved to creep up behind you while you were cooking to touch on you and kiss you neck. He’d whisper in your ear because he knew that his voice drove you crazy no matter ther octave. That ghostly sensation triggered nostalgic memories of what it felt to be wrapped up within the embrace of Terry Richmond.

“SHIT—”

You rush to the stove to check on your steak. The hot grease popped your arm painfully, causing you to groan. You finish your steak and plate it with your broccolini and mashed potatoes. Some wine sounded great. You open your drink cabinet and soon realize how high up the wine is. On your tip toes, you reach up, struggling to grab a bottle of red wine. Fingertips touching the cork, you strain, one knee on the counter now.

“Nah…whatchu doing, baby?”

Terry plucked the bottle from the top shelf with ease because of his towering height compared to yours. You give him a dirty look, snatching the wine from his hand. Terry gave you a lazy smirk with low eyes. He looked oh so delectable in his white T-shirt and bootcut jeans.

“That’s how you do me when I come to the rescue, munchkin?”

“I could have gotten it, T,” you roll your eyes.

“When I’m around you know I get everything in the high places, Y/N. Fix your face,” Terry pecks your forehead, “C’mon so we can eat this good steak. I’m tryna see you model that new lingerie.”

Terry backed away with a bite of his bottom lip and a wink. Instantly, your frustration melted away and you couldn’t fight the urge to smile…

Blinking, you bring your attention back to the present. Of course, you have a step stool in the pantry. You retrieve it and place it on the floor. Stepping up, you succeed in grabbing a bottle of red wine. You scan the label before sitting it on the kitchen counter to pour yourself a heaping glass. Sitting on the bar stool, you eat your food and try your best to forget that sudden recollection.

It was so hard to forget. Everything about him was so hard to put away forever. Goosebumps on your skin, vivid memories of how he’d undressed you, talked you through it, admired you, professed how much he’d loved you. Over and over. You take a sip of your wine, fingers trembling around the stem.

That letter triggered everything.

——

The morning of your birthday was uneventful. You woke up later than you’d expected, phone buzzing on its wireless charger with texts wishing you happy birthday. Wiping the crust from your eyes, you roll over onto your belly, snatching up your phone. Friends and family flooded your inbox and created social media posts.

You’re thirty.

You’d think it would feel so odd saying that. Honestly, it didn’t feel any different. Sitting up in bed now, you reply to everyone before climbing out of bed. After your usual morning routine, you make yourself a quick breakfast before heading to your mom’s house. You planned to cook dinner with her and catch up.

The drive over took about forty minutes. You spotted your mother grabbing mail from the mailbox in her robe and slippers. She waved to you happily while standing on the porch. You pull behind her SUV and put the car in park. Stepping out, you give your mother a big, toothy grin before rushing over to embrace her.

“My baby! Happy Birthday!”

You squeeze her tightly, the smell of her scented lotion comforting you.

“I’m glad you’re here. I still have some hot breakfast on the stove.”

“Mama, I ate already.” You reply with a smile.

“You may get hungry again, come on.”

You enter your childhood home to the smell of grits, biscuits, bacon, and eggs. Suddenly, your stomach starts rumbling. Maybe you’ll have a small plate.

“I just had to run out and check the mail—”

You paused your curiosity at the cake your mother baked you when a gasp could be heard. You turn and spot your mother with a hand over her mouth and eyes wide.

“Mama, what is it?”

“Wha–there’s a letter here–from Terry—”

You rush over, taking it from your mother’s hands. She tried to snatch it back but you had your back turned.

“Y/N—”

Hey, Mama.

It’s Terry. Make sure my baby has a good time. Make sure you do everything you wanna do, whenever you wanna do it. And make sure my baby does things. I want you to take her to all the places she’d wanted to go. And be sure to give her a big kiss for me. She’s my special girl.

Love you.

“What does it say?”

Your mother lingered behind you with caution. You read the words a final time before turning, holding out the paper for her. She gripped the edge carefully and it slipped from your grasp. You could feel your knees getting weak, so you flop down into a dining chair. Your mother read the words allowed, her voice trembling.

“I wonder who sent this?” Sniffling, your mother turned the paper over, “it’s been a year.”

“I got a letter in the mail yesterday.” You revealed.

Your mother took a seat across from you. She placed the letter on the table, pressing out the folded line to make it straighter.

“It’s his handwriting for sure,” Your mother stroked the penmanship, “This is so eerie…”

“He’d planned this. Maybe he had a feeling that his days were numbered when he’d left for Louisiana…”

You stand, pacing back and forth. Your mother folded her hands against the table as she watched you.

“Even so, why would he leave? Why would he leave if he had a feeling—”

“Maybe he didn’t.” Your mother said.

“No, the way he worded these letters…it’s as if he’s speaking like he knew he was going to die—”

Your mother put up a hand, “Okay, that’s enough—”

“It’s never going to be enough! It’s never going to be the same!”

You feel your eyes welling up with tears. You release a shuddering breath and try your best to calm your nerves.

“It’s your special day, baby. Please don’t get yourself worked up. Terry wouldn’t want that.”

It didn’t matter what he’d want anyway. He’s gone.

“I need a second.”

You turn on your heels, making your way towards your old bedroom. Inside, you shut the door and settle into your old bed. Kicking off your shoes, you gather the sheets over your body and hide yourself from view. Tears rolled over your nose as you stare at the floral patterns stitched into your comforter.

Your mother is right, this is supposed to be your special day. You’re supposed to be happy and celebrating. Not crying and sad. Not that it wasn’t okay to be sad, but Terry wrote two letters expressing how he’d wanted you to enjoy turning thirty and make the most of it.

Uncovering yourself, you slip from the bed and walk over to your dresser. Opening the top, right drawer, you retrieve a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. Your emergency stash…

“Come on..”

You opened your bedroom door, darkness awaiting you ahead. Distant chatter and laughter from your relatives became muffled when your boyfriend, Terry slipped in behind you before shutting the door. You stumble your way towards the lamp on your end table, flicking it on and igniting the room with a low ambiance. Terry stood with his back pressed against the door, a wrinkled white dress shirt on with black slacks. You had on a navy blue summer dress.

Everyone gathered at your mom’s place after a funeral service for your great aunt May. You didn’t like the woman much. She’d always been hard on you and favored your cousins. Terry walked around your room, eyeing old photographs from your high school days. The sound of your drawer opening caught his attention and he made his way over toward you. With a finger pressed to your lips, you pull out a bottle of tequila that you’d snagged from your parents liquor cabinet.

You were of age to drink, but after being around your family, you needed to sneak a little something. Terry chuckled and shook his head before accepting a shot glass that you’d gotten from a trip to Canun. You pour some in each one before clinking glasses, some of the tequila spilling over the rim and causing both of you to laugh.

You knock back the drink and while your face scrunched at the taste, Terry simple smiled at you.

“Burns, doesn’t it?” He whispered.

“Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I don’t really like this one.”

“Don’t let me find out you can’t handle alcohol.”

“Shut up.”

Terry approached you. Your smile wavered, eyes blinking up at him slowly. The smell of his cologne lingered in your nose. He eyed you down before taking the bottle from your hand.

“I think we should get outta here before your mama comes looking for us,” Terry said.

“Afraid to be alone with me in my room, TJ?” You tease.

Terry chuckled, bringing his face closer to yours.

“I’m afraid of what I might do to you if I stay in here any longer. We both know how loud you can get…”

Standing in your room with that shot glass from Cancun in your hand, you recall that night. You hadn’t washed the glass afterwards, just put it away. You fill it and toast to being thirty before drinking it down in one motion. You were reminded of how bad it tasted but it was worth it.

You put it away before fixing yourself back up to join your mother. She was in the kitchen prepping for dinner when you walked out. She’d heard your footsteps and paused cleaning the collards to look at you.

“I’m sorry for lashing out on you.” You apologized.

Your mother gave you a small smile, “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re better.”

You walk into her arms and she wrapped them around you.

“It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry.”

“I know,” you shut your eyes, “We had so many plans for my birthday.”

“I know,” your mother held your face as she looked at you, “And you can keep that memory and enjoy yourself. Surround yourself with the people that love you. Go out and have a good time tonight. Shake some tail and get drunk!”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

You can almost feel the hangover in the morning.

——

“HE DON’T WANNA BE SAVED DON’T SAVE HIM! THAT IS NOT MY NIGGA DON’T CLAIM HIM!”

You rap to the lyrics, the trap beat driving you to shake ass and get low. Birthday sash over your body like a pageant girl and birthday crown on your head, you make the most of your thirtieth birthday at the lounge with your girls as they hype you up.

“GO Y/N! GO Y/N! GO Y/N!”

You felt sexy in your red dress with a plunging neckline that hugged your curves. Strappy stilettos dawned your pretty feet and you’d done a full makeup look. You felt good and looked good, turning heads and drawing attention. Another shot made its way into your hand and you drank it down as your girls cheered you on.

“Woah woah, birthday girl!” Your girlfriend, Candace had to help you because you would have face planted the table covered in drinks, “Take a seat, Princess!”

“I’m too hype to sit! This music is fire!” You drunkenly shout.

“And too pretty and valuable to end up in the ER!” Another friend by the name of Marsha yelled over the music.

You wave them off but sit anyway. A bottle of water was thrust into your hands and you accept it, drinking down half.

It felt good to get out and have a good time. Two years is a long time. Being surrounded by loyal friends warmed your heart. The drunkenness was going to make you cry but you refused to ruin your makeup. They’d been there to protect and support you through it all. You look at each one of them, a big smile on your face.

“What is it?!” A friend named Nancy asked.

“I JUST LOVE YOU GUYSSSSSS!!!!”

You open your arms with a pout of your lip and they all get up to hug you.

“I needed this!” You dab your eyes with a napkin, careful not to ruin your eye makeup, “After everything with Terry, I didn’t know what it felt like to have fun and let loose.”

“IM GLAD YOU DECIDED TO STEP OUT! TERRY WOULDV’E WANTED THAT!”

Curious, you lean into Marsha to speak to her closely.

“Did you ever…receive a letter from Terry?”

Marsha’s eyes grew wide. Your other girls came in close to see what was going on.

“You did, didn’t you?” You asked.

“…I—yes. We all did. We…we didn’t want to tell you because we didn’t want trigger anything—”

“Please don’t be upset!” Nancy begged, “We didn’t want to make you sad.”

Candace sat in silence staring at you.

“I’m not upset! It’s okay!”

“You sure?” Candace questioned, grabbing your hands.

“Totally! What did it say?”

They each shared a look.

“It sad something along the lines of making sure we look after you and that he wants you to make the most of your birthday and life and have fun and not worry about him. He said that he loved us and appreciated us for always being there for you.” Marsha revealed.

Candace and Nancy nodded their heads in agreement.

“Wow,” you give your friends a drunken smile, “He wrote you guys too. I miss him so much…”

Marsha strokes your back while Nancy fanned your face to cool you down. You release a meditating breath before laughing.

“Terry always had a trick up his sleeve! How he managed to pull this all off is amazing to me!”

When they realized you weren’t sad, they joined in on the laughter.

“He was always a man on a mission! You remember how he got you, right?” Candace said.

“Had that man showing up to your job with flowers! Took you on fifty first dates like your favorite movie!” Nancy recalled.

“He knew what he wanted and he didn’t hesitate! That’s a man right there! God created only one Terry Richmond for a reason! That shit can’t be replicated!”

“I know that’s right!” Marsha shouted.

“Let’s toast to Terry and his forever love for our girl!”

With new shots, you all raise a glass and look towards the ceiling before tapping it against the table and drinking it down.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. You were dropped off to your apartment and tucked in. Your alarm went off, waking you up with a raging headache and a dry mouth. Your makeup stained your pillow and the smell of bacon wafted your nose. You sit up abruptly, looking around with crusty eyes.

“TERRY?!”

Your loud voice alerted whoever was in your apartment and several footsteps could be heard outside your door. Marsha, Candace, and Nancy came in wearing t-shirts and panties with spatulas in their hands.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Candace asked with a worried look.

“I…”

You look around, swallowing spit with difficulty.

“What’s wrong?” Candace placed a hand on your knee.

“I must of been having a nightmare.”

You scratch your head and plaster on a smile.

“I’m okay. I smell bacon!”

Candace stood up to let you out of bed. You skip towards your bathroom to brush your teeth.

“We’ll be out in the kitchen, Y/N!”

“Okay!”

The door shut behind them and you stare at your reflection, the running water filling your ears. You were used to waking up to the smell of bacon whenever Terry cooked you breakfast. You brush your teeth and clean your face, putting your hair up into a bun before exiting your room.

As you make your way into the living room, your eyes light up when you notice a large bouquet of red roses dusted with glitter. Your friends enter the living room, filling you in on the surprise being left at your door. You admire and smell the roses before retrieving a card that was attached to the vase.

Taking a seat, you open it, staring down at a pretty birthday card. Opening the card, two plane tickets fall out and there are written words on the inside.

Dear Y/N,

You know I had to get you red roses! Remember how we always talked about visiting Jamaica? Well, here’s two tickets. I have family there and I want you to stay with them and make the most of a good time. Take your mother with you. I know that would make you happy. When you get there, you’ll be able to visit all my favorite places. Happy Birthday my special angel.

P.S,

I Love You.

You were so drawn into the card that you hadn’t realized your friends were reading too. They wiped away tears and admired your pretty roses. You smiled, the tickets in your lap. They each hug you tight, causing you to cry. For once, they were tears of joy. You couldn’t wait to surprise your mother with the ticket. She’d always wanted to go to Jamaica.

——

Soft white sand beneath your toes.

Turquoise water stretching out for miles.

Palm trees swaying from the warm breeze.

Red, green, and yellow dress wrapped around your body snugly.

Your faux locs brushed across your back, the hair charms tickling your skin. You turn to pick up your coconut, bringing the straw to your lips and sucking down the delicious water.

The smell of ackee and saltfish wafted your nose. The spices traveling from the open patio doors that led into the compound. Bob Marley serenaded you as you sway in your spot.

Terry had cousins in Montego Bay that welcomed your mother and you with open arms. An entire compound surrounded by the beach. They cooked tasty Caribbean dishes everyday and you got a good tan whenever you could. There were jeeps on the compound and your mother and you would drive out to town to shop and do tourist activities.

Being surrounded by Terry’s relatives brought out a comfort you hadn’t felt in a while. You’d see his parents from time to time, spoke with them everyday, but his mother brought out a sadness in you that you tried to avoid. In Jamaica, you were filled with laughter. They showed you photos of Terry in his youth. Big ears, goofy smile, deep tan, and a surfboard in his hands.

You had a letter waiting for you.

This is where I sat thinking about you after the very first time we met. You didn't look real to me at first. I never saw so many colors on one girl before... But you looked like you belonged out there, all right. You and all your colors. Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me? ("I'm lost.") Oh, you didn't look lost, not to me. At first, the no-talking thing didn't last. Before long, I couldn't get you to shut up. But you were so cute, trying to impress me with all your grand plans. I had no idea what you were talking about... I didn't have a clue, actually. I loved you right then and there. Life had changed as I knew it. And now it's changed again, love. See, I don't worry about you remembering me... It's that girl on the road you keep forgetting. "My business is to create. It doesn't even matter what you do." You told me that, remember?

P.S.

So go home. Go find it. Find that thing that makes you like nobody else. You’re unique.

“Y/N! You hungry?”

You turn, shielding your eyes from the sun rays. Your mother stood on the patio with a drink in her hand. Your stomach rumbled as you pushed yourself up from the sand, brushing the grains from your dress. You jog over, trying to avoid your feet from reacting to the hot sand. Slipping on your sandals, you climb and take a seat on a patio chair. The table was covered with all the foods you’d grown to love on your trip. You help yourself to a few pieces of plantain first.

Around your neck is one of Terry’s necklaces from his child hood. A handcrafted, wooden, beaded necklace with the colors of the Jamaican flag. Your mother sat next to you and made your plate for you. Terry’s great aunt, uncle, and cousins joined you. This was your last day in Jamaica and tonight there would be a farewell ceremony.

“Dig in!” Terry’s Aunt Chandice said. She had carob skin that glistened like onyx stone in the sun with thick locs that almost touched her ankles. His uncle Sean reminded you of Terry with his green eyes and striking features. He too had long locs that he wore in a bun.

His cousins were older than you but only by a few years. Two boys and a girl. Chris, Tarone, and Raeni.

You learned that the two boys and Terry used to compete in surf competitions. Raeni was into music and dance. During your trip she’d taught you how to move your hips and she even dragged you to a club or two where you let loose with her friends.

“You’ll come back, yeah?” Aunt Chandice asked while they cleared the table.

“Of course!”

You loved it there. You didn’t want to leave.

After lunch, you took a long nap and afterwards you went for a swim. The hours ticked on and soon it was ceremony time. All of you dressed in all white as you stood on the beach, torches lit beneath the sunset. You brought out a small tightly sealed canister filled with some of Terry’s ashes. Handing it over to Uncle Sean, you stand back and watch them have their own traditional memorial ceremony to honor Terry.

Fresh tears cascaded down your cheeks while Aunt Chandice, Raeni, and your mom comforted you. Uncle Sean soon asked you to step forward with the others, each of you taking turns to pour his ashes into the sea. A piece of Terry sprinkled in places that he’d loved. You danced and laughed, twirling around and picturing Terry’s soul watching you from the clouds with a proud smile.

After many cups of rum, you retreat to your room, falling in bed and staring out at the moon. Sleep overcame you and as you drifted off, you dreamed of being in a boat, slowly floating under the moon. Strong arms circled you and the smell of sea spray tickled your nose. You open your eyes and look up, a pair of eyes that reminded you of the Caribbean Sea staring back at you.

“Terry Richmond.” You whisper.

“Y/N.” 

He’s shirtless with white linen pants on.

“What do you love most about Jamaica?”

“It’s a part of you…it’s a home away from home.”

Terry hummed, stroking your arm.

“Are you happy?”

Terry peered down at you. He sat up on his elbow, hovering above you, the moonlight creating a glow that surrounded him. You reach up to stroke his sculpted cheek.

“I am. More now that I know you’re okay.”

“It’s not easy,” Your eyes shine with tears, “I’m going to miss you forever.”

“I know, it’s okay,” Terry gave you a reassuring smile, “I’ll always miss you.”

Terry closed the distance between you two and his soft lips that tasted of mangoes and saltwater molded into yours perfectly. You stroke his broad back with your fingertips, electricity sparking your heart. The kiss went from patient to fervent, Terry’s hands in your hair, stroking the pattering of your butterfly locs. His tongue flicked yours and he sucked on your lips hungrily.

“Baby, baby,” Terry spoke against your lips, forehead against yours, “I have to go…I love you.”

“No…don’t leave me…”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him more. Terry grunted into your mouth. You stroke his tanned skin, squeezing his muscles and molding your hands against his body to feel as much of him as you could before it was too late.

It was already too late. But this felt so real.

It felt as if you were grabbing air.

“Terry…no…please.”

“I love you, Y/N…”

Shooting up from the bed, you feel around, trying to grab a hold of something. Anything. You look around, the reality of where you were settling over you like a weighted blanket. You clutch your chest, sweaty skin beneath your palm. With your other hand, you touch your lips. Shutting your eyes, you see the last images of Terry before they faded away.

It was him. It had to be him.

He visited you in your dreams. He’s happy. He’s in heaven. You smile as tears roll down your cheeks.

Acceptance.

——

Dear Y/N,

I don't know how much time I’ll have left with you in this world. I don't mean literally, I mean you're out buying ice cream and you'll be home soon. But I have a feeling this is the last letter, because there is only one thing left to tell you. It isn't to go down memory lane or make you buy a lamp, you can take care of yourself without any help from me. It's to tell you how much you move me, how you changed me. You made me a man, by loving me Y/N. And for that, I am eternally grateful... Literally. If you can promise me anything, promise me that whenever you're sad, or unsure, or you lose complete faith, that you'll try to see yourself through my eyes. Thank you for the honor of being my fiancé. I'm a man with no regrets. How lucky am I. You made my life, baby. But I'm just one chapter in yours. There'll be more. I promise. So here it comes, the big one. Don't be afraid to fall in love again. Watch out for that signal, when life as you know it ends.

P.S.

I will always love you.

All of his letters.

