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sugarplum217 · 2 days ago

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The Fire We Make (Part Two)

Pairing: Terry Richmond X Black Female/Plus Size/Curvy Reader, MDNI

Warnings: very heavy smut, unprotected sex, nasty & dirty talk, mention’s of abuse, triggering topics, not suitable for anyone under 18+, oral sex, sort of a slow burn, casual sex, fluff, use of the N word, AAVE, somewhat age gap relationship, mentions of verbal abuse, use of abusive lanuage, alcohol usage, mentions of female masturbation, mentions of sexual assault and drug use, oral sex (female recieving) please

Authors Note: Please excuse any errors or mistakes, I hope you enjoy and please be kind.

Summary: You were supposed to be focused, handling your Nana’s last wishes, getting this house in order, and most importantly, staying out of trouble. But how the hell were you supposed to do that when trouble was six-foot-something, built like a sin, and living under the same damn roof? Terry was already making it hard to keep your thoughts pure, but when a little liquor enters the mix? Whew. The lines start blurring, the tension gets thicker, and suddenly, the two of you are toeing a line that neither of you might be ready to cross. But with confessions spilling, dangerous heat rising, and that fine ass man looking at you like he’s ready to ruin your whole damn world… staying away? Yeah. That might not be an damn option anymore.

You always knew your Nana had a funny way of doing things, but damn, you didn’t expect her to leave you damn near lost in the sauce when it came to handling her last wishes. You swore this woman had an aversion to clear instructions. You should’ve known better. Nana never wrote shit down, not a recipe, not a schedule, not even a damn grocery list. Everything she did was off instinct. She’d always tell you, “Baby, just follow your heart. It’ll lead you where you need to go.” That was cute and all, but what the hell was your heart supposed to do when you were knee deep in paperwork, fighting through legal vocabulary, and trying to make sure her precious land didn’t end up in the wrong hands?

You’d spent the past few days drowning in documents, back-and-forth phone calls with a bunch of old Southern men who thought you were just some clueless city girl, and running errands that felt like they had no end in sight. On top of all that, you had to deal with a whole grown-ass man—a man that was so damn fine he had your hormones setting up camp in your ovaries and throwing a block party every time he walked in the room.

This random-ass nigga Terry, the so-called “helper” who was supposed to be here to assist you, was doing the complete opposite. This man was a walking sexual healing, word to Marvin Gaye. The shit was becoming ridiculous. Your pussy damn near fell through your panties every single time he walked by.

Broad ass shoulders, arms cut like he was hand-carved by the gods, abs that looked like they belonged on a sculpture in a museum. And that face? Whew. That was a whole different kind of fine. I mean, not the kind of fine you run across too many times in life. Terry had one of them strong, grown man faces, sharp jaw, full lips, and for godsake those unique colored eyes that held a storm behind them. He looked like he had a past, like he’d been through some dangerous shit, like he was the type to handle business when necessary. In other words, he looked like the kind of trouble you had no business entertaining. Especially not in the frame of mind you were in, for crying out loud you were still technically grieving. But the way your body reacted? The way your thighs clenched every time his deep ass voice hit your ears? The way your nipples betrayed you whenever he got too close? Yeah… this wasn’t just simple attraction. This was some next level, soul-stirring, I need to be baptized immediately type of undeniable lust.

The sun had been on demon time all damn day. You swore the devil himself had blown his hot-ass breath straight onto the state. It wasn’t just hot—it was disrespectfully hot. The type of heat that made the air stifling and thick as well as made your skin sticky. Had you questioning if you should just go lay down and let Jesus take the wheel. At the moment you were currently outside, sitting on the porch, trying not to pass out from heat stroke. Your leopard-print Fashion Nova romper wasn’t doing much to keep you cool—it was thin and barely there, clinging to your curves like it had an agenda of its own. You didn’t care, though. If these country men could walk around in nothing but basketball shorts and tank tops, you could wear your little booty-clapper romper in peace.