You sat on your living room floor with a glass of wine on his birthday. This letter you hadn’t opened months prior, wanting to save it for his special day. He would have been thrity–three. You stare at a framed photo of Terry in his MCMAP attire surrounded by recruits with a big smile and a sweaty face. You’d cut your hair and got a couple tattoos honoring him. One of which was on your butt. That made you giggle. Maybe you would fall in love again someday. Maybe not.

There’s only one Terry Richmond.

Grabbing a pen, you open a notebook and start writing your own letter. It was more so for closure. When you think of Terry now, you smile and reminisce on what it felt like to be with him. You cherish the memories and created new ones.

Dear Terry,

you said you wanted me to fall in love again... And maybe one day I will, but there are all kinds of love out there. This is my one and only life... And it's a great and terrible and short and endless thing... And none of us come out of it alive. I don't have a plan except that it's time my mom laughed again. She's never seen the world. She's never seen The Botanical Garden, so I'm taking her there to where we started. Maybe now she'll understand. I don't know how you did it, but you brought me back from the dead. I'll write to you again soon.

P.S.

Guess what.

The End

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @uzumaki-rebellion @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @hotgrlcece @blackerthings @deja-r @hearteyes-for-killmonger @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter r @dashhoney25

[yassbishimvintage]

Hold Me Close

Warnings: Smut, Fluffy fluff, Mentions of Loss.

Word Count: 9.6k

MDNI! Read at your own risk. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

A/N: I got a little carried away with this but I hope y'all like it. And thank y'all for the love and support.

Today was the day he was coming back from Shelby Springs. He told her bits and pieces of the story, but the one that she knew hurt the most was that he lost Mike. His cousin that he loved like a brother. 

When he gets home Imani sees the truck he was supposed to buy with his cousin. She rushes outside. “Babe! Babe!” She says to him as he pulls in the driveway. 

He looked broken. When he steps out the truck she notices his arms has bruises and he has a hospital band on his arm. “T? What happened?” She asks. “Too much to talk about, I just want you.” He says wrapping her in a hug.

He’s clearly overwhelmed by everything, and in this moment, he’s seeking solace and comfort from Imani rather than diving into the details. His hug is a way of finding temporary escape from the chaos, a need for closeness and reassurance in the face of everything that’s happened.

Imani felt the weight of his pain in that moment, understanding that he’s not ready to share everything yet, but also feeling the need to be there for him—whether that means offering support or giving him space to heal.

She nods and leads him into their house. He looks around their kitchen. Thanks to the Vet loan that helped them build their house. This was something he gifted her after he got out the Marines. She sits him down in the kitchen to tend to his wounds. 

As Terry looks around, the weight of the moment might hit him. This house is a reflection of the life they both wanted, and now, with everything that has happened, it might feel like a bittersweet reminder of what was supposed to be. Imani leading him to the kitchen shows her nurturing side—she’s not just comforting him emotionally but making sure he’s physically okay as well.

Once seated, there’s a quiet intimacy to this moment. Imani is probably waiting for him to open up at his own pace, giving him the space to breathe and gather himself. She might be worried but is likely holding off on asking too many questions, understanding that Terry needs time to process.

Imani’s soft, reassuring words—“You know you can talk when you’re ready, baby”—are exactly the kind of support Terry needs in this moment. She’s offering him a safe space to open up without pressure, letting him know that she’s there for him whenever he’s ready to share. Her tone is lsoothing, a reminder that she’s not going anywhere, and that he doesn’t have to face this burden alone.

Terry’s response, “I know,” in a voice barely above a whisper, shows just how much he’s holding inside. There’s an acknowledgment that he’s aware of Imani’s support, but he’s not ready to fully open up just yet. His whisper suggests the emotional weight is still too heavy for him to voice out loud. It’s clear that Terry feels the depth of the situation, and even though he appreciates Imani’s presence, he’s still processing everything on his own terms.

In this quiet exchange, there’s an understanding between them: Terry needs time, but he also knows that when he’s ready, Imani will be there to listen. The moment feels fragile but intimate, as if both are waiting for the right time for Terry to truly open up.

After patching him up, Imani sitting with Terry in silence speaks volumes about her understanding of what he needs in that moment. She doesn't try to force conversation; instead, she lets the silence settle between them, providing the space he needs to process everything. Her quiet presence speaks to her deep respect for his emotional state—she knows that sometimes, words aren't necessary. Just being there is enough.

For Terry, the silence may feel heavy at first, but it could also provide a comforting sense of relief. Being with Imani, without pressure, allows him to start grappling with his emotions in a way that feels safe. It’s as though she’s telling him that he doesn’t have to have it all figured out right now.

Terry’s quiet request, “Baby. Can you just come to bed with me?” feels like a longing for comfort and closeness rather than anything more. It’s a subtle but powerful way for him to ask for her support—he doesn’t need to talk, he just needs to be near her, to find some sense of peace in her presence after everything that’s happened.

Imani nodding without hesitation is a silent affirmation that she’s there for him, ready to be the steady presence he needs. It shows her understanding that sometimes the best way to heal is to simply be with someone, no words necessary.

As they head to bed together, the atmosphere could shift into something more tender. There’s no pressure for conversation or for Terry to reveal everything. The act of simply being together in bed could be a safe haven for both of them, a shared space to heal, even in silence.

Whenever something heavy was on his mind he would be the little spoon to her. Him being 6’3 and her being 5’2 was a stark contrast. When they got in bed he rested his head on her chest while he wrapped his arms around her. 

Imani’s gentle touch, tracing circles on Terry’s bare back, is a soothing and intimate gesture. It’s her way of grounding him without the need for words—showing her support through the simple act of physical comfort. Feeling his breathing, steady and deep, might allow her to sense that, while he’s still carrying a lot, he’s finding some peace in her presence. The touch on his back can be both a source of reassurance for Terry and a way for Imani to stay connected to him emotionally without pressuring him to speak.

Her decision not to pry shows her deep respect for Terry’s need for space. She understands that, when he's ready, he’ll talk, but right now, she’s content just being there with him. There’s something incredibly tender about this moment, where the silence and physical closeness speak louder than words ever could.

Imani’s kiss on Terry’s head is a quiet, tender expression of love and reassurance, a gentle way to seal the moment of peace between them. Her whispered words, “You don’t know how much I love you,” are filled with deep affection and the weight of everything they’ve been through together. In that quiet moment, she’s offering him a reminder of her unwavering support, even if he’s still processing everything on his own terms.

As she kisses him and speaks those words, Imani is likely feeling a mix of emotions—concern for what Terry’s carrying, gratitude for their connection, and maybe a touch of sadness that he’s still holding so much inside. But in the stillness of the night, her love for him is the one thing that remains constant and unspoken, offering him the strength to face whatever comes next.

Terry, with his breathing steady and slow, has found some respite in her arms. Her presence is the kind of peace he needs in that moment. It’s as if her love is a quiet anchor in the storm of everything he’s been through.

Soon she falls asleep herself. She somehow some way fell asleep on his chest. His arms made it's way to her waist. 

The soft rays of sunlight gently filtered through the window, slowly pulling Imani from her sleep. She blinked a few times, still feeling the warmth of Terry's body pressed against hers, but as she stretched out her arms, she felt the absence of her favorite pillow—him. The space beside her was empty, and for a moment, a small pang of longing settled in her chest.

Imani’s eyes drifted around their bedroom, still a little groggy from sleep. She smiled softly as her gaze landed on an old Marine Corps t-shirt of Terry’s, draped across the back of a chair. The familiar dark green fabric, faded from years of wear, had the bold letters "MCMAP" printed on it, a reminder of Terry’s time as a Martial Arts Instructor in the Marines. It was one of her favorite shirts to wear when he wasn’t around—it smelled like him, like home, like the comfort of his steady presence.

She pushed herself up from the bed, stretching once more, her muscles still a little stiff, but grateful for the rest. The house was quiet—too quiet without Terry in it. The sound of the coffee maker percolating in the kitchen was the only noise filling the space. She slipped on his shirt, feeling its softness against her skin, and it instantly put her at ease.

Imani loved how it fit her—oversized, comfortable, and a constant reminder of the man she adored. The shirt was a piece of his past, a link to the man he had been before they met, but it had also become part of her daily routine, something she’d wear in the mornings when he wasn’t there, a little piece of him that kept her close to him even when they were apart.

As she walked to the kitchen, the smell of coffee filled the air, and she couldn’t help but smile. She knew Terry was probably already awake, taking care of something or working on his thoughts. Despite his silence about the past few days, Imani knew he was fighting his own battles. She could see it in the way he moved—slow, deliberate—and the way his eyes would sometimes darken with things he couldn’t yet talk about.

She set the coffee pot to brew a fresh pot and leaned against the counter, her fingers gently tracing the edge of the countertop. The sunlight coming through the window illuminated the room in a warm, golden hue, and she let the peace of the moment sink in.

As she waited, she glanced down at the shirt she wore again, her thoughts turning inward. It wasn’t just a shirt. It was a piece of Terry she held close when she missed him, a way to connect with the man who had made her heart feel whole.

A soft rustling noise interrupted her reverie, and she turned just in time to see Terry entering the kitchen. His eyes softened when he saw her wearing the shirt. “You always steal my best clothes,” he teased with a smirk.

Imani smiled warmly, her heart fluttering at the sight of him standing there. “I can’t help it. I love how it feels... like having you here even when you’re not.”

Terry walked toward her, his movements slow but steady. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering as they always did when he was close. “You know,” he said softly, “I don’t think there’s ever been a time when I didn’t want to be here with you.”

Imani’s heart skipped a beat. She had heard him say things like this before, but hearing it now, after everything they’d been through, still had the same effect. Her hand reached up to touch his chest, resting there as she met his eyes. “I know, baby. I just need you to talk to me when you're ready, okay?”

Terry nodded, his lips pressing into a firm line as he gazed down at her. “I will,” he promised, his voice quiet but sincere.

The air between them was thick with unspoken words, but for the first time in days, Imani felt the shift. She knew they were moving toward healing, toward understanding. And though they still had a long way to go, she felt a sense of peace in that moment, in the familiarity of the shirt, the warmth of their home, and the love they shared.

“Thank you for last night Imani.” He says softly.

Imani looked up at him, her heart swelling with tenderness at the sincerity in his voice. She had always known how deeply Terry cared for her, but hearing him express it so openly, especially after everything he'd been through, felt like a balm to her soul. She smiled, reaching up to cup his face gently in her hands.

“No need to thank me, babe,” she whispered, her thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “You don’t have to thank me for loving you.”

Terry leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. “It’s not just about love,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s about you being there when I didn’t know how to be there for myself. Last night... it meant everything.”

Imani’s heart ached with the weight of his words. She had always seen him as strong—unshakable even—but in this moment, she understood the depth of his vulnerability. They had both been through a lot, but their bond was something that couldn’t be broken by the hardships they faced. She pulled him in for a soft kiss on the lips, a silent reassurance that she was there for him, always.

“I’ll always be here, Terry,” she whispered against his lips, her voice filled with conviction. “No matter what.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, his hands coming to rest on her waist, pulling her closer. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m not taking this for granted, Imani. I swear I’ll do better... I’ll be the man you deserve.”

Imani’s eyes softened as she looked up at him, her hands gently caressing the back of his neck. “You already are, Terry. You always have been.”

Terry’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. There was no need for grand gestures or more words—just the simple comfort of knowing that they had each other, no matter what the future held.

Imani smiled up at him, the sun shining through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow on their quiet, intimate moment. “Let’s just take things one step at a time,” she said. “We don’t need to have it all figured out right now.”

Terry nodded, his lips curling into a small smile. “One step at a time,” he echoed, pulling her into a hug.

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms, letting the world outside fade away. With every beat of his heart against hers, Imani knew that no matter what challenges came their way, they would face them together, just as they always had.

“Tell me what you want to do today.” He says. 

Imani looked up at Terry, her smile playful as she tilted her head slightly, considering his question. She loved that he was trying to take her mind off things, especially after the weight of everything they’d both been through.

“Well,” she started, letting the words hang in the air for a moment as she moved closer to him, “I think I’m in the mood for something... low-key today. Maybe we could start by grabbing some coffee, take a walk, just... get out of the house for a bit.”

Terry raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Sounds like a good plan. Coffee first, though?”

“Definitely coffee,” Imani agreed with a laugh. “And I think we could use a little break from everything. Maybe some time away from the house would do us good.”

Terry’s expression softened, a quiet understanding in his eyes. He knew that sometimes the best thing for both of them was to step away from their daily routine and just enjoy each other’s company, free from the weight of their responsibilities or past struggles.

“Alright,” he said with a nod, his hands resting on her hips as he pulled her closer for a brief kiss. “Let’s do it. Coffee, a walk... and maybe some quiet time afterward. Just us.”

Imani grinned, her heart lightening at the thought of a peaceful day spent with him. “Exactly what I need. We’ll leave everything behind for a few hours.”

As they finished getting ready, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief—today wasn’t about tackling the weight of the world. Today was about them, about reconnecting in simple ways. A warm coffee in their hands, the cool air of the day around them, and the comfort of each other’s presence.

“Let’s go,” Imani said, taking his hand and leading him toward the door. “I think today is going to be a good one.”

As Terry and Imani stepped out of their home, the fresh air of the morning seemed to wash over them, offering a moment of peace that both of them needed. The streets were quiet, with only the soft rustling of the trees in the breeze and the distant hum of the city waking up. It was a perfect contrast to the chaos they had both been dealing with recently.

Imani, sensing that Terry was taking it all in, walked beside him in comfortable silence. She loved these moments with him—the ones where words weren’t necessary, where just being together was enough to feel grounded.

Terry took a deep breath, his broad shoulders relaxing as the tension from the past few days seemed to slowly melt away. The simple act of walking alongside Imani, the rhythmic motion of their steps in sync, gave him a sense of calm he hadn’t realized he was missing.

“So,” Imani finally broke the silence, her voice soft but teasing, “anything on your mind? Or are you just enjoying the peace and quiet?”

Terry glanced at her, his lips curving into a small, appreciative smile. “Just... taking it all in. I needed this. You’re right. Sometimes, just walking with you and being outside helps me clear my head.”

Imani nodded, squeezing his hand lightly. “I get that. Sometimes it’s the simplest things that help, you know? It doesn’t have to be anything big.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a few more moments, the sound of their footsteps accompanying the natural beauty around them. Terry felt the weight in his chest start to lift with each step. With every passing block, the rest of the world seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of them in this peaceful moment.

Imani glanced up at him, noticing the calmness that had returned to his face. “You look more relaxed,” she observed. “This was a good idea.”

Terry looked down at her, his expression sincere. “Yeah. It really was. I’m glad you suggested it.”

They continued walking, their connection deepening with each step. For the first time in a while, Terry felt like he was truly present, like everything he’d been through, everything he was still carrying, could take a backseat for a while.

It was moments like this—when the world felt still, when they didn’t have to talk about the past or the future—that made him realize just how much Imani meant to him. She was his anchor, the one person who could always pull him back from the edge, reminding him of the simple joys of life.

After a while, they came to a small park, where they found a bench to sit and continue their quiet day. Terry leaned back, his arm resting around Imani’s shoulders as she nestled into his side.

“I needed this more than I realized,” he said softly, his voice full of gratitude. “Thank you for bringing me out here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Imani looked up at him, her eyes full of warmth. “You’ll never have to find out,” she said simply, her hand gently resting on his chest. “I’m always here.”

They sat together, watching the world pass by, knowing that no matter what came next, they would face it hand in hand. The peace of the moment wrapped around them, offering both of them a rare kind of clarity and quiet—a reminder that, sometimes, taking it slow and being together was exactly what they needed.

He glanced over at her. “Someone looks like they went up a bra size.” He smirks. He always joked about her gaining happy weight with him.

Imani laughed softly at Terry’s teasing comment, her eyes narrowing playfully as she bumped her shoulder against his. “Oh, really?” she replied, her tone light but with a hint of sass. “Well, maybe I’m just finally learning to enjoy all those home-cooked meals you keep feeding me.”

Terry chuckled, his hand gently squeezing hers. He loved how she didn’t take his teasing too seriously. It was one of the many things he adored about her—her ability to laugh at herself, and the way she always made him feel like everything he said, even in jest, was just part of their dynamic.

“I can’t help it,” he continued, his smirk widening. “You make it too easy to spoil you. And hey, a little extra weight never hurt anyone, especially when it comes to you.” He gave her a wink, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth between them.

Imani rolled her eyes, though there was a softness to her smile as she leaned into him more. “I swear, you always know how to make me laugh,” she said, shaking her head but not without affection. “But for the record, I think you’re the one who’s gaining a little ‘happy weight,’ too.”

Terry raised an eyebrow, his grin turning mischievous. “Oh, you think so? You really wanna go there?”

Imani’s lips curled into a smirk. “Hey, someone’s been living pretty well lately. I’m not saying it’s all the late-night snacks, but... maybe it’s time to hit the gym together?”

Terry laughed again, the sound light and carefree. “Oh, now you want to get all healthy on me?” He teased, nudging her playfully with his elbow. “I thought we were enjoying all that food together. What happened to that?”

“I’m all for enjoying things, Terry, but I’m just saying...” She shrugged, a sly smile on her lips. “Maybe a little balance wouldn’t hurt.”

He sighed dramatically, but there was warmth in his eyes as he looked at her. “Alright, alright. Maybe we can start tomorrow. But for now, let’s just enjoy this, yeah? No need to worry about the gym today.”

Imani agreed with a soft chuckle, her hand resting on his chest. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

The two of them continued their walk, their light-hearted teasing a comfortable rhythm that kept the mood easy and carefree. It was these moments, where they could laugh together and share little jokes, that made their relationship feel like home—perfectly imperfect, but always real.

“But seriously. What size cup is my beautiful girlfriend?” He asks.

Imani raised an eyebrow at Terry's bold question, her lips curling into a playful smile. She’d heard him tease her about her appearance countless times before, but this felt like one of his more direct comments. She couldn’t help but laugh, her voice light and teasing.

“Oh, so now we’re talking cup sizes, huh?” she replied, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “You’re really asking that now, huh, after everything we’ve been through?”

Terry gave her a cocky grin, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I mean, I’m just curious. You look even more gorgeous than usual, so I thought I’d ask.”

Imani rolled her eyes but her smile widened as she nudged him with her elbow. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, still grinning. “But if you must know, I’m not telling you. You’re the one who’s always staring anyway.”

Terry laughed, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Hey, I can’t help it. I admire the whole package.” He winked at her, giving her a playful kiss on the cheek. “Just curious if it’s my cooking or your natural beauty that’s making you even more irresistible.”

Imani shook her head, the warmth in her chest growing. “You’re something else, Terry. But don’t think you’re getting away with that one. I’m keeping that secret.”

Terry grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Fair enough, babe. But I’ll just keep appreciating the view in my own way, then.”

She laughed again, shaking her head in amusement. “You’re impossible, but that’s why I love you.”

With that, the playful teasing between them continued as they walked, a shared sense of humor making everything feel light and easy. It was these moments that strengthened their bond, where jokes and laughter kept them connected, no matter what else was going on in their lives.

“The first thing I noticed was damn my girl thick in the ass and thighs. I’m lucky.” He smirks

Imani’s eyes widened at Terry’s blunt compliment, but she couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from her chest. It was the kind of honesty he always carried with him, the kind that made her love him even more. She shot him a side-eye, trying to mask her smile as she shook her head.

“Damn, you really just gonna say that out loud?” she teased, poking him in the ribs. “You trying to get me all embarrassed in the middle of the street?”

Terry only smirked wider, his arm casually draped over her shoulder as they continued walking. “I’m just saying, I’m lucky as hell,” he replied with that easy confidence of his. “You know it, I know it. That’s just the truth.”

Imani rolled her eyes but the blush creeping onto her cheeks gave her away. She couldn’t deny that she loved how openly he appreciated her. It was something she hadn’t experienced much in the past—being loved without hesitation, without games.

“Well, I’m not complaining either,” she shot back, her voice turning playful as she leaned closer into him. “You’re lucky I even put up with you, Mr. ‘Thick in the Ass and Thighs.’”

Terry laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “Oh, I know. But trust me, I’d be a fool not to appreciate it,” he said, pulling her closer by the waist. “I’m not just talking about your curves, either. You’re beautiful all the way around, inside and out.”

Imani’s heart softened, the teasing moment turning into something tender. She met his gaze and smiled warmly, her voice quieter now. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

Terry kissed the top of her head, his hand gently resting on her back. “Good, ‘cause I’m lucky to have you.”

They continued walking, the easy banter and genuine affection between them making the moment feel perfect. Every exchange, whether playful or serious, was a reminder of how deep their bond ran, and it was clear that no matter what happened, they’d always have each other.

When they arrived home, the quiet of their house enveloped them, a welcome contrast to the noise and rush of the outside world. Terry slipped off his shoes at the door, letting out a long breath as he stretched his shoulders, the weight of the day lifting with each movement. He made his way to the couch, sinking into the soft cushions, finally feeling like he could truly relax.

As Imani disappeared into their shared bedroom to change, Terry took a moment to himself, the events of the past day running through his mind. He felt the lingering ache in his muscles, a reminder of his injuries, but it was nothing compared to the weight that had been on his heart. The conversation with Imani, the comfort of their time together—it was the balm he needed to heal.

He reached for the remote and flicked on the TV, though he wasn’t really paying attention to it. His thoughts kept drifting back to Imani. He loved her with everything he had, and in moments like this, when it was just the two of them, everything felt right.

Imani reappeared from the bedroom a few minutes later, now in a simple pair of sweatpants and one of Terry’s old t-shirts. The sight of her in his shirt always brought a soft smile to his face, as if she belonged to him in the most intimate way possible. Her hair was a little messy from taking it out of the bun, and her eyes were warm, soft, the way they always were when she was with him.

She walked over to him, her movements graceful, and gently sat down beside him on the couch. "Feeling better?" she asked, her voice quiet, a mix of care and curiosity.

Terry smiled, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "Yeah. A lot better. I just needed some time with you," he admitted, his voice low, almost reverent.

Imani leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as she wrapped an arm around his waist. "I’m glad. I hate seeing you like that," she murmured, her fingers tracing light patterns on his chest. "You know I’m always here, right? For whatever you need."

He nodded, holding her close, his fingers lightly brushing through her hair. "I know. And I love you for it. You’re everything I could’ve asked for and more."

There was a comfortable silence between them for a moment, just the soft sounds of the TV in the background and their steady breathing. Terry let his head fall back against the couch, feeling a deep sense of peace settle over him. His arm wrapped around Imani, pulling her even closer, as if he could hold onto this feeling forever.

"Thank you," he whispered after a while. "For being here with me. For making everything better."

Imani smiled, lifting her head to meet his gaze. "You’re welcome, baby. You don’t ever have to thank me for that."

Terry kissed her forehead, his heart full. They didn’t need words for this; just being together was enough.

Imani settled more comfortably on the couch, stretching her legs out and resting her feet in Terry’s lap. She was still scrolling through her phone, occasionally pausing to read something or reply to a text, her fingers moving fluidly over the screen. The soft glow of the phone illuminated her face, and Terry couldn’t help but watch her, the familiarity of her presence bringing a calm over him.

He absently stroked the top of her feet with his fingers, a small gesture that brought him peace. It was a quiet, intimate moment—just the two of them, unwinding together after the chaos of the day.

Terry flipped through the TV channels without much interest. The images on the screen didn’t really grab his attention, but it felt comforting to just have the noise in the background. His mind kept wandering back to the past few days, to the weight he’d carried, but now, with Imani here beside him, he felt like he could finally breathe again.

Imani glanced up at him, catching his gaze for a moment before returning her attention to her phone. She could tell he was lost in thought, and she wasn’t sure if it was something she should press him about or just let him work through it in his own time.

"You’re awfully quiet," she remarked softly, her voice teasing but gentle. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Terry let out a small sigh, his fingers pausing as he traced circles on the soles of her feet. "Just thinking. About everything and nothing, I guess," he admitted, his voice low.

Imani smiled softly and shifted, resting her phone down on the coffee table and giving him her full attention. "Want to talk about it?"

He shook his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not really. Just… glad to be here with you."

Her eyes softened, and she sat up slightly, resting a hand on his chest. "I’m glad to be here with you too, Terry. We don’t always have to talk about everything. Sometimes just being here is enough."

Terry’s hand slid up to cup her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek as he leaned in to kiss her forehead. "Yeah, it is."

The moment stretched on, comfortable and peaceful, as they settled into each other's company. The world outside faded away, and for this moment, it was just the two of them, together, in their little bubble of quiet.

Imani stretched as she stood up from the couch, her body feeling the weight of the day. She gave Terry a playful smile as she walked toward their shared bedroom, her steps light as she headed toward the bed. The soft glow from the bedside lamp cast a warm, inviting light over the room.

As she pulled back the covers, she let out a long yawn, her arms reaching above her head as she stretched. The yawn seemed to echo the exhaustion she hadn’t even realized was creeping in. The past few days had been heavy, and now, in the quiet comfort of their room, it felt like the tension was finally starting to leave her body.

Imani slipped off her sweatpants, deciding to change into something more comfortable for the night, knowing it would be the last thing they’d do before resting. She ran her fingers through her hair, gathering it into a loose ponytail, and then pulled on one of Terry’s old t-shirts—one that had become her favorite to sleep in. The soft fabric, the familiar scent of him, it always made her feel close to him, even when they were drifting off to sleep.

She turned back toward the bed, her body a little sore from the long day, but also feeling a sense of calm that she couldn’t shake. Terry had come back to her, and for now, everything felt right.

When she crawled into bed, she snuggled into the covers, turning onto her side to face him. Her eyes studied him as he sat on the edge of the bed, probably lost in his thoughts again.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Come here.”

Terry glanced over at her, the exhaustion of the day evident on his face. He stood slowly, stretching his back before walking over to the bed. He slipped in beside her, his arm naturally finding its way around her waist as he pulled her close. They settled into the familiar rhythm of their shared space, their bodies fitting together as if they had been made for this moment.

Imani let out another contented sigh, her eyes closing as she rested her head against his chest. It had been a long day, but this felt like home—the two of them together, safe and at peace.

"Love you," Terry mumbled into her hair, his voice drowsy.

"I love you too," Imani murmured back, her fingers lightly tracing over his arm.

And with that, they drifted off into the quiet of the night, the weight of the world outside their door feeling just a little lighter with each breath they took together.

Imani's eyes fluttered open in the morning to the sound of her phone ringing. She groaned softly, burrowing further into Terry’s embrace, savoring the warmth of his strong, muscular arms around her. His embrace always made her feel safe, as if nothing in the world could touch her when he was close.

But the ringing phone persisted, and she finally pulled herself away from his chest with a reluctant sigh. She reached over and grabbed the phone from the nightstand, her eyes squinting as she checked the caller ID. It was work—of course. She could never seem to get a break, especially when she wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped in Terry’s arms and forget about everything else.

Imani silently cursed under her breath, but she answered the call anyway, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “Hello?”

Terry, still half-asleep, pulled himself up on his elbows, watching her from the bed as she took the call. He could see the way she shifted, the slight tension in her posture when it was work calling. He knew how much she hated it, especially when it interrupted their mornings together.

“Imani, I’m sorry to bother you so early,” the voice on the other end said. “But we’ve got a situation here. Can you come in? We need your input.”

Imani rubbed her forehead, already feeling the weight of the conversation. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in about an hour,” she replied, trying to sound more professional than she felt. She ended the call, her fingers lingering on the screen for a moment before she tossed the phone back onto the nightstand with a frustrated sigh.

Terry sat up fully now, his brow furrowed. He knew how hard it was for Imani to balance everything—her work, their relationship, and everything else. He could see it in the way her shoulders tensed when something like this happened. He didn’t want her to have to deal with it, especially not on a morning like this when everything had felt so peaceful.

“Babe, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he said softly, his voice hoarse from sleep. He reached over and gently stroked her arm, his touch meant to reassure her.

Imani smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I have to. You know how it is.” She didn’t want to burden him with her work troubles, but it was part of her life. She’d never be able to turn it off completely. Not while she was still in the thick of it.

Terry sighed, not liking it one bit, but understanding her sense of responsibility. “If you need anything, you know I’ve got your back, right?” he said, his eyes meeting hers with unspoken support. “You don’t have to do it all on your own.”

Imani nodded, her heart swelling with affection for him. He was always her rock, the one she could count on no matter what. But sometimes, it still felt like she had to carry the weight of everything herself.

“I know,” she said, her voice soft but grateful. “Thanks, Terry.”

With a final kiss on his lips, she stood up from the bed and moved toward the closet. She knew she had to get ready, but she could already feel the heaviness of the day settling in. Terry’s gaze followed her as she began to change into something more presentable, his thoughts drifting back to what had happened the day before—the weight of everything that had been on his mind. But he pushed it aside for now. Right now, his focus was on Imani.

At her desk, Imani sat back in her chair with a long, deep sigh. The weight of the morning hung on her shoulders as she tried to focus on the work in front of her, but her mind kept drifting back to Terry. She glanced around her office, taking in the familiar surroundings, but there was only one thing that really caught her eye: a picture on the corner of her desk.

It was her favorite photo of the two of them—a moment from their trip to Disney. In it, Terry stood with his lips gently pressed against her forehead, his strong bicep practically taking up the entire side of the picture. She smiled at the memory. He had always been protective of her in such a comforting, effortless way, and that moment, captured in time, had reminded her of everything she loved about him.

Imani picked up the photo frame, her fingers tracing the edge of the glass. She could almost feel the warmth of Terry’s embrace again, the way his arms had felt around her as they wandered through the park, laughing at the silliest things. It was one of those rare, perfect days when everything seemed to fall into place.

As she stared at the picture, the weight of the phone call from earlier began to resurface. There was a sense of duty that she couldn’t ignore, no matter how much she wanted to. But at the same time, the photo reminded her of the life she was building with Terry, of the support he always offered, even when she felt like she was carrying the world on her shoulders.

“Why can’t every day be like that?” she muttered to herself, setting the frame back down on the desk.

But the reality of her responsibilities wasn’t going to wait. She could feel the pull of work demanding her attention, and she couldn’t ignore the fact that there were lives depending on her input. She let out another sigh, this time with more resolve, and shifted her focus to the task at hand.

Just before she dove back into her work, Imani took a moment to close her eyes and think of Terry. She didn’t need to see him right now to feel his presence. It was there, in everything she did. She knew, without a doubt, that he was her rock—the one person who would never let her fall, no matter how heavy the world felt.

With a deep breath, she turned her attention to her computer screen, putting the personal distractions aside for a moment. But in the back of her mind, she knew she would be counting down the hours until she could see Terry again, find solace in his arms, and steal back some of those small moments of peace.

As the day dragged on, Imani found herself losing track of time. The calls, emails, and never-ending meetings seemed to blur together. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Terry, to the peacefulness of the morning before everything had to be put on hold. But now, sitting at her desk, she couldn’t shake the exhaustion that had begun to settle in her bones.

Her phone buzzed, cutting through the monotony of the office. She glanced down and saw Terry’s name lighting up the screen. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she unlocked her phone.

“What’s for dinner tonight? I’m thinking something simple, but I’ll make it good. How’s your day going?”

Imani chuckled softly, his familiar voice even in text making her feel a little lighter. It was exactly what she needed—a reminder of her life outside of the office. She quickly typed back, trying to keep the conversation casual despite the stress of her day.

“It’s dragging on. I swear, time moves slower when I’m stuck in here. But I’m looking forward to dinner. You’re the best at making the simple things feel special.”

She hit send, feeling the weight of the workday slowly lifting off her shoulders, replaced by the warmth of anticipation. She didn't know what Terry had planned for dinner, but just the thought of him taking care of her, of them sitting down together at the end of the day, made her feel grounded.

A few moments later, his reply came through:

“I’ve got us covered. Just relax when you get home, babe. You’ve earned it.”

Imani smiled, feeling a flutter of affection for him. He always knew how to make her feel seen, even when she was buried under piles of work. She glanced at the clock, realizing the day was almost over. Her energy had been drained, but knowing Terry would be there when she got home filled her with a sense of calm she hadn’t realized she was missing.

“I’ll be home soon. Can't wait to see you.”

She placed her phone down, taking a moment to breathe. The stress of the day hadn’t fully disappeared, but now, with the thought of Terry waiting for her, it didn’t seem quite as heavy.

-

As Imani stepped through the front door, the familiar scent of garlic, herbs, and rich tomato sauce filled the air. Her senses immediately relaxed, and her stomach growled in response. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply—lasagna. Terry knew exactly how to comfort her after a long day.

She slipped off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen, where she found him standing by the stove, the oven door open and the lasagna just about ready. Terry, wearing a faded T-shirt and his usual relaxed jeans, was humming softly to himself as he prepared the final touches.

Imani leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a moment. The sight of him always grounded her. The way he moved, calm and steady, even in the kitchen, was just one of the many things she adored about him. And tonight, he was making her favorite dish—he always pulled out all the stops when he knew she'd had a hard day.

Terry looked up, a soft smile forming on his face when he saw her. "Welcome home, baby," he said, his voice warm and full of affection. "Lasagna’s almost ready."

Imani couldn’t help but smile back as she walked toward him, reaching up to kiss his cheek. "You’re the best," she murmured, her hands finding his waist as she settled against him. "This smells incredible."

He chuckled softly, pulling her in for a brief hug before letting her go. "Figured you’d need some comfort food," he said, his eyes softening as they met hers. "I know how much you love it."

She leaned back slightly, looking up at him, her gaze softening with a mix of appreciation and love. "You always know just what I need," she said quietly, her fingers tracing the lines of his shirt.

Terry smiled, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "I just want you to feel good. You deserve it after the kind of day you’ve had."

Imani felt a warmth spread through her chest. She was lucky—lucky to have him by her side, always ready to care for her in ways big and small. "I feel good now," she said softly, her lips curving into a smile.

He stepped back toward the oven, pulling the lasagna out and setting it on the counter to cool. "Dinner’s served. I’ll get us some wine."

Imani pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, settling into it as she watched Terry move about. The simple, comforting normalcy of the moment was exactly what she needed. After everything that had been on her mind today, this felt like home—Terry, the food, the quiet after a busy day.

When he returned with two glasses of wine, he set one in front of her before taking a seat across from her. They exchanged a quiet, knowing look, the kind of look that passed between them after years of being together. She lifted her glass in a small toast. "To us," she said softly.

Terry clinked his glass against hers. "To us," he agreed, his voice low and full of meaning.

The rest of the evening passed by peacefully as they enjoyed their meal, the quiet hum of conversation and laughter filling the room. Imani let herself unwind, the weight of the day slowly lifting as she soaked in the comfort of Terry’s presence.

After finishing their meal, the warmth of the evening lingered in the air as Imani moved toward the living room. Terry was already on the couch, casually reclined and looking more relaxed than he had in days. The easygoing comfort of their home was just what he needed, and she couldn’t help but smile as she walked over to him.

Imani moved in closer, feeling the subtle pull between them. Without saying a word, she straddled his lap, settling herself comfortably against him. The contact was familiar and reassuring. Terry’s eyes softened as he met her gaze, a small, amused smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Well, hello there,” he said, his voice low and warm, clearly enjoying the closeness between them.

Imani smirked and leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “I thought I’d come keep you company.” Her hands gently rested on his shoulders, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath her touch. She could tell he was enjoying the way they fit together—his big, solid frame supporting her as she straddled him.

Terry’s hands slid down to her waist, pulling her in just a little closer. His smile deepened as he looked at her, his fingers tracing gentle circles on her back. “You always know how to make me feel like the luckiest guy in the world,” he said softly, his voice thick with affection.

Imani grinned, feeling a flutter of warmth in her chest. “You’re pretty lucky,” she teased, before capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. It was soft at first, their lips barely grazing, savoring the comfort of being so close.

Terry’s hands tightened around her waist, deepening the kiss, his lips moving against hers with a mix of passion and tenderness. As they kissed, Imani felt all the stress of the day melt away. There was something so grounding about being with him, about the way he always seemed to know exactly what she needed—whether it was a comforting dinner or the quiet intimacy they shared now.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, she rested her forehead against his. “I missed you today,” she whispered, her voice quiet, filled with the weight of her emotions.

“I missed you too,” he murmured back, his thumb lightly caressing her cheek. “You know I can’t stand being apart from you.”

Imani smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him again. This was their moment, a space where everything else in the world faded away, leaving just the two of them—together, as they always were.

Imani deepened the kiss, her lips moving with a sense of urgency, feeling the tension that had been building between them all day. She pulled back for a moment, her eyes searching his before she slowly began to tug at the hem of his shirt. There was a familiar pull between them, a silent understanding of how they both needed this closeness, this connection.

Terry’s hands moved to help her, lifting his arms so she could pull the shirt off with ease. As she slid it over his head, she couldn’t help but admire the sight of his strong, sculpted chest. The muscles that had always impressed her now seemed even more alluring, and she couldn’t resist running her fingers lightly across his skin, feeling the heat of his body.

Terry’s breath hitched slightly at her touch, his hands sliding down her back as she moved closer to him. “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he said, his voice a mix of admiration and desire.

Imani smiled, her lips brushing against his as she leaned in again. “I know,” she whispered, her hands sliding to the waistband of his sweatpants. She paused for just a moment, savoring the intensity of the moment, before she slowly began to remove them, leaving him in just his boxers.

Terry’s hands moved to her shirt, the desire in his eyes clear. He helped her take it off, his lips brushing along her jawline, savoring the warmth of her skin. “You’re perfect,” he murmured as his lips found her neck, planting soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin there.

Imani let out a soft sigh, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him back up to kiss him again. This kiss was different—deeper, more intense—as if the both of them had been holding back for too long and now the floodgates had opened. She pressed her body closer to his, feeling the heat of his skin against hers, the intensity of their connection growing with each passing second.

Terry’s hands were steady, guiding hers to the waistband of his sweats as his voice dropped to a low, heated whisper. The intensity in his eyes made it clear how much he wanted her, how he craved this moment with her. His fingers lightly brushed against hers, urging her forward, while his lips hovered just above her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Imani’s heart raced at the sound of his voice. She could feel the same anticipation swirling between them, the way their bodies responded to each other’s touch. Her fingers moved to the waistband of his sweats, hesitating for just a moment, before she met his gaze.

Her eyes locked onto his, filled with desire and an unspoken understanding. “I want you,” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat. She let her hands slide into the waistband of his sweats, her fingertips grazing his skin as she slowly pulled them down, taking her time, savoring the tension that built between them with every small movement.

As she worked, Terry’s hands slid to her waist, guiding her back down to his lap. His lips found hers once more, gentle but urgent, as if time had slowed and they had all the space in the world to explore one another. His touch was tender yet firm, his hands tracing the curve of her back before moving to her thighs, pulling her closer, if that was even possible.

“I’m yours,” he said softly between kisses, the words a promise and a plea, all wrapped into one.

Imani leaned into him, her fingers still teasing the waistband of his sweats, before finally pushing them down and off. She couldn’t resist trailing her fingers over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under her touch. She felt safe, secure, and loved in his arms, and as their connection deepened, the world outside of them faded away.

Terry’s breath hitched as Imani lowered his sweats, his body reacting to the closeness of hers, to the intimate moment they were sharing. He looked at her, his expression soft but full of longing.

"Babe..." she said softly, her voice laced with affection and something deeper, a hunger that matched his own.

He reached for her, his hands brushing against her sides as he pulled her closer, his lips brushing over her forehead before trailing down to her lips. "You don’t know how badly I want you," he murmured, his voice rough but filled with love and passion.

Imani felt the weight of his words, her own desire for him reflecting in her gaze. She let her hands roam over his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath her touch. She knew exactly what he needed, what they both needed, and without hesitation, she let her lips meet his again, this time with more urgency, as if they both had been waiting for this moment far too long.

Terry responded instantly, his hands finding her hips and pulling her closer to him, pressing her body against his. The contact was electric, and for a moment, all they could feel was the heat between them, the way their bodies fit together so perfectly.

He pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against hers, breathing heavily. "I love you so much, Imani. You’re everything to me," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Imani smiled softly, tracing the outline of his jaw with her fingers. "I love you too, Terry. More than you know," she whispered back, before leaning in to kiss him once more, letting their connection deepen further.

Terry’s hands settled at the waistband of Imani’s pajama pants, his fingers brushing the soft fabric as he looked up at her, his gaze filled with a mixture of love and desire. The room seemed to quiet around them, leaving only the sound of their breathing as they shared this intimate space.

Imani met his gaze, her own eyes dark with longing. She could feel the heat between them, an unspoken understanding passing between them as he slowly began to slip the pants off her hips. His touch was gentle, yet there was an undeniable urgency in the way he moved, a sense that they had both been waiting for this moment for too long.