With a lemon-flavored popsicle in hand, you scrolled mindlessly on your phone, music blasting through your AirPods. You weren’t even paying attention to the world around you. At least, not until you looked up and saw him. Terry was out in the yard, shirtless, sweat glistening on his golden-brown skin like he was made of pure temptation. He had the lawn mower in a firm grip, pushing it across the grass with ease, the muscles in his back flexing with every movement. His broad shoulders and cut biceps worked as he maneuvered the machine, sweat dripping down the hard planes of his chest, sliding over his abs, disappearing into the waistband of his basketball shorts.

“Lord, have mercy…” You whispered under your breath. Your stomach clenched, thighs instantly pressing together on instinct. You weren’t even paying much attention to how hot it was anymore. Not when Terry was giving you a show.

The way he moved—slow, controlled, powerful—had your mind going straight to the gutter. You bit your lip, watching him like you had no damn home training. Your mouth went dry, but you refused to blame the heat. This was all him. The way the sun kissed his rich caramel skin? The way his jaw clenched in concentration? The way his thick ass thighs flexed every time he took a step? Terry was a whole ass problem.

You took a slow pull from your popsicle, sucking the tip into your mouth as your eyes stayed glued to the scene in front of you while you leaned back on your elbows, stretching your legs out in front of you, letting the sun warm your skin as you continued to watch him work. You intensely watched as the lawn mower moved slow and steady under his firm grip, his strong hands flexing around the handle as he guided it across the thick grass with impeccable controlled precision. Every push made his biceps tighten, the muscles in his shoulders rolling under his skin like waves. His back flexed, broad and cut, tapering down to a slim waist and thick thighs that held all the power he was working with. He definitely made yard work look sinful. The deep hum of the lawn mower vibrated through the air, but it wasn’t enough to drown out your thoughts. You shifted again, your thighs pressing together, trying to ignore the growing wetness that had started to turn noticeably sticky against the seat of your romper.

Truth be told you knew it had been a minute since you got some. And it wasn’t just about sex—you needed something real. Not some half-ass, two-pump, let-me-get-mine type of situation. No, you needed a man who knew how to handle a woman like you. A man who knew how to grab you, flip you, make you forget your own damn name. Most men didn’t know what to do with a woman built like you—soft in all the right places, curves that needed to be held properly. The kind of body that required strength. The kind of body that needed a man who wasn’t afraid to take control, to pin you down, to make you feel every inch of him until you were running from it. And something in the back of your mind told you Terry was that kind of man. Now you knew damn well in the back of your mind , you weren’t supposed to be lusting after this man. You were supposed to be focused. But the way your body was reacting? The way your heartbeat was drumming between your legs? Baby… focus was nowhere to be found.

“Shit…” You muttered under your breath, shifting in your seat. You bit your lip, trying to steady your breathing as your thighs lazily parted open, wanting to give him a view of exactly what he was working with. The thin leopard-print romper did nothing to hide the soft, fat flips beneath it, and you dared Terry to notice. Terry clearly must’ve felt you staring after a while because suddenly, he looked up, eyes locking straight right at you. Your lips wrapped around the popsicle before you could think better of it, your tongue flicking against the tip in a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes darkened while a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in, legs parted, skin glowing, sitting there like temptation itself while sucking on something cold to keep from melting in this heat. Or maybe to keep from melting under his heat. You could’ve looked away. Could’ve played it off. But instead, you held his gaze and dragged your tongue along the side of the popsicle, purring at the refreshing taste. Terry’s smirk deepened. He dragged a hand over his head, wiping away sweat, and took his sweet time looking you over—eyes traveling from your thighs to your lips, lingering for just a second too long. While he took his own glances.