She helped him, lifting her hips slightly to allow him to pull them down, and as the fabric slid off her body, her bare skin brushed against his, sending a shiver through her.

Terry paused for a moment, his hands resting on her bare thighs as he looked at her, his breath shaky. "You’re beautiful, Imani. Absolutely perfect," he whispered, his voice low and filled with awe.

Imani smiled softly, her hands reaching up to run through his hair, her fingers gently tugging him closer. "I’m yours, Terry. Always have been, always will be," she whispered back, her voice full of love and trust.

With that, Terry leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was as tender as it was passionate. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her close as their bodies pressed together. In that moment, there was no past, no future—just the here and now, the two of them wrapped up in each other.

He gently leaned her back into the pillows, leaving a trail of wet kisses down her body. She inhaled at the sensation. “Tonight, I’m going to make you scream my name.” he says as he makes his way down.

True to word he kept his promise. 

The next morning, Imani woke up with a contented sigh, the warmth of Terry's body still radiating against hers. She could feel the tenderness in her muscles, a reminder of the passion they had shared the night before. Her body was sore, but in the best possible way, a familiar feeling she had come to associate with their most intimate moments together.

Terry was still asleep, his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close. His steady breathing and the comforting weight of his arm made her feel safe, loved, and cherished. She couldn't help but smile as she traced a finger along his arm, her thoughts drifting back to the night they had just shared.

She felt a wave of affection for him, a deep love that ran so much deeper than the physical. Terry was her rock, the person who had stood by her side through thick and thin, and even on mornings like this, when she was sore and exhausted, she felt nothing but gratitude for the man in her life.

Imani shifted slightly, careful not to disturb him, and snuggled deeper into his chest, letting the sound of his heartbeat lull her back into a peaceful moment of quiet intimacy.

Tags 🏷️ :

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @avoidthings @nayaesworld @haechvn @writingsbytee @grlsbstshot @ovohanna24 @skvrpion @megamindsecretlair @kimuzostar @notpradagurl7

[fictioninmyblood]

Back to Bed

Summary: Terry and Y/N had been married for just over 7 years with 3 beautiful children and a blooming self defense business they’d built together to show for it. Having started their relationship at the beginning of Y/N’s journey into discovering her submissiveness and Terry’s first stationing as an instructor - Terry had been her only dom and thus knew her like the back of his hand and Y/N has been the only sub to experience the harshest version of his dom giving her the same privilege over him. Having been pregnant with their baby girl upon coming home to the Sandy Springs situation, Terry has been using it as an excuse, too afraid to lean all the way into his dom personality the way he had with Y/N before his last tour.

After they get into an argument, again, about the events of Silver Springs and how even after the last few years of stitching their life back together, he still only talked to Summer about everything that happened and was handling her with kid gloves, Y/N separates from him best she can. Completely at a crossroads of what to do to feel like she’s still her husband’s wife and losing all the fight to try and figure it out, she gives Terry the silent treatment and isolates from him, doing her best to only be in the same room with him when the kids are. After weeks of her barely acknowledging him or the argument, Terry is tired of going to bed alone when his wife is sleeping in the guest room right below him. His plan? Let the dom in him handle it and finally confess his monsters.

WARNINGS: 18+ themes, Minors DNI, d/s themes, pre-smut, angst

A/N: Thank you to all the Terry girls out there that have created a monster in me for this man in literally less than a week. Story inspired by @megamindsecretlair ‘s “I Swear I’ll Never Leave” oneshot and @keyaho ‘s “R.E.L.L.S.” series.

A/N: There will be at least a part 2. Kinda proofread, sorry in advance for any mistakes.

Y/N had been napping peacefully in the spare bedroom when she heard her kids start screaming excitedly, waking her all the way out her sleep in panic. Once she identified their squeals as gleeful she relaxed, but decided it would be in her best interest to check and see what all the commotion was about. Imagine her surprise when she entered their living room to see her parents sitting on the couch with her kids talking over one another and Terry coming downstairs with their weekend-trips-backpacks. The moment she locked eyes with her husband, Y/N gulped, somehow understanding exactly what was going on behind those piercing eyes. Her father had been too wrapped up in the kids, but her mother saw her daughter the instant she entered the room, her motherly instincts in overdrive. 

As soon as Terry let them in she could see that he was even more exhausted than usual, his reliably calm demeanor obviously frazzled. Whenever they usually came to pick up the kids at his request, everything was already packed and ready, the kids fed the most recent meal or snack, and Terry had them waiting by the door. Y/N was usually who they waited on. It was completely out of character to have to wait for him to finish getting them ready or be told they haven't eaten at least a snack so far into the afternoon. Dinner was around the corner and school had been out for at least 2 hours. Yeah, something was definitely wrong. She watched the unspoken conversation happen between the two when he came back downstairs and hoped that Terry asking them to take the kids to hang out with them overnight would help to resolve whatever marital issues they were having. Her daughter looked just as bad as her son-in-law and judging by the fact she looked like she just woke up and came from their guest bedroom rather than the masters upstairs that was no surprise. Her daughter had always slept better cuddled up next to someone her whole life and Terry had become the ultimate sleeping aid when they met. She’d had to stock up on his clothes for the times he was away while in the military just to get a wink, conditioning her body to accept no one’s presence but his to help her sleep.

“Hey baby, how are you?” Y/N’s mother asked.

Y/N tried to muster a smile but felt how off it was, she hoped her mom wouldn’t ask further questions when she said, “I’m fine mommy. What are you guys doing here? I thought we were going to see you on Sunday for the family barbecue.”

Y/N walked over to her parents to hug and kiss them, she sat next to her mom and leaned her head on her shoulder when her mom kept rubbing her back. She closed her eyes and welcomed the affection, it’d been weeks of forcing herself to not seek Terry out for physical contact and it had been hell. That was her top love language and as much as she loved them, kid hugs and kisses only went so far. 

“You sure baby? You look tired.”

Y/N locked eyes with Terry again and sighed, “Yeah ma, I’m sure.”

Her father answered her question when he said, “Terry thought it might be a good idea if they had the opportunity to hang out with all the cousins that live nearby that’ll be hanging out tomorrow. Plus I’m sure he’d like some alone time with his wife. It’s been too long since you two have asked for a weekend anyway so it’s no problem.”

“Oh okay. That sounds nice,” she lied through her teeth, avoiding eye contact with Terry at all costs at this point. Diverting her attention she said, “You excited babies?”

She smiled the first genuine one since coming out of the room at the chorus of yes’s that graced her ears.

“Well I got everything in the car, carseat included,” Terry said, closing the front door behind himself, “and here’s some funds for the weekend.” He slipped some money into her father’s hand before he could register what’d been put there.

Her father looked down at what Terry gave him and got up to try and give it back. “Son, we do this everytime.”

“Then you should know that you’re leaving here with that money.”

Her father clapped Terry on the shoulder and they shared some chuckles as he couldn’t do anything, but shake his head and shake his son-inlaw’s hand. Not once since they had kids did Terry ever ask his parents-in-law to watch the kids without making sure they had a good chunk of change. The twins alone had been a handle full and a half since birth but babygirl turned their little hurricanes into big ones. He knew that whenever his wife tried she couldn’t win that argument so he’d made a point to be the one who did to keep the balance they both sought.

“Right you are son. Can’t blame an old man for trying though.”

“I can’t,” Terry said still chuckling. Thank you,” he looked to his mother-in-law as she stood up beside her husband, “both of you. We really need this.” 

Y/N’s mom laid her hand on his face and said, “Anytime. You two need to take care of yourselves and each other first more often.” She moved towards the door trying to make this as short as possible. “Now let’s get family, leave these two lovebirds to nest alone.”

Terry and Y/N smiled at each other for the first time in weeks at the sound and sight of their kids saying “ewww” and fake gagging. It brought a pang to Y/N’s heart and she immediately frowned at the realization that they hadn’t seen or heard those reactions in too long.

She stayed seated, the kids coming up one by one to give their mommy a goodbye hug and kiss before they left, as Terry stood holding the door open and hugging and kissing everyone on the way out the door. She damn near cried when her mom kissed her on the forehead, the silent sign that her mom knew something was wrong and they would talk about it later. When Terry finally shut the door and turned around to stare her down all that had been left unspoken seemed to come out from the shadows and sit between them.

“Y/N, kitten?” Terry asked. She stopped looking past him at the door and finally looked at him at the pet name. He had his arms folded and was gripping his biceps to keep from rushing to touch his wife who hadn’t given him permission to touch her in the 5 weeks since she moved to the guest bedroom. They hadn’t played together in over 6 months, her figurative silence having been brewing longer than the weeks she was literally silent. She knew that he was asking for permission with the declaration, handing over his control of the situation with just the two names. 

She gulped and whispered back, “Yes, big daddy?”

Terry let out a sigh of relief and released the hold he had on his arms, his hope restored that he hadn’t lost her. He still had a chance to fix this.

“It feels nice to hear you address me again, I’ve missed your voice little one,” he said as he walked towards his wife while rolling up the sleeves on his long sleeve shirt. He had turned the air up a few hours prior and put on the shirt in preparation of this moment. Y/N had a weakness for his arms and hands - over the years he’s learned that wearing long sleeves was the best way to use that to his advantage. With the way her breath hitched, her nipples pebbled beneath her outfit, and she got stuck eyeing his movements was a sight for sore eyes, it’d been too long since she let herself look at him like that. Since she got out of her head long enough for her body respond to him as it had always naturally done. In fact he knew the reason she had been avoiding him and sleeping in the guest room was because he was always able to get back in her good graces with just a few moments of existing. Any of their disagreements always ended with her folding no matter how mad she was throughout their whole relationship, so these last few weeks were a megaphone announcement that she was not playing around this time. 

“Huh kitten?” 

Y/N had no idea what words were coming out her husband’s mouth. Her pulsing pussy was ringing in her ears and she was lost in thinking about everything those hands could and would do to her. By the time she focused on his words again, Terry was standing in front of her grasping her chin to look him in his mesmerizing eyes.

“Did you even hear what I asked you?”

She gulped again and shook her head no. Curse this man and the hold he had on her. 6 weeks of holding out, staying quiet, and standing ten toes down on her frustrations, and all it took for her to let him back in was a few words and him rolling up his sleeves. Terry hadn’t even done anything yet and she knew that no matter how right she was, no matter how much she wanted to maintain her resolve, and no matter what Terry finally told her about what happened, she would be forgiving him. Hell, she already had the moment she walked into the living room to see her parents.

Terry repeated himself. “I said I missed hearing you address me little one. Did you know that? How much I’ve been aching to hear you speak to me, to be able to touch you. I have permission to touch you now though, don’t I kitten?”

“Ye-,” Y/N had to clear her throat, though it did nothing to clear the lust that had changed her voice to the breathy thing it was, “Yes big daddy.”

“Yes you know how much I’ve been aching or yes I have permission?”

“Yes to both big daddy.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “How did you know lil mama? We haven’t been talking so I haven’t had time to tell you.”

“Cause I’ve been aching too,” she squeaked out while the wiggle of her hips increased as she tried to create friction with her thighs. Y/N the woman could not help her right now, the only one present was the submissive.

“Have you? I couldn’t tell kitten.” Terry’s neutral expression turned into a frown as he cupped the base of her skull, gripping her locs to pull her head back, eliciting a moan from Y/N as her eyes slid close.

When Y/N opened her eyes again she was met with the fire behind Terry’s eyes and though it wasn’t what she was trying to do, it brought her great joy to see the dom in Terry. Not the soft one he’d been using as a shield, but the real dom, the one she fell in love with all those years ago. It had been entirely too long since he’d come out to play and she was starved. She nodded her head yes.

“Well you’ve done too good of a job hiding it from me these last few months mamas. I think it’s time we fixed that, don’t you?” he asked.

Y/N nodded again, best she could and Terry couldn’t help himself. He slapped her with an open palm, not to hurt her but to bring her focus back and make himself clear as he spoke, his voice deepening with the lust that now clouded every fibre of his being. “Words kitten. You will use them or I will stop.”

“No!”

Terry’s grip on her hair tightened and he raised an eyebrow.

Y/N stuttered to correct herself. “I mean no big daddy, please don’t stop. I’ll use my words.”

“Good. Now we will have that conversation and I will tell you everything you’ve been begging to know, consequences be damned, but I need to release some pent up energy and I know you do too. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes big daddy.”

Terry loosened his grip slightly and his face softened as he took in his wife, hanging onto every word, listening with all of her attention, already neck deep in subspace. “I don’t think you understand.”

“I do, I promise.”

Terry closed his eyes and shook his head. He was terrified, she was too trusting, too ready to give herself over to him for his release. She had no idea how much anger and grief he’d been storing these last few years and he had no idea what letting himself go to indulge would look like anymore. He’d been afraid of himself since the day the Chief handed him that money and he knew before ever seeing with his eyes that Mike was dead. “No you don’t. Kitten, I got a monster that I’ve been hiding from you, hell from myself half the time too, and I know I said I’ll explain later but I gotta make sure you’re warned properly before you agree. I don’t know if I can maintain my control tonight, it’s been too long-”

Y/N cut off his speech to start her own. Briefly breaking character for a moment, she laid a hand on his face and said “Terrance.” His eyes welled with tears he had to do everything to keep from falling when she continued. “I have waited almost 4 years for you to trust me with these shadow parts of yourself. I’ve been missing the version of you who trusted himself enough to allow me to be his release for almost 4 years. I don’t just miss my husband, I don’t just miss my dom, I miss you. Having access to all of you. I trust you.”

One rouge tear escaped and Y/N wiped it away before it make it too far down his face and stood cupping his face with both hands. Terry let his hands fall to her love handles as she kissed him and he let out a deep groan at the sight of her kneeling at his feet, clasping her hands together at the base of her spine and looking up at him with an expression that matched her declaration. “I’m ready big daddy. Do what you will.”

Terry wiped at his face and with his head thrown back he let out a long, “fuck.” Now that he’d started them down this road, he had a feeling that she was going to make him go the distance and it made him feral. His monster had been wanted out, but she just waved a proverbial red flag in front of him. She wanted to meet his monsters so bad? Bet. They wanted to devour her anyway and now, looking at her offering herself up so pretty, he would let them.

[keyaho]

summary: kyra returns to her hometown after ten years away. she ends up braiding the hair of the one man that had and still has her heart.

authors note: he was supposed to be breaking her in half like a glow stick. idk what happened. he's all soft and shit. sometimes I write and the characters will lead the way. terry was not with me bending kyra over so he could fuck......

wordcount: 2600

warnings: none

Kyra was home this time for good. Fontaine Street was lit up as her father hosted a block party in her honor. She had just finished her nursing program and was currently a registered nurse at the main hospital. It gave her a forty-five minute commute twice a day, but the pay was worth it. Plus, her father had given her his house as a gift, having moved to another closer to his ailing mother three months ago. Markus Fields was known around the block back in the day, having run the entire Fontaine block with his crew. Remnants of that still lingered with up and coming young men wanting to emulate him. 

She slipped in and out of the crowd, hugging older men and women who had watched her grow up over the years. Some neighborhood friends commended her on making it out the hood. She brushed them off, telling them she just wanted to be a nurse. Boasting around here led to rumors and the last thing she wanted was her hometown to think she had outgrown them in a way she thought she was better than them. 

Kyra moved towards her front porch, a few people lingered there, but she slipped into the house unnoticed just to get a break from socializing. The party was going to drag on for a few more house and if it wasn’t the weekend, she’d be sneaking to a hotel to get sleep. 

“Are you running from him,’ Markus sat at the kitchen table, eating a plate of ribs and baked beans. 

“Dad,’ Kyra sighed. “I haven’t even seen him. I just came in to get a break.” 

“Well, he’s been asking about you. He came in a few months ago. Retired from the Marines, some shit went down in some place called Rebel Ridge with his cousin,’ he rambled an Kyra grew concerned. “He passed. Terry showed up here a mess.” Markus sighs. 

“Oh,’ she replies, unsure of what to say.

“He asked if you still braid hair.” 

Kyra looked to her father and slowly folded her arms over her chest. “Dad…’ 

“He’ll be by here tomorrow morning.” 

“I don’t have anything to do his hair with,’ she admitted, slapping her thighs after throwing her hands up. 

“You hair box is still in the bathroom. Combs and shit still down there.” 

“Dad,’

“Braid his hair and talk to him. He needs it.” Markus watched his daughter grab a drink from the fridge. As she left he thought, he needs you. A man in love was easy to spot and Terry long had been in love with his daughter. 

Back outside, she popped the tab on her Coke and walked towards the end of the street where the ice cream truck had parked. She needed something cold to ice out her nerves. Terry had been her first. Everything. They had fumbled one night in bed and though the sex was awkward and rushed, neither knew what they were doing, the intimacy with him could never be matched. Leaving for school had been the hardest decision of her life. She’s glad he found himself a way out too. 

Kyra saw him before he saw her. Standing next to the spades table, red solo cup held between his full lips as he pulled up his slightly large black sweats. MARINE was embellished on his shirt, the material old and faded. His hair had grown out and it framed his face in a way that Narcissus himself would fall in love. The afro was very different than the low cut cesar he had when they were kids. When she last saw him it was fresh and he came right to her house to show off. She remembered her father swatting him off the porch because she couldn’t come out once the street lights were on. From the porch she had waved, laughed and secretly pointed to her bedroom window. 

Now he was a grown man. She was a grown woman and the butterflies were still there. 

Stepping up to the truck she eyed the vintage flavors not found in commercial stores anymore. The buttercup shaped popsicle called her name and she reached into her back pocket when a hand reached over her shoulder, two ones and the two quarters held against his palm by his ring and pinky finger. 

“Aye Terry!” The seller greeted. “What you doing back here bruh? Heard you was out with them Marines and shit.” 

Maybe it was another Terry. She didn’t turn around and when the popsicle was passed to her. She ripped off the paper. 

“I got out,’ his rich baritone filled her ears. “Did my ten years.” 

That’s how long it had been since they last seen each other? 

“It’s good seein’ yall two.” He said, eyeing the way Terry stood behind Kyra. 

The whole block knew how they felt about each other. 

“Are you going to turn around?” He asked, still standing close to her. 

He moved them from the line and towards the sidewalk, people giving them way with knowing looks on their faces. She ignored them. They stood on the side of someone’s house, her back to the old wood. The ice cream tucked between her lips as she sucked on the smooth creamy treat. 

“Hey,’ she replied, unsure of what to say to him. 

“How you been, Ky?” 

“Good, um,’ 

He placed his hands beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. There was no hesitation in his next move. His hands slid up her cheeks to the curls at the nape of her neck. His lips were soft and he kissed her slow, tasting the ice cream, her strawberry lip gloss, and her. She dropped the ice cream and grabbed his waist. He took the initiate and stepped forward and pushed her up against the house. 

“Two deployments and I would do another one if it mean coming back home to kiss you.” 

He held her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her warm cheeks. He always said the most loving and romantic shit. Her knees weakened just a little and he smiled as she looked away from him. 

“Are you still shy?” He asked. “Can’t be if you’re coming out the house in those shorts.” 

The denim shorts were high waisted with ripped holes along the thighs and one in a particular place on her ass, showing just a sliver of cheek. 

“You put them on for me,’ he says, his lips dangerously close to hers. This was not the Terry she had grown up with. This was grown Terry.

“Fuck,’ she says, pushing him back to get some space to breath. 

He caught her hands and brought them to his lips. He wore a big smile, all 32 teeth exposed as his green eyes looked her over. He stepped back up to her and hooked his finger into the belt hook of her shorts. 

“I’ll be over in the morning to see you.” 

“Your hair.” She says, remembering what her Dad had told her. “I’m braiding your hair. $250.” 

Terry laughed, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. “Nah, how about head for head?” 

“Terry!” Kyra hissed. That was the Terry she remembered, shit talking. Only this time, she knew he could back it up.

He placed his hand on her stomach and pushed her back against the house. 

“You’ve been the source of all my dreams, my nightmares, Kyra.” He sighed. “All I’ve thought about was you for ten years. Hoping that when I saw you again there wasn’t a ring on your finger.” 

It was getting too heavy. His confession of his feelings were too much. She might have shared them, wondered where had been and doing, but hearing them aloud sent her mind into a free fall. 

“Tell me I’m not too late, Ky Ky.” 

Before she could respond he kissed her forehead. The sky had darkened and the music was louder, people yelling and enjoying themselves in the background. 

“You’re never too late,’ she admitted. 

Terry’s shoulders slumped and the tension between them snapped. 

“Kyra?” 

The pair looked up and Terry took a step away from Kyra.

“Yeah,’ she says, addressing one of her friends from college that had stopped by. 

“Your dad is looking for you.” Her eyes drifted to Terry and she made the connection. Kyra had talked about Terry plenty of times over bottles of wine and ice cream while they were in college. “I’ll tell him your busy,’ 

Kyra shook her head. “No no, I’m coming.” 

Her friend nodded, a knowing smile on her face. “Okay.” 

When they were alone again, Terry pulled her in for another kiss. He held her head back and she rose on her toes to meet his retreating lips. 

“We can finish this tomorrow.”

Up at seven thirty, Kyra grabbed her hair supplies from the bathroom. She sifted through the box for her rattail comb and rubber bands. True to form, she had some blue magic grease and pink lotion. She kept up with braiding and didn’t need all that edge control and gel. Just the basics. Her side hustle on campus kept her afloat. She walked into the kitchen where a pot of coffee was brewing. She had ingredients for breakfast, but knew she didn’t have time to cook and eat before he came over. Terry was punctual and she had a hunch he was going to be early. 

She wore a pink robe over her pajama bottoms and shirt. The old sleepwear was loose and worn in from constant wear. She had bought it on a trip to Italy a few years ago and the soft material still held up. Her slippers were somewhere under her bed and her long polka dot socks came up to her thighs. If Terry wasn’t coming over to get his hair braided one would think she was about to go back to bed, which she probably would once he left. 

As Kyra set up the area she was going to use in her kitchen, facing the tv, she heard the doorbell ring and three hard knocks followed. Of course he was early. Taking her time, she flipped on the foyer light and unlatched the two locks. The deadbolt clicked back and she opened the door to see Terry in a black hoodie and another pair of sweat pants. His hair was picked out and she noticed his beard for the first time. He looked rough. 

“Goodmorning,’ she said through the screen door while reaching to unlock the tiny lock inside the handle. 

“Morning,’ he hummed, stepping inside as soon as he could. He brought her lips to his while dipping his tongue into her mouth. “Where you want me,’ he asked. 

“The be-uh, table, shit, there’s a chair at the table.” Kyra stepped around him so flustered she almost stubbed her toe on the table as she walked past. 

She could feel him behind her. The last time they were in this house they were saying goodbye to each other. Horizontality. Their fingers fumbled over each other as they clung to one another. 

Terry smiled and pulled off his hoodie, a fitted black tank top clung to his muscular frame. He plopped down in the chair, legs spread as if he was waiting for her to sit in his lap. She moved behind him after checking on her coffee.

“How many braids?” She asked, her fingers reaching into his hair. She was surprised his hair was freshly washed. 

Reaching behind her, she pour pink lotion into her hair and rubbed them together before sinking them into his head. She pulled the lotion through his hair, grabbing oil to apply to his ends. 

“Do what you want, baby,’ he replied. 

She hadn’t braided men’s hair in a long time so she decided to have a bit of fun. Making the first zig-zag part, she used the comb to hold his hair to the side. She applied a little ore oil to her fingers and placed her hands at the top of his hair line, gripping the hair firmly as she started to braid. 

“Is that too tight,’ she asked. 

“No, feels good.” 

Thirty minutes passed when her stomach started growling. Terry tiled his head back. 

“I can order something,’ he says. 

“You heard that?” 

“It’s been grumbling for the past ten minutes. I just didn’t want to say nothing.” 

She smacked a hand over his chest as he stands up, half his head braided. He reaches into his hoodie for his phone, pulling up a menu from a diner a few blocks over. 

“Why didn’t you say anything,’ she folds her arms over her chest at his smile. 

“You already popped me with the comb!” He laughs. “I wasn’t trying to get beat up.” 

When he sat back down, he let her work for a few more minutes as he worked up the courage to start the conversation they needed to have. 

“I was serious last night,’ he began. “There’s never been anyone else….long term for me.” Terry sighed, his hand coming to rub the back of his neck. “No one was you.” 

On braid six, with two to go, Kyra listened to him. He poured his heart out to her, telling her about Rebel Ridge, losing his cousin, the hate in that town and how it almost killed him. She noticed a scar on his back and when he mentioned getting shot she glanced down at it. Her fingers touched over the raised scar. Kyra smoothed her hands up his arms and rested them on his shoulders. 

“There’s a lot I want to tell you,’ she admitted. 

He was numerous entries in her journal. Her thoughts and feelings were all on paper and it was much easier to have him read it than say it aloud, but she’d get to that later. She could at least admit to one thing. 

“Terry,’ she says, wanting him to look at her. 

He tilted his head back and his hazel eyes stared into her brown ones. His full lips were slightly parted and she leaned down, kissing him upside down while she whispered her deepest feelings against his mouth. 

I love you. 

Terry jerked up, almost flying out of the seat. Kyra jumped back as he turned around and pushed her into the fridge. Hand on her belly, he propped the other on top of the fridge. 

“Say it again,’ he begged, lips wet after licking them twice. “Say that shit again.” 

“I love me some you.” She looks down for a moment. “When I went off to school I had hoped you would stop me and beg me to stay.” 

“I wouldn’t keep you from your dreams Kyra. I knew how much you wanted to be a nurse. I would have hated myself if I kept you here.” 

“I know. I would walk around campus hoping you were there, but we both needed to find out way out of Fontaine before we could find each other again, I guess.” 

“You don’t have to wonder where I am anymore.” 

Kyra glanced up at him. His eyes were hooded and low. The emotions swirling between them was overwhelming. He bent his knees so they were eye level. 

“As long as you’re at 345 E Fontaine Street I’m here with you. And if you leave, baby, I’m right behind you.”

Taglist: @nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @harmshake @heauxvibez @avoidthings

@mymindisneverhere @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @eilujion @heytaewrites

@browngirldominion @insidefeelingofanadult @blackerthings @gwenda-fav @brandithecrystalgem

@captainwithoutmakingitlove @dremmmm @kindofaintrovert @thegreatlibraryofalex @jimmybutlrr

@beenathembo @kuromiish @virgomess @bbyxgall @theereina

@randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz @dundienominated @thatone-girly

[roosterforme]

Always Ever Only You Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Your hormones are raging to the point of distraction, but Bradley channels that energy toward a purpose: christening the new Bronco. When the two of you attend Mickey's birthday kegger, Bradley realizes everything would be easier if his friends knew you were pregnant. Hopefully the first visit with your new doctor will set your minds at ease instead of making you more anxious.

Warnings: Swearing, smut, pregnancy, angst, fluff

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

You woke up to your alarm for work on Friday morning, groggy and nauseous with a growling stomach. "Roo?" you asked, popping up in bed when you realized he wasn't there. The house was silent. His spot in the bed was cold. You groaned and rolled over to grab your glasses. You needed to eat something immediately or the vomiting was going to start.

Still wearing your underwear and shirt from last night, you shuffled to the kitchen and downed a full glass of water and the plate of peanut butter crackers Bradley left out for you. "Roo?" you asked between bites. You opened the sliding glass door, but he wasn't in the backyard. When you turned toward the front door to see if the Bronco was here, something caught your eye through the front window. "What the hell?"

You grabbed the throw blanket from the couch and wrapped it around yourself as you shoved the last cracker into your mouth. When you opened the front door, you saw your husband and your dog in the driveway. Bradley had moved the Bronco to the street, and he was wearing gym clothes and hosing down the cement slab. 

"What is going on?" you called out, squinting against the early morning sunlight as he waved to you. "What are you doing?"

Bradley was smiling brightly as he dropped the hose next to the industrial sized broom and started running toward you. "You have to hear it, Sweetheart." He was fumbling with his phone. "The most beautiful words." He thrust the phone in front of you as a voicemail message started to play.

"Hi, Bradley, this is Terry from the Ford dealership. I'm just calling to let you know your new Bronco is here."

You groaned as he bounced on the balls of his feet, and Tramp wandered past your legs and back inside. "I still don't understand why you have the hose and broom out...? Are you cleaning the driveway? For the new Bronco?"

"Yes," he replied as if he was talking to a very small child. "I wouldn't want to bring it home to a mess. I want it to feel welcome."

You closed your eyes as he put his phone away and let his palm come to rest against your belly. "It's barely even light out, and you're cleaning the driveway for our new car to feel welcome."

"It's not just a car, Baby Girl. It's a Bronco. And I was too excited to sleep."

You opened your eyes and kissed him before you shook your head. "I can't imagine how you'll be when we start shopping for baby stuff."

His brown eyes lit up as he rubbed your belly. "As soon as you give me the green light, I'm ready to go. I can't wait to decorate the nursery. And I really think we should talk about getting a contractor to work on the attic."

You held up one of your hands, trying to keep the blanket wrapped around you. "Can we just do one thing at a time, Roo? When are we picking up the Bronco?"

He kissed your cheek and moaned. "I knew you were as excited as I am. We can go right from work later today."

"Okay," you agreed with a shrug before shuffling back inside and leaving him to finish cleaning the driveway.

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

It was Friday, Bradley's wife was pregnant, he was about to pick up his new Bronco, and everything was perfect. A little too perfect. He tapped on your office door as soon as he got out of his afternoon lecture, and when you opened it, you looked upset.

"What's wrong?" he asked, ducking inisde with you and closing the door. He cupped your face in his hands and stroked your cheek. "What is it, Sweetheart?"

You let out a needy moan and then licked your lips. "I am so fucking horny."

Well. At least that was better than there being something wrong that he couldn't take care of. You turned your head slightly and took his thumb between your lips, and Bradley grunted. "Holy shit. You're not kidding." He was met with another soft moan and your fingers on the fly of his khakis while you sucked. He had to grab you to make you stop before you had your hand down his pants. "Okay," he whispered. "Here's what we're about to do, alright?"

You nodded, looking up at him like you trusted him completely as he removed his thumb. "Tell me."

"If you're ready to leave, we'll stop and pick up Bronco number two and drive them both home, and then I'll do whatever you need, okay?"

You sucked in a deep breath, and your voice shook. "Okay."

Bradley carried your work bag for you, and when it was just the two of you in the elevator, he wasn't sure how you managed to make it through the day. You were a mess. You had him pinned to the wall, one hand at the back of his neck, the other resting on his abs, and you were kissing him like you would at home in bed. 

He wanted this. Badly. Your tongue stroked against his as you traced his scars with your fingertips. Every little gasp and sound you made went right for his cock. "I need it so bad," you whispered, pressing your lips to his mustache. "God, Roo."

"Fuck," he groaned as the elevator started to slow. "I'd take you right here if I could."

You were whimpering as the doors slid open revealing Maverick. Bradley desperately tried to move your hands to more suitable places on his body, but you just pressed your cheek to his chest and smiled as you said, "Hey, Captain Mitchell."

He smirked and replied, "Lieutenant Commanders."

"Sir?" Bradley croaked, taking both of your hands in his and pulling you out of the elevator. 

Maverick shook his head, and Bradley expected that he would get a text this weekend, but he'd deal with that later. Hand in hand, you and he ran toward the Bronco, and he quickly got you inside and buckled your seatbelt. But you lured him in for more kisses with your fingers in his hair. 

"You taste so good," you whined, licking his lips and tongue. 

"Shit." He was hard now, and he was going to have to try to get you to behave on the short drive to the dealership. Bradley wrenched himself away from you and tucked your hands to your sides. "I love this, I really do, but you need to try to behave for like thirty more minutes."

He ran around to his door, wrenched it open, and soon he was pulling out of the parking garage. You had your head tipped back and your eyes closed as you whispered, "I can't explain it, Bradley, but all I can think about right now is your cock. Just huge and delicious. Fucking me and making me scream."

"Jesus, Baby Girl," he gasped, nearly driving off the road. 

You turned toward him, eyes wide now. "And I swear to god, you have never looked hotter than you do right now. I want to put my mouth on you."

This was doing nothing for his raging erection as he adjusted himself at a red light. When he saw your hands coming his way, he grabbed them and said, "Absolutely not. Sit on them." You whimpered, but you did as you were told and tucked your hands beneath your thighs. "Now listen closely, Sweetheart." The light turned green and he gunned the accelerator. "I love this enthusiasm. So I'll tell you what we're gonna do. When we get home, we're breaking in the new Bronco."

"Yes," you gasped, biting your lip and nodding. "Fuck me in it."

"I sure will," he rasped, unsure how he was going to manage your hormones for the next eight months. He really hoped this elevated sex drive meant everything was healthy for you and the baby. 

As he pulled into the Ford dealership, the bright cherry red Bronco was parked at the front of the building, and he sighed when he saw it. "There she is. Isn't she gorgeous?"

You unbuckled as soon as he parked. "It'll look even better when I've got my pants pulled down inside of it."

"Damn straight," he growled, climbing out his door and adjusting his pants the best he could. You came running to his side, and the two of you walked into the building, trying your very best to act normal. Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulders and kissed your temple as you took some deep breaths. "You're doing great, Sweetheart," he muttered as he flagged down Terry who left him the voicemail message.

"You're back for the red Bronco!" he said as he headed over. "Why don't you step into my office so we can sign the final paperwork and get the keys."

Bradley felt you link your fingers with his, and the two of you sat side by side while Terry printed out some pages and rambled on about the extended warranty. You kept glancing at Bradley out of the corner of your eye and squirming in your seat. And if you thought he looked hotter now than he ever had before, then the feeling was completely mutual. You looked so damn good, even struggling through your morning sickness, that he wanted to get his hands all over your body. 

When your teeth sank down into your lip as you looked at him, he thought about sweeping everything off Terry's desk, telling him to get the fuck out of his own office, and nailing you right here. God, you'd make the prettiest sounds, too.

"How does that sound?" Terry asked, looking from you and then back to Bradley.

"I'm sorry, what?" Bradley replied, trying his best to get his libido under control. "I missed what you said."

Terry smiled serenely like he didn't know he was practically in the middle of a porno right now. "Would you like me to show you all the controls and interior features? Go over how everything works before you drive off with it?"

"Nope. I think we'll be fine figuring it out on our own," he replied immediately as he grabbed the proffered pen from the other man. He scribbled his signature on the bottom of the paperwork and then passed it to you to do the same. "You ready to get busy, Baby Girl?" he asked as he stood. 

"God yes," you moaned as he took the two sets of keys from a rather stunned looking Terry. "Let's go."

The two of you ran back out to the Broncos, and Bradley groaned. "Oh, hell yes. A hot wife, a baby and two Broncos. Someone pinch me."

"Just get in," you commanded, shoving him toward the red one. "You can deal with not knowing the controls, and I'll meet you at home." 

Bradley let you take the keys out of his pocket before he climbed inside the new one. He took a second to inhale that fresh, new car scent. He ran his fingers over the leather steering wheel. Then he kissed the keys and cranked the engine, barely taking the time to adjust the mirrors before pulling out onto the main road behind you. 

It took eight and a half minutes to get home, and the sun was dipping lower in the sky, but it was by no means dark outside when Bradley pulled in the driveway next to you. Your movements were sure and intentional as you unbuckled your khaki belt while you walked around the blue Bronco and went straight for the back door of the red one. 

"Are you coming?" you asked with desperation as you climbed in the back and looked at him still sitting in the driver's seat. You were on your knees on the seat, pulling your uniform pants and cute underwear down your thighs. "Please?"

"Holy fucking shit." On all fours. On the backseat. Back door open. You were just asking for the fuck of a lifetime, and he was going to give it to you.

"Bradley?"

He killed the engine and left the keys on the dash as he climbed into the backseat behind you. It was roomier than your shitty Honda, but he still had to work with what he had. "I got you, Sweetheart," he promised as you folded your arms and let your head rest on the seat with your gorgeous ass up in the air. He tasted you there, running his lips and mustache down through your soaking wet pussy while he undid his own belt.

You sighed in relief as you pressed slowly back for more pressure, and as soon as he had his hard cock hanging out the front of his pants, Bradley took your hips in his hands. You tasted and smelled delicious and familiar as he licked and kissed you everywhere as his hands slowly crept around to your belly. His fingers stroked you softly where he knew your tattoo was, and he licked you from hole to hole. 

"You're really worked up," he murmured as he kissed along your ass cheek and swiped his fingers through your pussy.

"I told you, Daddy!" you moaned, and he coated his cock up with your wetness and his precum. Then he got himself in position behind you, glancing around to see if any of the neighbors were out and about. But it didn't matter. You were already too far gone. He reached behind himself and closed the door a few more inches before it hit his boot, and then he covered your body with his own.

As he slid his cock slowly inside your pussy, he could already feel you clenching around him. When he bottomed out, you were whimpering pathetically. "Roo."

"Shh. I know, Baby Girl. I'll take care of it."

You nodded beneath him, glancing back as he kissed your perfect cheek. "I love you."

Bradley's heart melted even as he started to slowly thrust. He kissed your shoulder through your uniform shirt and wrapped one big hand around your belly. "I love both of you," he promised. Then he patted the seat right next to your folded arms. "In a few more months, there's gonna be a car seat right here. And I can't fucking wait. I can't wait to meet our baby."

"Daddy," you whined, and he planted his palm on the upholstery and held your body as he started to fuck you harder. He knew you wouldn't feel better until you could barely walk, and right now that's what he wanted, too. He thrusted harder as the sounds got more obscene, knowing anyone could see what was happening right now if they looked this way. You turned back with an absolutely delighted expression on your face and whispered, "Watch where you're bracing your foot."

Then he really let you have it, spanking your pussy lightly with his damp fingers and making you squeal while you clenched around him. He turned your head with his other hand so that your mouth was pressed to your forearm, hoping to muffle some of the noise before returning his palm to the upholstery. Oh, you were close now, and so was he, but he'd spend all night out here fucking you with this steady rhythm until you got what you needed from him. Because you always gave him everything.

As he stroked your clit with his middle finger, you whined his name, and your legs started to shake. "Come on, Baby Girl. Come on," he coaxed, pushing himself deep and staying still while you squeezed his length and shook beneath him.

A pitiful cry of Daddy was all he heard as you started milking him for everything he was worth. He rolled his hips until he was done, and then he gently wrapped his hand around your neck and guided you so your back was against his chest. He kissed your ear, letting you hear how he was panting to catch his breath while he said, "Baby number two gets made in a Bronco."

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

Well. The red Bronco now smelled like new car and filthy sex at the same time. And you had Bradley's cum all over your uniform pants. And your nipples hurt from rubbing against the backseat. But you felt incredible as Bradley closed up the doors, locked it and patted the hood before leading you to the house with his arm around your waist.

"All better?" he asked, slipping the key into the lock as you rubbed your face against his bicep. 

"So much better," you replied as Tramp greeted both of you. "In fact, I think I'm going to go relax in the bathtub."

When you tried to walk away from him, Bradley grabbed your hand. "Whoa. Not so fast." He yanked you gently back into his arms. "First of all, now that the new Bronco has been appropriately christened, you get to take a set of the keys." He dropped them into your hand as he kissed your forehead. "And second, I read about taking baths during pregnancy, and you can't have the water as hot as you're used to."

You gaped up at him. "You read about it?"

He nodded as his cheeks started to turn pink. "Yeah. Just online. You know, just because you like taking baths. And sometimes we take them together.  And I know I told you I wasn't going to start shopping too much yet, but I did order a tub thermometer on Monday. And it arrived yesterday. And I hope you don't think I'm crazy right now."

You squeezed him tighter as you whispered, "I don't think you're crazy. I think you're sweet and smart. You always seem to think of things that I don't. And on that note, would you like to get the thermometer and meet me in the bathroom? Naked?"

He patted you on the butt and whispered, "I'll feed Tramp and meet you in there."

You stripped out of your uniform and turned on the water, but you didn't crank it as hot as you normally would. You dipped your toes in and swirled them around as you thought back to last weekend when you sat in the empty tub and counted for three minutes until your pregnancy test was ready. It was fascinating to you, growing something inside you that made you so reactive to everything. Every time you thought about your upcoming appointment, you got antsy, hoping they would tell you everything looked as it should. 

Bradley kissed your shoulder as his body met yours. "I brought the goods," he whispered as he dropped the floating thermometer into the tub and held up a sleeve of crackers and a bottle of cold water.

You moaned and reached for the food, knowing you should eat something now while you still felt okay. "You're the best husband in the world."

As you shoved some crackers into your mouth, Bradley knelt and kissed your belly. "Hi," he whispered, making a huge smile break out on your face. "It's me again. Just checking in." He kissed your belly button and looked up at you as he said, "Mommy and I are hoping to see you next week with an ultrasound." He paused and pressed one more lazy kiss a little closer to your tattoo as he stared. "Your tits look fucking incredible, Sweetheart."