Your eyes dragged lower, following the slow, tantalizing trail of sweat dripping down his abs, rolling over the deep-cut lines of his V. The way his muscles flexed with every movement, the way that sheen of sweat made his caramel skin glisten under the ruthless South Carolina sun—it was sinful. You could see it. The way those sharp dips led right beneath the waistband of his basketball shorts, teasing at what was beneath. That print, that damn thick dick print, sitting heavy between his thighs, made your mouth damn near water. Your fingers tightened around the melting popsicle, lips parting slightly as your breathing turned shallow. You didn’t even realize he had stopped pushing the mower by this point. Hell, you didn’t even notice how hard he was staring right back at you. Your mind was complete mush. His gaze wasn’t on your face, though. Wasn’t even on your parted lips or the way your chest rose and fell beneath your thin romper. No, Terry was looking right between your thighs. Your legs were still lazily parted, the soft, fat flesh of your pussy lips spilling over the seat of your romper in a way that had his stormy ocean like eyes darkening, narrowing slightly. And then , he noticed that little glint of the diamond metal sitting exactly where his tongue wanted to be. His jaw flexed and his grip on the mower tightened. His nostrils flared just slightly, envisioning what your pussy looks beneath that romper. The way he was looking at you? Like he was imagining spreading those thighs wider, getting a real close look at that piercing, letting his tongue play with it just to hear how sweet you’d sound moaning his name. Terry’s slow stare continued to drag up and down your body, lingering on that juicy space between your thick thighs. His tongue peeked out, swiping across his bottom lip as he eyed you like he was trying to decide if he was about to fuck around and make a bad decision.

The air between you two was thick and dripping with animalistic lust and deep sexual tension. By this point your entire body felt as though it was buzzing, waiting for him to say something, do something—Then your phone rang, loud as hell might I add. You damn near jumped out of your skin, startled, the sound snatching you straight out of your dirty-ass thoughts. In your rush to grab the phone, you choked on the popsicle juice sliding down your throat, coughing as your eyes watered. Terry huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head before turning back to his work. That only made it worse. Now you were sitting here, hot, pussy throbbing and wet, and embarrassed, struggling to breathe while he went right back to pushing that damn lawn mower like he hadn’t just had you about to risk your soul in broad daylight.

“Hello?” You answered, trying to steady your voice and not sound flustered.

“Miss Walker?” The voice on the other end came through.

You swallowed hard, still trying to steady your voice. “Uh, yeah. This is her.”

“This is Veronica Kincaid, the realtor you called about your grandmother’s land. I wanted to touch base since I’ll be coming by tomorrow evening to do an initial walk-through of the property.” The realtor stated.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing a hand to your forehead. Of course the realtor would pick now, right now—to call you. And of course your voice still sounded all breathy and flustered like you’d just been caught doing something you had no business doing. Which… technically, you had.

“Right, right. Veronica. Got it. Uh, so… what time were you thinking?”

You cleared your throat, shifting once again, getting up off the chair to head inside the house. The gentle flow of the air condition kissed your skin soon as you went inside the house and you were oh so grateful. You tucked your phone between your ear and shoulder as you migrated to the kitchen to grab a much needed ice cold glass of water.

“Well, I was hoping for around five, if that works for you? I know it’s short notice, but I had an opening, and I wanted to make sure we got ahead of any potential buyers who might be interested.” She explained.

“Yeah, yeah, five is cool. I’ll be here.” You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. You grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and opened it, immediately gulping it down.

“Great! And just to confirm, we’ll be looking at the full property today? The house and the surrounding land?” Veronica gently inquired. Your eyes flicked back to Terry outside through the kitchen window, who was still working, still glistening in that sun like the temptation he was. You exhaled slowly, pressing your thighs together again.

“Yeah,” you murmured, voice lower than it should’ve been. “The whole thing.”

“Alright, perfect! And if you have those documents ready, we can go over them when I arrive.” She requested, making you scrunch up your face confused. Documents? You thought to yourself. Your brain was fried. Not just from the heat but from that damn man outside looking like a walking sexual healing.

You barely managed, “Yeah, I’ll have everything ready,” before rushing her off the phone with a hasty, “I’ll see you tomorrow Veronica, alright bye.”