"Do they?" you asked, looking down at yourself. "They're so sore." 

Bradley grunted and shut off the water after he checked the thermometer. "So what you're saying is I can look, but I can't touch? Because that's just mean." He climbed into the tub and helped you in while you laughed. 

"It didn't hurt too much the other day when you were very, very gentle," you whispered as you straddled his lap facing him. These slightly cooler baths would take some getting used to, but it wasn't too terrible. 

"Got it." You ate a few more crackers as he intently focused on your half submerged breasts like they were about to cure cancer. His thumbs were soft and when his lips met your nipples, you arched your back until you were getting just the perfect amount of pressure. 

You let him kiss and nuzzle around for a few minutes while you played with his hair. When his mustache started to feel a little too rough, you yanked him back, and he stopped. "You're bristly."

He raised one eyebrow. "Do you want me to shave?"

"No!" you gasped running your fingers down his cheek to stroke his facial hair.

"I will if you want me to," he whispered, kissing your palm and pulling you a little closer. You curled up against his chest and hugged him.

"I don't want you to shave, Roo. You're so handsome this way." You kissed his sparse chest hair. "Thanks for getting the bath thermometer and making sure I got a new car. And thanks for fucking me all the time and taking care of everything."

He chuckled. "How can you go from feral and horny to sweet and snuggly so quickly?"

"It's the hormones," you replied with a yawn. "And as soon as I get out of the tub, I'm probably going to fall asleep. So if there's anything else we need to talk about, we have to do it now."

"Just Mickey's birthday party tomorrow," Bradley reminded you, and you groaned. 

"I forgot all about that. I'll have to bring crackers and hope I don't hurl everywhere. And how the hell am I supposed to avoid drinking at a kegger?"

"I have a few ideas."

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

Bradley's ideas were decidedly not the best, but you didn't come up with anything better, so you just went along with him. It was blazing hot out the following afternoon at the beach, and you felt a little bloated in your bathing suit, but your husband literally couldn't keep his hands off you.

"Roo!" you scolded when he came running over to you mid football game while you lounged on your back on a towel next to Phoenix. He dripped water all over your legs before dropping into a pushup position above you and kissing your lips until you giggled. 

"I can't help it," he panted. "I'm obsessed with this bathing suit. You wore it to the cliffs beach the first time you kissed me."

"Gross," Phoenix moaned as Bradley dipped his tongue into your mouth before standing again. 

Then he flopped down on her towel and kissed her cheek as he said, "All thanks to my very best friend."

"Go away!" she screeched, pushing on him until he got up and ran back to the rest of the guys who were all tipsy and trying to tackle Mickey. "He's horrible. I can't believe you married him," she said as she rolled onto her stomach. You wanted to be able to do that, but you were feeling pretty nauseous.  

"We all make mistakes," you replied, trying to discreetly eat another cracker. "Bradley's is the fact that he didn't reapply sunblock yet. I should probably call him back over."

"Please don't," Phoenix moaned. You sat up on your towel and tried to stretch, and then you saw Bob making his way down the beach. But he wasn't alone. 

"Maria!" you called out, waving your friend and Bob's new roommate your way.

Phoenix raised her arm in greeting, and you didn't miss the way Bob smiled down at Maria as she turned toward the towels as Bob headed for the water, catching a pass from Javy on his way.

"Hey," Maria greeted, dropping her bag down next to yours.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" you asked, patting your towel next to you.

She dropped down as she said, "I didn't really know I was. I got home from taekwondo right when Bob was getting ready to come here, and he invited me. Then he waited while I got changed."

You could tell she was looking at him through her dark sunglasses. Interesting. 

"Is he driving you crazy with his dice collection yet?" Phoenix asked her, and Maria started laughing.

"No, but it was so cute when he unpacked them. He has them all sorted by color, and he told me about his Dungeons & Dragons character while we drank a bottle of wine." Suddenly she stopped talking and cleared her throat. "So, how are you two?"

You gave her side eye as your stomach started to gurgle. You were really afraid you weren't going to make it through the day without being sick. You watched Jake pumping the keg of beer and squirting it directly from the nozzle into his mouth, and you prayed they finished the whole thing before anyone tried to offer you another cup. "I'm fine," you said absently. "I'll be back. Let me make sure Bradley puts on more sunblock."

You grabbed the tube from your bag and headed toward the water as Maria and Nat started to discuss workplace politics. "Bradley!" you called when you got a little closer, but he couldn't hear you over the sound of the waves and the guys all yelling. "Roo!" You waved your hand in the air, and Reuben turned toward you right as he was looking for a receiver to catch his throw. The football spun in slow motion, powerfully thrown, and you gasped as it was headed right for you. It was going to hit you in the stomach.

At the last second, you dropped the sunblock and turned, squeezing your eyes closed and holding out your hand. The ball hit you hard in the hip, and you gasped in pain.

"What the fuck, Payback!" Bradley thundered as he ran toward you, kicking up wet sand as your eyes welled up with tears behind your sunglasses. "Sweetheart! Are you okay?" His big hands were all over you, as you tried to nod. When his fingers grazed your belly, he pulled you close. "Where did you get hit?" he asked, wrapping his other arm around you. 

"My hip," you managed, and his hand dropped lower as he pulled you to his chest. "I'm okay. I just wanted you to put more sunblock on."

Now Reuben came rushing over. "I'm so sorry!" he said, reaching out a hand and placing it on your shoulder. 

You could feel Bradley tense up, and you had to whisper, "I'm okay. It didn't hit my belly. I swear, Roo."

Then he snapped at his friend. "Can you fucking pay attention next time?" 

"I'm sorry," Reuben repeated, and you left Bradley's arms to give him a squeeze instead. 

"I'm fine," you promised him. "Bradley's just protective, and it did hurt a bit."

"I will be extra careful," he promised.

"And I won't wander into the game unless I'm completely ready to play."

"It wasn't your fault," Bradley growled, and now you had to put your hands on his arms. 

"I'm fine," you reiterated. "Just put on more sunblock, okay? I don't want you to be in pain and bright red tonight when I will probably need you for special activities."

That got him to quirk one eyebrow up as you kissed him. "Okay." He bent and picked up the tube and tucked it into the pocket of his cutoffs, and as soon as you wandered away, the football game picked up again.

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

By the time Javy and Jake started the bonfire, Bradley was feeling pretty drunk. Reuben was still keeping a safe distance from him, which was making Bradley feel a little bit bad. It wasn't like he hit you on purpose, but the idea of the football hitting you that hard even close to your belly scared him. A lot. But you were claiming you were just fine, and he believed what you said. You even showed him the exact spot where you said you would be sore and bruised by tomorrow, and it seemed like it was a little closer to your butt than anywhere else. 

Right now, you were laughing with Nat and Maria, and you had a red solo cup of beer on your hand that you weren't drinking. Every time you looked at him a certain way, he pretended to fill his cup all the way and switched with you. It was working out well enough, except that he was getting drunk twice as fast this way.

"Come on," Nat was saying as she pulled on your arm. "Do a keg stand! I'll do one if you do one!"

You gave him the look and he sighed. He hadn't done a fucking keg stand since he was at UVA, and frankly he was too old for this shit, but he knew what he needed to do. "Nat, I can drink you under the fucking table any day of the week."

She turned to him, eyes flashing. "Prove it."

Next thing he knew, he was doing a handstand on top of the keg, one leg held up by Bob and the other by Javy, and Jake was squirting a steady stream of whatever shitty beer this was into his mouth while he tried to swallow it before it dripped down to his nose. Everyone started counting, and he made it thirty seconds before he started shaking his head. Once his feet were back on the sand, he realized his vision was a little blurry. 

When you wrapped your arms around his waist, he hissed. Shit. He never did reapply the sunblock like you told him to. Oh no. Now Mickey wanted him to do another keg stand. 

"Okay, birthday boy," Bradley replied, and you released him so he could have another go. This time, he couldn't remember how long he lasted, but everyone was slapping his sunburned back and jostling him around a lot. And he was drunk. Like really fucking drunk.

"How did he get like this, Angel?" Jake asked as he slung his arm around you. 

Bradley scoffed. "Hey, that's my wife," he slurred as he reached for your hand.

"Yeah, I'm well aware," Jake replied, and then Bradley started laughing when he remembered that you and Jake were friends, and he decided to lay down on your beach towel for a little bit. 

He couldn't be sure how long he was there, but the air was cooling down as the night wore on, and he felt kisses on his forehead. "Baby Girl."

"Yeah, I'm right here, Daddy," you whispered, taking his hands in yours. "Thanks for drinking enough to kill a horse."

He started laughing hysterically as he got to his feet. "You're fucking funny."

"I know, Roo," you said as you tugged him along the beach. "That's why you married me."

"No, it's not," he swore. "No. No. Not just that. I married you, because I had to."

You laughed as the new Bronco came into view, and Bradley wondered where everyone else was. "You had to marry me?"

"Oh yeah," he replied. "I knew it right away. Couldn't live without you. You're too sweet. And your ass is too fucking fine."

He let you push him into the passenger side door, and he kissed your forehead as you buckled him in. "Oh, Bradley," you giggled. "You're a mess." You were cupping his face gently, and you were going in and out of focus a bit, but he knew he didn't have to worry too much about anything while you were here.

"I love you," he whispered, and you pressed the softest kiss to his lips. "I love you and the baby."

As you brushed your fingers back through his hair, you told him, "Please don't barf in my Bronco, Sweetheart."

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

Bradley couldn't even move until Sunday afternoon. You tried your best not to laugh too much, but the combination of his hangover and the sunburn were perhaps the funniest thing you'd ever seen. He was walking around the house completely naked and holding his head. When you tried to facetime your parents, you had to send him back to the bedroom, and you could hear him moaning the whole time. 

"Do you want more aloe?" you asked him as you munched on a peanut butter cracker. "Or something to eat."

"Stop talking about food," he begged from his spot on his stomach on the bathroom floor. "And if you put more aloe on my back, I need you to do it very softly. Like how gentle I was with your tits, okay?" Then he groaned and lifted his head up from the bath mat. "God, I can't even fuck you properly right now."

You squeezed aloe onto your hands and carefully massaged it into his skin. "That's okay. Maybe you can watch me masturbate later?"

"Fuck! That's like a punishment! My hands are fine. I'll finger you. It'll be great." He winced as you rubbed him a little too hard by accident, so you kissed his pink cheek. 

"Just rest up, Daddy. We have a big week. I need to finish my portion of the presentation for Annapolis."

"I can help you practice it," he promised, petting Tramp when he wandered in to get an update on things. "And don't forget about 4:30 on Wednesday afternoon. That's the most important part of the week."

You combed your fingers through his hair, and his eyes closed as your tummy swooped. "First appointment with the obstetrician," you whispered. Excitement filled you up every time you thought about it, but so did a bit of anxiety. You'd been waiting seemingly forever to get to this point, and as you rubbed your sore hip, your mind filled with negative thoughts. What if they couldn't do an ultrasound? What if you didn't get to see the baby? What if there was something wrong?

"Hey." Bradley was sitting up, and his arms were open for you even though he looked a bit like a lobster. You crawled willingly into his overheated embrace, and if you were hurting him, he didn't say a word about it. "Wednesday, Baby Girl. I couldn't be more excited. Just wait, everything will be perfect."

You were surprised to find that the week didn't drag too much. Work was busy, and Bradley's sunburn was starting to peel. When you were on the verge of tears on Tuesday night because your libido was so insane right now, he fucked you hard in the kitchen while he said, "Next time, please force me to reapply the sunblock!"

"I will," you moaned as you came, delighting in the feeling of perfect release. 

And next thing you knew, it was Wednesday, and you were about to meet your new doctor for the first time. And hopefully you were going to see your baby for the first time.

"Are you nervous?" you asked Bradley as he laced his fingers with yours as you sat in the quiet waiting room together. There were expectant mothers at varying stages of pregnancy sitting around you, and you tried to imagine how big you'd be in a few more months. 

"Excited," he replied, kissing your cheek and ear. "Just really fucking excited. I've been thinking... about starting a notebook. Kind of for the baby? Like how sometimes I like to write down what I'm thinking and feeling for myself."

You nodded. "I love your deployment notebooks. I love what you wrote about me."

He kissed you hard on the lips. "I think I want the baby to be able to read about how much I was looking forward to meeting them. When they're older, I mean. They can read about how I feel like my heart is going to pound out of my chest right now," he said with a laugh. "And how I can't wait to hold them and give them a name. All about how much I love their mom."

Tears filled your eyes as you turned to tuck your face against his neck. "I like that idea." You kissed the side of his neck and told him how much you loved him back, and then you jolted in your seat as a friendly looking nurse called your name. 

"Come on back, you two," she said with a smile. "Hopefully mom and dad can leave with some new family photos."

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

I'm hoping for a family photo in the next part! I also don't know how she's going to survive Annapolis right now. I also can't believe Maria and Bob aren't about to fuck nasty. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 30

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[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (2)

Summary: Terry and Treece are feeling the sparks again.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,659

Part: 2 of ??

Warnings: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Previous

Grocery shopping was Patrice's private pastime. She was the queen of her universe when she walked through aisles every Saturday morning. Every flash bargain and value-sized item bent to her will for a chance at making it to her humble abode and fulfilling its one purpose in life. Employees greeted her like royalty. Customers started conversations like old friends, always giving her the scoop on any sale they'd overheard in their neighborhood Facebook groups. She was happy. She was zen. She was in her element.

"Do you need this?" 

She was a woman dragging around a large man intent on breaking any modicum of concentration she had left.

Patrice stopped and looked over her shoulder at Terry, who held a bag of cotton candy grapes up in the air for her inspection. "No, TJ. Put it down." 

"Why? You like grapes." 

"Because we're getting grapes from the farmer's market. Now, put it back."

Her rebuke was sweet but stern. Having him as a way too familiar roommate was becoming easier as the days passed. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the freedom to go for a walk, watch a movie on the couch, or even enjoy an intimate moment alone in her own house without a man looming somewhere in the very near background. 

He didn't allow her to travel alone, and she never had the energy to protest. 

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a kid," he grumbled as he put the grapes back in their place.

"Then stop acting like one. I have a list. I know what I need." 

"I know what I need." He exaggerated his mimicry for maximum effect. 

"You see how that was childish?" 

"Whatever." 

Patrice ignored him in favor of browsing packages of beef for the best deal. If she didn't respond, maybe he would get the hint. And, for a few moments, he did. Terry took a break in conversation to scan the immediate area quietly. He noted each patron and their most important details before checking the exit and entry points at the front of the store. They weren't secure enough, but he could manage if the situation required evacuation.

A lack of action soon turned his attention back to Patrice, who still hadn't decided. He gave her a slow once over and smiled at how much focus she put into such a simple choice. Her brow remained furrowed in intense thought, transforming her into the ninth-grade Patrice he met during a chance encounter in the library. Truthfully, he didn't have much of an opinion either way. He just wanted to talk to her every second of the day, even if it meant being annoying. 

"Get that one." 

His sudden interruption startled Patrice out of her zone, adding a final straw to an already exhausted camel's back. Terry grinned in triumph as she closed her eyes for a calming breath. 

"Terry," she spoke, slow and measured to keep the peace. "Take the other half of this list and get out of my face. Don't come back until you find everything. I'll meet you at the register." 

She didn't give him much time to protest before she shoved a carefully torn half of paper into his chest and sent him on his way. He gave her a sarcastic salute, which she waved off without a second look. She needed a moment alone and didn't care if he came back with Fruity O's instead of Fruit Loops if that meant he would be out of her hair for more than 10 minutes. 

Terry found himself slowly meandering around the grocery store with a tiny basket in tow, exhausted by all the options on each aisle. If Patrice hadn't been so meticulous with her lists, he would've given up on the mission and gone back to home base with his tail tucked between his legs. 

After sourcing the perfect pint of Oreo ice cream as an apology for his behavior, Terry found himself drawn to the sound of laughter on the next aisle. Sure enough, Patrice was parked by the frozen vegetables and engaged with a man dressed in the store's colors with his eyes directed far too low to be looking at Patrice's face. 

Terry quickly reached her location, stopping behind Patrice to show her guest the full extent of his scowl. 

Patrice noticed how his once loose body language had gone stiff and sighed. She didn't need to investigate the problem. Only her human pitbull could make a man cower in fear like that. 

"Derrick, this is Terry. Terry, this is Derrick. He usually helps me get stuff to my car." 

"Ah, man. It's a good thing I'm here, right? We don't need you taking too many breaks from stocking. Mornin' rush can get crazy." 

"Terry," Patrice admonished with a harsh whisper and an elbow to his stomach. 

Terry remained steadfast, keeping his eyes on Derrick while taking one step closer. A taunting smile tugged on the right side of his mouth. He waited on any sign of fight from his unspoken adversary. 

Derrick stood in palpable discomfort, sizing up the outcomes if he decided to test his luck. Each mental scenario led him back to some instance of physical harm on his last shift of the week. He had plans for the weekend, none involving a trip to the emergency room.

Patrice stood between a rock and a hardheaded man, praying that the Lord would end her suffering.

"That's what I was about to say," Derrick answered before shifting his attention back to Patrice. "I think I oughta get going. See you around, Ms. Ellis?" 

"Same time next week." 

He nodded in half-hearted agreement and hurried out of dodge, with Terry keeping a watchful eye until he was safely around the corner. 

Patrice groaned with one hand, rubbing tight circles at her temple. "What in the hell was that about?" 

"He wouldn't even look you in the eye. If he can't look you in the eye when he's speaking, he can't protect you, and he doesn't respect you." 

"I'm not looking for his protection. I need this water loaded into my trunk every week when you aren't here!" 

"I'll never not be here. Problem solved."

His declaration was so sure, so matter of fact, that it left Patrice no room for retort. So she resorted to schoolyard antics. 

It was her turn to mock him with an exaggerated, deep voice. "Problem solved. Push the damn cart since you got so much energy." 

He obliged without protest and a proud, self-satisfied grin that Patrice couldn't see while she led the way to the register. An unexpected system error had halted all transactions, leaving them log jammed in a long line of restless customers. 

Together, they stood sharing light banter and running through weekend tasks, resembling any other couple making a store run to strangers observing them from the outside looking in. Former acquaintances, however, had no problem drawing attention to the pair from three spots back in line. 

"I know that ain't who I think it is." Both Patrice's and Terry's eyes darted up to find the source of the loud outburst, only to whisper 'fuck’ in tandem when they spotted Katrina Spivey waving her arms to grab their attention. "Hey, Terry Richmond!" 

Terry pretended to ignore being singled out by turning his back, earning a stifled laugh from Patrice. Katrina, not one to be deterred, used the moment to push past patrons in line until she reached her destination with a host of angry faces in her wake. 

"Well, if it ain't Mr. and Miss Homecoming in the flesh. You two finally stopped kidding around and got married?" 

"No," Terry answered without much explanation, his back still turned. Patrice reluctantly made up his slack. 

"What Terry meant to say was that we're not married. We're not together at all, actually. But he's here to visit me for a while." 

"What a blessing it is to have friends you can lean on when you need a helping hand."

"Amen."

An awkward tension settled into the conversation's lull, compounded by Terry's outright refusal to engage. Patrice was in deep water without a paddle and a co-captain who had already jumped ship.

Katrina wouldn't let the conversation end and take her newfound place in line. She continued to pry.

"Both of y'all look good! How long has it been since we last saw each other, huh? Gotta be since Terry's graduation send-off." 

Patrice feigned interest with a hollow smile. "Yeah, I think that was it. A looong time ago. All grown up now."

"And thank God for it! I remember how sad you looked all night because ol' Terry was moving away. Like a little crying puppy!" 

Katrina's laughter didn't quite reach Terry or Patrice, who bristled at mentioning one of the more contentious nights in their friendship. 

"Everybody's been a little young and dumb, right? Like when you and BJ got caught underneath the bleachers during state championships." 

Checkmate. A little reminder of her indiscretions had turned Katrina's condescending smile into a mean mug that could burn through anyone not equally as stubborn. 

Terry showed his approval with a light nudge against Patrice's arm. That was his girl. Sweet as pie but a tongue coated in venom when backed against the wall. He'd been on the receiving end on one too many occasions. It felt good to be on the winning side this time. 

Three seconds of a Western standoff had culminated in a gift sent via store intercom. 

"Apologies for the stoppage, folks. Our registers are back up and running. Thanks for your patience." 

Terry moved the cart to place items on the conveyor belt while Patrice waited for the conversation to resume.

Recovering from the sharp end of a verbal lashing, Katrina cleared her throat and grabbed hold of her cart in preparation to skip lines. 

"Well, I don't wanna hold y'all too much longer. If y'all don't think you're too good to mingle with us Francis High Hornets anymore, Corey's throwing a little Juneteenth gathering at his daddy's pool hall. This is my personal invite for the both of you."

"We were already invited. Maybe we'll make an appearance." 

"That'd be grand." 

"I bet it would."

Nice nasty smiles passed between the two foes until Katrina was off to harass some other unsuspecting patron. 

Patrice tried to let go of her frustration with an angry huff before turning to catch up with Terry, who was casually moving groceries from the bagging station to the shopping basket. He waited a moment before acknowledging the obvious. 

"You over it now, or do I need to iron a shirt for tonight?" 

"I'm over it," Patrice answered plainly. She calmly handed over payment for the day's groceries and smiled ever so sweetly to bid the cashier farewell. To an outsider, she'd returned to her zen state without much effort. Terry was no outsider and kept a cautious eye on her as they loaded bags into the trunk and got settled in the front seat of her SUV. 

"You sure you're good," he asked as he backed out of their parking space. 

"I'm sure, TJ," she answered with almost too much enthusiasm. Terry started a mental countdown for the other shoe to drop. "I'll iron the shirt. You need to shave." 

--------

The final verdict? A plain white T-shirt. 

An hour of searching, choosing, rejecting, and choosing again led them to a plain, crisp white tee. Patrice said it went better with her yellow wrap dress, which she chose because her girlfriends were all in dresses, and she wanted to match the occasion. It all sounded like made-up bullshit to Terry. Still, he accepted being treated like a Ken Doll because it meant that his Barbie would agree to a two-hour hard stop at the festivities. 

He'd already started his stopwatch when they pulled up on a busy street in front of an even busier hole in the wall.

The smell of fresh grease greeted them upon crossing the threshold from outside into Mister C's Bar and Lounge. Fried fish, French fries, and wings in any flavor you could ask for sat in the service window, waiting for their delivery to any one of the patrons packed from wall to cinderblock wall. Terry inhaled deeply and let his scowl drop for one second to fantasize about a bite of Corey Sr.'s signature catfish and fries basket. 

Next came the familiar mix of sweat and weed near the dancefloor as bodies intertwined to some GloRilla song neither of them recognized. Thick traffic in the center of the room paused Patrice on her path to the pool tables, locking her between Terry and a crowd that wouldn't budge. 

"Excuse me!" she shouted over a swell of crowd reaction to a new song. "I need to get by!" 

No response. Not even a look back as she used a hand to create space between her and a group of men debating nonsense. Before she could try again, Terry used one hand to push her forward and his voice to clear the way. 

"Yo, step out of the way. We need to get through." Direct and to the point. He left no room for misinterpretation, and his baritone's boom left no confusion about who was calling the shots. Patrice watched with her lips slightly parted in awe. 

The first reaction to his demand was the embers of confrontation. Each member of the group sized Terry up, noticing his heavy scowl and size in comparison to their own. Then, they realized that this wasn't a winning game. 

The flashiest of the group nodded, though disdain at the mere suggestion that he was in the way kept his mouth in a tight frown. "Yeah, you good, OG. My fault." 

Another light push propelled Patrice forward as Terry maintained with each man until they had passed. 

Once they were out of the mix and nearing their destination, he advised, "Stay close." Patrice nodded her compliance, shocking Terry into a slight smile in appreciation for her obedience. 

Sparks of electricity shot between them but had no time to turn into a total current before Corey called out to them. 

"Treece! Terry! We over here!" 

Surrounded by familiar faces from Francis Edward's Class of 2010, Corey welcomed them with open arms and his ever-present 100-watt smile. At a slight 5'6", 150 on his best day, he'd always been larger than his frame would suggest. Loud and flamboyant had always been the name of his game, earning him anything he set his sights on.

It didn't take long for the trio and Corey's wife, June, to fall into familiar habits and friendly jabs at one another as they took their seats in a makeshift VIP section by the pool tables. The Three-Headed Monster was their moniker in high school, and they moved like a military force. Terry was the enforcer, while Corey and Patrice served as judge and prosecutor. If you had an issue with one, you had an issue with all three. 

"Your security is lax. Who trained them?" Terry pointed out during a dead spot in conversation. 

Corey followed his eyeline to the two young men standing at the door and back. "My boy at the sheriff's office. What you see?" 

"They look soft. It wouldn't take much to overpower them and get in for some drama. You only have one exit. Somebody breeches this place, and you're on the hook for a tragedy. Plus, the one on the left is scared. He'll be the first to leave if things get hot. Watch him."

"Impressive," June remarked, smiling at Patrice, who subtly playfully waved her off.

"Hm." Corey took a long pull from his cigar, taking in the information before responding." You here for a minute, T? I got some connections over at Liberty if you looking to get back in the swing of things." 

"Contract?" 

"Whatever you need, man. You know I'm good for it."

Terry looked over at Patrice for some indication that she believed in Corey, and she returned with a subtle nod and encouraging smile. June looked between them and then at her husband before clearing her throat. 

"It looks like Kel and his boy are back on the pool table. You know he still owes you a game from when he cheated last week." 

"Hell yeah," Corey agreed as he turned in his seat to get a look at his enemy. "Aye, T, you trynna make $100 real quick?" 

"It's either that or you gotta come dance with me," Patrice challenged. "This rum and pineapple got me feeling a little loose." 

She wasn't lying. A taste of alcohol in her system was starting to make her want to explore parts of the Patrice she thought she left at North Carolina A&T. Every heart-rattling thump of Megan Thee Stallion's latest and greatest had her thinking about reminding everyone in the room that she could move with the best of them. 

Her little grind in her seat made Terry show teeth in a small grin before he stood to his full height and looked down at her. His eyes were hooded and dreamy from some combination of exhaustion and a contact high, reintroducing that spark from before.

"Don't go too far. I'll be back with your money in a little bit." 

Patrice's tongue felt too heavy to respond coherently past a punch-drunk nod. June watched her watch him make his way down the platform and into the crowd until both men were out of earshot. 

She whistled and shook her head. "That's a good-looking man, ain't he?" 

"Who? Corey? He alright. He's like a slightly more attractive Taye Diggs." 

"First off, ouch," June laughed. "Second, I was talking about Terry. He was cute in high school, but I'll be damned if that second puberty didn't take him to a whole 'nother level." 

"Don't tell him that. His head is big enough."

"You know you wrong for that." If the music weren't so loud, everyone in the building would've heard the pair guffawing over Patrice's petty insult. 

Once they contained themselves, June took a sip from her margarita and shifted in her seat to get closer to Patrice.

"He likes you still." Five plain words shook Patrice internally as she struggled to maintain a poker face. June continued. "I see the way he looks for your approval and damn near trips on himself to fulfill your every whim. You're all he talks about when he and Corey get on the phone." 

"They talk?" 

"From time to time. I think he needs a man's opinion sometimes, you know?" 

Patrice wrestled with the influx of information as June continued. 

"That man is mean as a snake. Always has been and always will be. But, you bring something out of him. Even if you can't always see it." 

"If that were the case, things would've been different for us back then." 

June shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you're right where you're supposed to be. I know I can't make you do what you don't wanna do, but if what I say means anything, focus on today. Thirty-two-year-old Terry is so much more prepared to love you than eighteen-year-old Terry was." 

Punctuating her advice, June tapped Patrice's leg twice before taking a step away to refill their tray of food. 

Focus on today.

The words replayed in her mind repeatedly; even after their two hours were up, Terry had returned $100 richer, and they were back on the road to their quiet slice of the world. 

They rode together in content quiet, letting the Quiet Storm host talk while Terry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. 

Randomly, he would glance in her direction, assuming she had lost the sleep battle to her old friend Bacardi. When he reached over to adjust the air vent on her side of the car, he was surprised when she mumbled a low "thank you." 

"My bad. I thought you were sleeping." 

"No. My head is swimming, though. Don't let me drink that much anymore." she laughed. 

He chuckled along with her but didn't agree to keep her from letting her hair down occasionally. In his eyes, seeing her relaxed and carefree was a gift to the world. 

The opening notes of Tevin Campbell's "I'm Ready" swirled around them, sounding like a secret message to Patrice as she focused on streetlights to keep the contents of her dinner inside her stomach. 

"Hey," she whispered before she could catch herself. Terry acknowledged her with a glance. "Do you think you're still scared?" 

"Of what?" 

"Of whatever kept you away for so long?"

He thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he was clear with his word. "No. I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of bringing you along for a ride I might not survive. That's not a threat anymore. So, no, I'm not scared anymore."

You know I'm ready

To love you

Forever 

Patrice reached across the center console until she reached Terry's hand to interlock her fingers with his. He gave her an appreciative squeeze without taking his eyes off the road. 

"I-I don't think I'm scared anymore either."

Her heart raced wildly behind her ribs, and Patrice was that if Terry pressed his wrist close enough to hers, he could feel her pulse accelerate. He didn't mind either way. Sweaty palms and trembling fingers would never be enough for him to let her go. Not again. 

As if she'd break if he moved too fast, Terry brought her hand to his lips slowly. One kiss. Another. Two more. And a final one for good measure. 

When he'd had his fill of her skin, he pressed the spot up against his cheek. He needed to feel and absorb her until they were one body. 

But, for tonight at least, this was enough.

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse

[ineffablyruined]

I want to talk about THAT smile. The one from the elevator. The one that scares us (or maybe just me).

This one:

It's stayed with me since the first time I saw it. Michael Sheen is an absolute master of his face, so this sinister smile means something. I don't believe that it's a forced smile that he's pasting on before he enters Heaven. It looks absolutely malevolent.

And I just couldn't figure out WHY.

Aziraphale just left everything he loves behind: humans, food, bookshop, and Crowley. Crowley most of all. He was devastated after that kiss, devastated that Crowley wouldn't just come with him so they could be together. He was hurt, shattered, unsure of himself and his decision. So why the practically evil face?

I don't subscribe to the Coffee Theory. I think it takes too much away from the emotional and character development and everything the fandom went through in those last 10 minutes for Neil to pull the rug out from under us like that.

So if he's not drugged, then what's the face?

The Metatron just dropped a bomb on him. The Second Coming. Heaven's going to restart the apocalypse. End the Earth. The place where he'd just left the love of his life and everything he holds dear. Make everything they'd fought for absolutely meaningless.

And then I remembered this face:

See how similar they are?

I've seen a lot of people put this down to a repeat body swap theory, but I don't buy that either. I think that would be less inspired than what we've come to expect from the brilliance of Neil's and Terry's minds.

I'm going on a bit of a tangent here for a second, but I promise it will make sense in a minute. When the demons were coming for them, Nina told Aziraphale that he shouldn't wait to be saved by Crowley, that he should come up with his own plans and save himself. And he did, but it wasn't a total plan. It was the beginnings of one. He held them off, but when his plan ran out of time, it put him and the two humans (except maybe not -> looking at you, Maggie) he's come to care about at risk. Then he had to do something reckless and probably stupid, and it worked, but it was too close.

Back to the matter at hand:

These two perfectly wonderful, complete f*cking morons have spent the last 4 years together. Probably daily. And do you know what happens when you spend so much time together?

You start picking up the other person's mannerisms, mirroring speech patterns and body language.

My theory:

Aziraphale spent that elevator ride coming up with a plan. He's come up with something that he thinks will be so clever, so unexpected of him (an angel), so Crowley-esque, that the Metatron will never see it coming. And he's not about to cock it up like he did in the bookshop, show up with only a half-baked plan.

No. He's got something positively diabolical. Something inspired by Crowley. So he makes the face that he's learned from spending four years in the daily company of the original owner of that expression. The only face he could possibly make when figuring out how to save the world and get back to his demon. And thinking about how much he can't wait to tell a Crowley how clever he's been.

That face is 6000 years of togetherness in the making.

[ghost-bison]

i became curious and searched up how the name "dalek" came to be:

at first, i thought it must have something to do with the norwegian word "dårlig", which means "bad", because of the doctor's reaction in 2x13 "doomsday" when rose said they were in bad wolf bay ("dårlig ulv stranden" if i'm not mistaken): he thought she'd said "dalek". but if you look up the pronunciation, it sounds more like /dɔːleh/ (approximate english phonetic transcription) than how she said it, /dɑːlɪg/ so i thought, even though the mix-up between "dårlig" and "dalek" was done on purpose and the definition, "bad", would be pretty damn on-the-nose, it's not it. so i did some more research.

apparently, it was terry nation (the guy who invented the daleks and davros in, i guess, 1962) who came up with it. according to him, the name simply "rolled off his typewriter", so it wasn't supposed to mean anything. but like me, he got curious and found out that the word "dalek" is serbo-croatian for "far, distant".

this really pleased me for two separate reasons: first, and this is the most obvious interpretation, the daleks are aliens from a distant world, far from earth. but i mean, to daleks or chelonians or raxacoricofallapatorians or any other alien species, the same can be said for earthlings: we are far, distant from them, and any and all species are far and distant from us.

but! if you think of the other meaning behind "distant", not geographically speaking but culturally/morally speaking, that's when things get interesting: the reason the daleks are the main foe in doctor who is that they are detached, so different from any and every other enemy the doctor and unit and torchwood and the shadow proclamation and such have ever had to fight. they keep surviving and coming back because they are so distant, so alien (in the "bizarre" sense of the word) to all other species.

if you take, for example, us humans, the doctor loves our species because of our capacity for love, forgiveness, change, compassion. you see it in the people he picks: rose, martha, then donna, etc. they represent everything he loves in a human being. everything he needs, everything he misses since his own species, which used to be capable of those feelings too, has gone.

he doesn't pick soldiers and has an aversion toward them, because as much as he pretends to hate it when his companions "wander off", he keeps choosing people whom he knows will wander off, people who will question his orders, people whom he doesn't have to feel or be superior to. whereas soldiers, they are conditioned not to question, and to follow instructions, to do as they are told.

in 1x06 "dalek", when nine realizes that the dalek's gun isn't working, he says "if you can't kill, then what are you good for, dalek? what's the point of you?". then, the dalek tells the doctor, "i am a soldier, i was bred to receive orders".

soldiers, whatever species they are, are too much like daleks: they wouldn't question him. that's why, when he realized he was the last of his species, the dalek turned to the doctor, his greatest enemy ("then what should i do?"), and then rose ("order me to die"), for orders. that's why twelve refused to keep journey blue as his traveling companion in 8x02 "into the dalek": people who don't question orders are dangerous to his lifestyle.

he needs people who go against what he says. not only that, but the doctor is, himself, a soldier of sorts, and sometimes he needs the right orders (1x06 "dalek": "what the hell are you changing into, doctor?" -rose ; "the runaway bride": "doctor, you can stop now"/"sometimes i think you need someone to stop you" -donna ; 4x02 "the fires of pompeii": "not the whole town, just save someone" -donna). else caecilius' family would have died in pompeii. else the doctor would use guns, he would die, he would try to break fixed points in time, he would lose himself.

in that sense, the daleks are as far from the doctor and his children of time as can be. i wrote about it somewhere in a one-shot someday: "the daleks weren’t robots, per se, but they kind of were, for someone like the doctor, or the humans, who both felt everything so deeply when all those monsters knew was hatred".

the daleks are to the doctor what dependence and servitude are to freedom, and in that sense, they are distant.

[theblacklewinsky]

Note: Hey y'all! I hope y'all enjoy, the next one might be submissive Terry idkidk 🫣 kinda hate this one.

Perfect Gentleman. | Aaron Pierre.

Gentle!Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader

Warnings: MNDI!! this story is 18+ with depictions but not limited to; sexual content ( penetrat!on, oral s3x ( m receiving), extreme language (cursing, sexual references) established relationship, slight daddy kink if you squint. Not proofread!

Summary: terry's been the perfect gentleman, maybe a little too gentle.

swear you can have me, you really one-of-one.

how you so nasty? you really one-of-one.

You eagerly scratched the itch away in your bitten up ankles. The mosquitoes out here in the Black Bayou had torn your exposed ankles up—and this was why camping wasn't your thing. You'd never complain though, any excuse to be with Terry was a good one.

"I told you to wear long socks," he chuckled looking back you and at how you'd scratched the skin on your ankles red, "all that gardenin' you do and you out here with no socks on," he softly lectured as you watched him pitch the tent, at his demand. He was such a gentleman.

You'd been dating Terry for over four months, you've both went on a plethora of dates, had the steamy first kiss, and even spent a night at each others apartment, but you still hadn't fucked yet. Was it you? You knew you had an Oscar worthy performance of your coy-innocent act that Terry ate up all of the time, but you weren't a prude. You couldn't count how many times you'd hinted, and seduced only to be met with more gentleness.

And you loved how patient, protective, and gentle he was with you. He was everything you'd practically asked for when you started dating. A nice man, a sweet man—and you got it, a full blown golden retriever boyfriend. He had so many amazing qualities, he was always on time arriving fifteen minutes early. Something he said was one of the most useful things he learned from his time in the Marine Corps. He was a full blown de-escalator, he never wanted to argue with you, always communicating as calmly as he could before coming to an understanding with you. He was gentle. But maybe he was too gentle? You wanted Terry in the worst ways. It didn't help that he stayed in good shape, gym four times a week, and his infinite morning runs kept him in tip-top shape.

You pouted, squinting your eyes as you looked at Terry from underneath the brim of the Nike bucket hat you'd retrieved from him. Although he was pitching the tent and the sun was currently beating down on him, he decided that, you, sitting in the shade doing nothing, needed the hat more. Such a man.

"You said come comfortable, and I garden in my crocs—that's what I came in!" You defended your reasoning for not wearing the socks that he did tell you to pack last night over a quick FaceTime call, but he did say come comfortable in the same sentence. "These mosquitos are relentless, baby, look at my ankles!" You frowned looking at how red and irritated the skin has gotten there even on your deep brown skin.

Of course Terry stopped his meddling with the tent and came over to assess your so badly injured ankles. He tsk'd softly his big hands cradling both of your ankles gently. Now push them behind my head! you eagerly thought feeling him touch you at all always sent shocks and shivers through your body.

"They eatin' my baby up," he somberly acknowledged rubbing his thumbs where the bites were firmly, "you put bug spray on like I told you?"

You nodded. "Yeah, just go and finish the tent," you dramatically sighed waiting to eagerly scratch at the bites, "I'll just be sitting over here, itchy, getting ate up." At least something was eating you up.

He brought your left ankle up to his lips casually, placing a soft kiss there before setting the both of them back down carefully. You almost moaned, it had been way too long. "stop scratchin' at em, you makin' em worse."

You looked at him, batting your eyelashes at him a dazed nod following right behind. He was so gorgeous, and it didn't help that he was so sweet and treated you like the absolute brat you were. He continued on with his quick work with the tent and you continued on with your sneaky scratching. After it was perfectly pitched, he got you inside as soon as it was done to rub a bit of alcohol on your itchy ankles and making you put on a pair of his socks that were way too big for you.

You frowned looking down at your legs later that night as you both set around the campfire, that you had gotten started. You hadn't forgotten all the survival tips your father had shown you. Terry focused on cooking the fish he and you caught earlier from the pier. He'd cleaned it and dissembled it himself. "These are puttin' a damper on my outfit, so not cute."

Terry chuckled, quickly flipping the searing fish over in the pan. Your eyes flickered over to him. "What?"

"You so country," he commented through a light chuckle, "damper?"

"That's not country!" You defended through a smile. "Everybody says damper!"

"Nobody says damper,"

"Does too!"

"Why you gotta be such a brat? Why you act like that?" He teased playfully, holding his hand out to you only to pull you up from your chair and into his lap. "Hm?" He hummed nuzzling his faced into your neck where he playfully nipped at the skin on your neck, knowing the ticklish effect it had on you.

You laughed hunching your shoulder up to push him away from the area, "stop!" The assault lasted a few more minutes before he reluctantly stopped, only when he seen the tears from your nonstop laughter, and how you cradled your aching stomach when you laughed.

"Brat," he mumbled in between persisting kisses to your lips. You happily returned each one, who were you to deny the brat allegations. They were very true. "Always gotta have yo way."

"You love how bratty I am," you retorted, trailing your own lingering kisses from his lips, to his jaw, to his neck.

"I do," he mumbled out an agreement making you laugh against his neck before continuing on, and you thought maybe, as his hands kneaded the back of your thighs and the undersides of your ass. But all that came undone when he urgently removed you from his lap in light hysterics about almost burning the fish.

The fish.

How could he even think about fish when he had your throbbing pussy in his lap, was he really blind to all this shit? Or was he just not sexually attracted to you? Or was he fucking celibate? The questions brought on a lingering insecurity. The rest of the night you were more distant, quiet, the situation left you a little embarrassed and salty. You'd never had a man be so indifferent to your advances. Or did he even see them as advances? Hell, you didn't know anymore.

Your distance and quiet demeanor didn't go unnoticed either Terry, who constantly made it his mission to see if you were okay and enjoying yourself. You answered the same all the time, yes, which did very little to comfort him—but he also didn't wanna push you into irritation.

"You sure you good, baby?" He asked later that night as you both settled into the cozy tent. You made sure to nestle yourself into your cute, pinky, sleeping bag. It was so you.

"Yeah." You simply answered with a nod, forcing the weak smile. Such a liar. But you weren't gonna admit that the situation left you feeling a little salty. You didn't wanna bring the situation up at all, you'd much rather forget it.

"You sure? You not actin' like yourself, baby. You want me to take you home?" There he went. Being so him. Always being so caring.

"No, I'm fine. It's nothing really, im just..itchy still." You seamlessly lied. Or maybe not. You were still itchy.

Terry decided not to press the issue instead making sure he got as close as possible to you, something he always did when you slept together, he loved being right up under you—you didn't contest to it. Ever. You both gave your good nights, and Terry made sure to turn off the LED lantern lamp you both had in the tent. A soft and easy silence falling over the both of you. Terry's soft breathing, body heat, chirping crickets and the pitch black were enough to lull you to sleep. And they almost did, but damn, you were still itchy.

You brought your knees to your chest, hastily scratching at your extremely itchy ankles, a heavy, draws out sigh from the temporary but almost euphoric relief skipped past your lips.

"Stop scratchin'." Terry's deep voice but through the silence, the raspiness on the edge of his voice attributed to the sleep that had took him in quick. The words halted your actions quickly as you tried to quietly morph into a comfortable position.

"I'm not," you spoke quietly.

"But you were."

His damn hearing. He heard everything.

"Well I wouldn't have been if I was doing something else." Your tone snappy but the suggestiveness fore fronted the sassiness.

"Somethin' else like what?" Terry questioned.

You huffed immediately, sitting up abruptly from your sleeping bag and flickering the lantern on. "Are you really that clueless?" You exclaimed almost, looking at his ever so lost expression. "Terry, are not you sexually attracted to me?"

Terry looked at you as if you'd grown two heads. Like he couldn't understand why you'd ask him such a question, like you didn't know he was a full blown raging man. "Why would you even ask me that, of course im sexually attracted to you, baby."

"You don't act like it," you quietly murmured, "it's like every time I try, you pull back. What is it? I really thought I was obvious enough with everything."

And you were. Terry wasn't ignorant to your advances. But he also wasn't ignorant to your past relationships and the men that you dealt with. Full blown sex addicts a few of them seemed to be, and some of them seemed unable to form a real bond with you without sex. He wanted to prove to you that he actually liked you, that he wanted to get to know you past sex. That he wanted this to last. It'd taken copious amounts of restraint for him to slyly deter away from the advances. Copious amounts.

He wasn't exactly sure how he made it to four months himself, without caving in. Maybe it was his serious he'd gotten about your relationship, maybe it was genuine like for you that made it somewhat easy. He was still a man though, taking care of himself when he was finally away from you.

He said your name slowly, sitting up himself, "im utterly, completely, and deeply sexually attracted to you. But I wanna show you that when it comes to keeping this together, sex is indifferent to me. I don't want you to think we need that shit to connect. I genuinely like you, alot."

"I like you too, but I already knew that Terry," he softly laughed, the weight of the insecurities dropping off your shoulders. You couldn't believe that once again, all this time, the lack of sex was catered to his feelings about you. You were gonna fuck this man so good. So good. "I knew that at the end of the first date when you didn't try to kiss me when you dropped me off." You giggled at the recanting of the memory.

"I wanted you to feel it though."

"And I do feel it," you slinked even closer to him, hand trailing up his thigh, "I feel it so much." You looked up at him, batting your long lashes.

Terry sat there slack mouthed, brows furrowed, his stormy eyes looking down at you with bursting pleasure and astonishment as he watched you suck him down. How the fuck did you get so good at this shit? You'd completely covered his shaft in your saliva, you were loud and sloppy. Just how he liked it. Throat so tight around him, every time you nuzzled him in. You were dazed yourself, tasting him, having him in the back of your throat where you craved him so many times before. You were savoring all of this.

Your hands wrapped themselves around his girthy length, stroking them at a brisk pace, your wet mouth guiding them in their dizzying up and down movements. His grunts and groans of approval only furthered you to please him more. You looked up at him, eyes watery, and soft as you took him down, spit bubbles formed around him, as you nuzzled him in deeper into your mouth. Removing a spit soaked hand, you nuzzled that into your soaked panties, pleasing him, pleased you.

"Sss-shitttt," he drug out through a groan, his strong hand grasping the back of your neck, as he bucked himself up into your mouth, relentlessly fucking your throat. You shut your watery, burning eyes letting him use you how he wanted. "Fuck, eat that dick up baby. You do that shit so good," he slurred through his persisting moans.

That only furthered your arousal, which furthered your efforts. The rough gags and choking from you was almost enough to send him over the edge. Almost. You finally pulled back, giving him a chance to recover and giving yourself a chance to catch your ailing breathing.

You stroke him off, spitting down on his shaft in your hands, eagerly stroking the lubrication in, leaning your head down to suck one of his balls into your mouth; gently. You knew too much. How did you know so much?

"Why you so nasty?" He mumbled grabbing your chin once you were done tending to his balls. "Hm?" He hummed before pressing your wet lips to his own. His kiss rushed, sloppy, and deep. His tongue searched every inch of your mouth, his lips sucking your own into his mouth.

Oh he was nasty like that?

"Move," he knocked your hands away from his still hardened dick, "take that shit off." He comments taking heed to the articles of clothing you still had on, his own hands slithering under the oversized shirt you'd put on for bed.

"But I wanted to make you cum—" you started, wiping your wet mouth with the back of your hand once he eagerly pulled your t-shirt off, nipples immediately pebbling due to the exposure of the cool night air in the tent. You didn't get to finish your sentence before Terry's lips were already latched onto the flesh on your neck, creating red blemishes as he cascaded down your body skillfully.

"You bout to," he mumbled attaching his lips to yours once again, "open up," he tapped your jaw firmly, "lemme see." The firm taps to your jaw ignited the fire and aching need in your belly, a moan slipped past your lips as you opened like he asked.

You watched, dazed, as he spat down into your mouth. Oh, he was nasty.

It was like yin and yang to you. This couldn't be your Terry. Not the Terry that bought you flowers every Sunday and never let you lift a finger Terry. This was a different Terry, nasty Terry. Impatient Terry. Demanding Terry. Just what you wanted.

"Oh my god-uhhhh!" You slurred out through a moan. Terry's vice grip on your locs matched the same vice grip you currently had him in right now. He had you positioned on all fours, one hand on your hip to steady his hard, dizzying strokes. He was fucking you hard, too hard. Too good. Your thighs trembled beneath you, knees threatening to buckle as he slammed into your heated core repeatedly. It's like he knew exactly where that spot was located. "Right there, daddy! Right fucking there," you whimpered, face pressed pathetically on the pallet beneath you.

"I know, i feel that shit," he groaned, sending another hard smack to your ass cheek, the recoil from his pelvis constantly slamming into your ass had him in a complete daze. Four months he kept himself from this, restrained himself from what he knew had to be good. But he didn't expect it feel like this. "Wettin' me right the fuck up—mm mm, keep that shit right there, you better not fuckin' lay down, keep that shit open just like that." He mumbled out into the tent, taking into head your trembling legs. The lewd sounds of your sopping wet pussy, followed by the loud slapping of your skin together filled your tent and your empty head.

"Fuckkkk," you groaned out, managing to sit up in your elbows, acrylics clawing at the covers beneath you, your eyes crossed as you felt his tip kissing a little too deep, "so deep, baby."

"Mhm," he hummed pulling your head back with his tight grip on your hair, his lust filled glare looking right down into your own crossed eyes, "right where i should be. Look at you, takin' this dick like a good girl. This what you wanted right?"

"Yesssss," you managed to fully get out, a series of breath taking moans following. He was giving you exactly what you wanted; hard, rough shit. He was fucking you like he hated you, like he had a point to prove. This shit was only making you delusional did he not understand the type of you he would get now?

"Yeah? Wanted daddy to dig yo' shit out just like this, huh?" He nodded watching you nod in response, your breaths coming out in a series of heavy puffs. "I know you did, can tell by the way you creamin' on my dick."

"Shittt!" You gasped out the exploitive, planting your hands flat against the ground, mustering yo whatever weak energy you had to fuck yourself back against him, working toward your own impending orgasm. "I'm finna cum!" You rushed out.

Terry pulled you back toward his chest, your small frame engulfed in his as you sat promptly in his lap getting impaled in the most delicious way possible. You felt lightheaded, high, and perfect all at once. "Babyyyy, im cummin'!" You whined out.

"Keep tellin' me, do that shit. Lemme feel you cum on my dick," he grunted, the lewd works making you clench around him as they clearly sent you tumbling over the edge. Terry mocking your long, loud and drawn out moans with his own. His lips attacking wherever they could on your exposed neck. His impaling strokes never stopped, even when it was clear you'd completely rode it out. He kept fucking you, sending you into a deep place of overstimulation. When was he ever planning to cum?

"Look at you," he mumbled a smug smirk on his lips, hand firmly holding your slacked jaw in his hand, "dick got you dumb—breathe through that shit, baby." He tapped your jaw, repeatedly. The sight of you alone, plus the constant contracting of your walls around him had earned you a deliciously sounding groan. You hadn't even realized you were holding your breath until he spoke up.

Everything was too much. It was too much to focus on. The pleasure, his voice, his kisses. Forgetting to breathe in the middle of your overstimulation was warranted.

Your breaths cane tumbling back to you fast, hard and quick you panted. Body trembling in Terrys grasp, as dared to lean forward feeling another orgasm approaching, but this one felt harder. Body-shattering. It hurt and felt so good at the same time.

"Fuck, ima nut baby," Terry grunted in your ear. "Pussy so good, why yo shit so good like this?" Finally.

"Cum in my pussy, please daddy," was the first and only thing you could get out, not even warning him about your oncoming orgasm. This one cramped everything, the tightness in your stomach didn't subside but seemed to get tighter. Your thighs were numb, but your legs ached. The squeal you let out left your throat raw, and that's why you didn't hear Terry when he finally announced that he was cumming, but you felt him for sure, right where you told him to.

You felt Terry's lips against your jaw, kissing you repeatedly. Telling you how well you did for him, how he couldn't believe he kept himself away from that for four months. How good it was. These were finally the words that lulled you off to a blissful sleep, you'd finally got what you wanted. There you were, fucked out In a tent, with cum leaking out of you. Such a whore. A happy whore.

-

still no tag list! 😭 hope you enjoy this little filler! 💕

[skxllz]

Jealous Ian and Mickey??

say no more

+

“ 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲? ”

warnings; mickey being mickey. physical violence (typical shameless shit). ian with rings + getting arrested hehe. blood mention. I think that's it??

date posted; 12.9.23

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usually, ian wasn't the type to get jealous. he had his moments in the past with mick’, with that fucker that had talked shit on ‘im at the bar. and maybe that angie girl... but that was a while ago. maybe even with svetlana, but of course that couldn't be helped. and maybe that one time when they first met you...

okay, maybe ian did get jealous. but that was besides the fact. he's never felt uncontrollable rage before when it's come to anyone other than mickey. the time mickey and svetlana married? he wasn't just heartbroken; he felt the need to actually kill terry and tell svetlana to fuck off in front of everyone, even though technically the circumstances weren't her fault. with you, he's never felt that — not since you started dating him and mickey.

it's funny really, for both of them. it was the moment ian realized he actually was in love with you — same for mickey. only, mick’ didn't realize until after the fact.

it started off with an actual date night between you three. ian told you that him and mickey planned one a while ago but it never sought through because some bitch named sammy got him arrested. you didn't know who the sammy chick was, and ian didn't explain who she was, but you mentally vowed that night to stick it to her. that's why you took them both out a week later, to some fancy restaurant on the west side.

mickey complained about a few things on the way there; the fact that he had to wear a tux, the way it fit him, and that the west side was the last damn place he wanted to be. he claimed it was where the ‘ rich bitches with those stupid nose bandaids ’ live and he wanted no part of that parade. you reassured him though that those noses of theirs would end up bleeding if they gave him the slightest problem.

to say the least, you gave him a boner and a good convincing.

after you arrived at the destination, you had watched while entering the restaurant as the two males gawked at the scenery of the place. it made ian question you just how you were going to afford everything —in which you laughed and just replied with “ don't worry, i’ ”— and mickey mutter under his breath just how much the golden posts by the doorway would go for on ebay. you swatted him on the shoulder since you heard ‘im.

you guys’ little trio was escorted generously to a nice window booth at the back of the restaurant, giving a nice view of the back patio where a fountain and little glowy fairy lights were displayed; giving off a familiar, comfortable feel. and, although you felt as ease, you could mickey still did not by the way he was tugging at different ends of his suit and scooting around in his seat.

“ mick- y’okay? ” ian asked, giving a puzzled questionable expression. the red head had been reading over the drinks menu when he noticed his boyfriend acting out of place.

“ this place gives me the fucking quivers... ” mickey muttered, once again shifting. “ I feel like ‘m bein’ stared at. ”

ian snorted at that. usually mickey didn't let shit get to him - especially people, at that. if there a problem, he'd sort it out himself, so why was he acting off now. “ why's that bothering you? ”

you were now looking at mickey as well, expecting him to answer as you raised your brows curiously. you too wanted to know why he was acting differently.

“ because, ” he sighed in frustration, only then leaning across to table to harshly whisper to Ian, while sparing you a slight glance. “ because I rather not fuckin’ ruin this night for y/n, okay? jesus christ. ”

ian's lips formed an o shape in realization. you were more sensitive than they were, so he could understand why mickey felt that way — didn't want to embarrass you or anything. if that happened, who knows how long of a grudge you'd hold.

mickey sat himself back just as a waiter approached. he was tucking in his finely pressed, button down shirt into his apron, not necessarily paying attention to his surroundings as he dropped a pen from his pocket. y/n realized — and, the good samaritan he was, he scooted out from the booth to crouch down and pick it up.

“ uh- here, ” he stood, pushing his hand out towards the waiter. “ you dropped this. ”

“ oh, ” the waiter extended a hand to take his writing tool back. and, as he did so, lifted his head, “ thank you- y/n? ”

“ blake? ” y/n asked, surprise on his face. “ holy shit. ”

that right there is when the first wave of jealousy struck in the night. the look of realization on both of their faces made Ian and mickey exchange glances — and, although ian felt a twist in his stomach, he wasn't exactly indifferent about the reunion just yet. mickey was, though. he looked sour.

and he was right to. throughout the remainder of the hours there, their waiter, blake, would always give you a smile that was always more than just a smile. he'd stop by more often than meant to, as well. asking for refills when it wasn't necessary, stopping by seconds later thinking he forgot a plate when in reality there was none to take. it pissed your boyfriends off - mickey especially.

the brunette had to withhold standing up and violating the guy where he stands. in mickey's mind, he wishes, wishes, that his stare alone could make this blake motherfucker burst into flames. it'd make his year. probably ian's too, because mick’ knew for a fact that his ginger companion was ready to blow the minute blake stopped by to give you the check.

ian's fingers were death-gripping his fork and his jaw was set. eyes pointed towards the table... and you were oblivious to it - cause you were too busy smiling at him.

“ say- ” blake spoke as he handed off the little black booklet to you, “ since it's been awhile, I was just wondering, would you like to hang out sometime? ”

mickey's head snapped up then. “ the fuck? ” he finally broke for the night. he's had enough. “ no- no, he won't like to fucking hang out sometime, ” mickey mocked, looking absolutely fed up. “ are you fucking nuts? you got some cotton in your damn brain- low iq? ”

the look on blake's face was priceless. his eyes were wide, jaw was dropped open. the hand that had stretched out to take the check back, paused midair. even you were looking at mickey like he was bat shit insane.

which, he probably was. but honestly, what do you expect with dating a milkovich?

“ you need to fucking scram before I pop your head off’a your body like a fucking cork. ” mick’ spat finally - and that was the straw that left the drink empty. you heard enough, scooting closer to mickey to calm him down.

“ mick- ”

“ who the hell are you talking to? ” blake's response made you whip your head around in his direction, eyes as wide as golf balls. was this kid crazy?

mickey looked at ian, who was already looking at him, ready to murder someone, before steering his eyes back onto the blonde male. “ I think I'm fuckin’ talkin’ to you- now y/n, sweetheart, move so I can kill this fucking rat. ”

by now, everyone around was staring. low, hushed voices whispering to one another, other waiters and waitresses watching the scene go down with saucer-bound eyes. a few folks had their phones out, recording, while others were on the phone with police.

“ I'm not moving. ” you sternly spoke, looking mickey in the eye so he knew you meant business. “ you promised you wouldn't make a scene tonight yet here you are, doing exactly that. ”

arms dramatically launched out of gesture to the blonde waiter, “ he was clearly hitting on you! ” mickey emphasized, making sure to get in through your head that you were being blind. you were. “ he wants in your fucking pants! ”

“ he does not want in my pants! ”

“ yes he fucking does! ”

“ stop swearing at me! ”

“ oh fuck off, get a grip! ”

you both were too busy arguing to notice that ian had gotten up from the table and approached blake. it wasn't until you heard gasps around you and a loud “ fuck! ” come from said blonde, followed by a thud, did you and mickey raise your heads.

ian was shaking off his hand with a blank mask of anger while blake lied on the floor, clutching his nose. blood gushed out through the cracks of his fingers, the red liquid flowing down and hitting the dark flooring of the restaurant.

people around looked frightened; staring at ian in horror, as if he was a monster. it was dramatic really.

a few of blake's coworkers rushed to his aid while ian walked back over to you both. his fist was raw and red, and his knuckles were slightly split open, but it wasn't too bad besides that.

“ holy shit... ” mickey breathed out, eyeing blake's bloody face from over your shoulder as he was stood to his feet. he was wobbly, wincing, trying not to shout as someone bumped him. it looked as if ian broke his nose. “ holy shit. ”

“ ian! ” you hissed, “ what the fuck! ”

ian shrugged, “ he got what was coming to him. he shouldn't hit on what isn't his. ”

you blinked lazily. shoulders slumping, breathing coming out in realization. “ but... I'm yours? ”

mickey scoffed and slipped his arm around your shoulders. “ are you insane? of course your ours, y/n. I wouldn't bite someone's fucking dick off for you if you weren't. ”

ian nodded towards mickey, “ what he said. I wouldn't just punch anyone. the dick deserved it. ”

you were silent for a moment, processing the emotions you felt. even though the gossip around you was annoying, you weren't necessarily mad at your boyfriends. moreso, you were just annoyed because the rest of the date was ruined. sure, you had dinner, but you wanted to do much more.

of course though, you couldn't, because the cops ran through the entrance seconds later.

“ he's over there! ” you saw the hostess point towards your red haired companion. ian swore under his breath, only to turn on his heel and book it in the opposite direction.

“ run, i’! ” you scream, looking worried.

“ fucking run like hell, ian! ” mickey looked worried too, surprisingly. I mean, it was his boyfriend, but usually he wouldn't let his emotions get the best of him cause of his pride. but here we are.

the night ended off with ian getting put into cuffs and walked out to the cop car. You and mickey both promised to bail him out somehow, and that you'd explain everything to his siblings.

“ oh- hey, y/n? ” ian called, just as the officer was shoving him into the vehicle.

“ yeah? ” you call back.

“ I love you! ”

your heart damn near skipped a beat. chest fell as you lost breath, a smile of joy spreading across your face. with happiness now in your heart, you lifted your hand, waving him goodbye.

that's when mickey suddenly pulled you by the arm, ripping a gasp from you, and kissed your temple.

“ I love you too, weasel. ”