The second the call ended, you dropped your phone onto the counter and pressed your palms to your thighs, inhaling deeply. You clearly needed a moment, but apparently, God wasn’t done testing you today. Because not even a second later, Terry walked into the kitchen. You instantly stiffened up soon as he crossed the threshold, making your body react yet again. It wasn’t enough that he was fine as hell, now he had the nerve to smell good, too? Like fresh-cut grass, sun, and something deep and masculine that made your thighs press together on instinct. Terry didn’t say a word as he went straight to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, twisting off the cap with one hand like it was nothing. You tried to focus on Veronica’s voice in your ear, but then he slowly tilted his head back with his eyes closed. His throat flexing as he gulped down the water, droplets escaping down his chin, rolling over the slight scruff lining his jaw before dripping onto his ridiculously cut chest.

“Oh, fuck.” You uttered barely audible, thanking the heavens he didn’t hear you. Your brain short-circuited and all you could see was the way his lips wrapped around that bottle, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with every swallow, and suddenly, you weren’t picturing water anymore. No, now you were picturing your own creamy essence dripping down that chin, sliding down his jaw, his lips shiny with your sweet juices. Terry glanced at you mid-sip, catching the way you were gawking at him, before lowering the bottle and licking his lips.

“You good?” His deep voice carried that smooth, teasing edge.

“Mmhmm.” You swallowed hard, nodding quickly, forcing a tight lipped smile. Terry lifted a brow like he wasn’t buying that shit at all but didn’t press. Instead, he leaned against the counter, smirking slightly.

“Hot as hell out there, huh?” He teased, taking another swig from his water.

You huffed, waving a hand. “Yeah, I can’t do this shit. It’s too hot.”

“Can’t hang, huh?” That low chuckle of his sent a shiver down your spine. You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t even have the strength to argue. Your body was over it. As you grabbed your phone again, scrolling for the information Veronica needed, Terry took his time looking you over—really looking. Up close, he had an unobstructed view of what that leopard-print romper was doing to your figure. The way it clung to every curve, the way it barely covered your ass—or didn’t at all. That fabric had disappeared between your cheeks like it belonged there. Terry licked his lips, his mind going places it had no business going. All he could see was you bent over for him, those thick thighs trembling, that ass bouncing as he made you take every inch. A cornbread-fed body like yours? The type with thick thighs, soft rolls, and an ass that could smother a man to death? Yeah, that was his weakness. There were about a hundred ways he could make you run from him, and he knew that shit for a fact. His mind was deep in the gutter and he knew it as he watched you concentrate on your phone with your entire upper half of your body perched across the counter. Your ass poked out while you were arched just right for his liking. You didn’t even realize the way your ass swallowed the romper of we’re being honest or that he was looking at you like he was picturing it bouncing on his lap. As much as Terry didn’t want to, he knew he had to snap the hell out of it before he fucked around and found out.

“So… have you talked to the realtor yet?” He asked , clearing his throat, he shifted his stance and forced himself to focus. You glanced up, raising a brow like you knew he was just pulling himself out of a real deep thought.

“Yeah,” You said slowly, eyes narrowing slightly. “She’s coming by tomorrow evening.”

“That was quick.” He nodded, eyes still lingering on you, trying to gauge you.

“Trying to get shit handled as quick as possible so I can figure everything else out and not be here longer than I need to be.” You sighed, rubbing your temples. Terry let out a small chuckle, slightly shaking his head as his eyes lingered on you for a beat too long.

“Guess we’ll see what she has to say then.” He said stoically , expression unreadable.

“Guess we will,” You murmured. Avoiding his eyes as you fidgeted with your phone. The subtle ache from his lawn mowing performance is still evident.

“Aight, well I’m gon’ take a shower. If you need me just knock on my door.” Terry tapped his fingers against the counter before speaking again.

“I will.” You nodded, not bothering to meet his eyes. Terry gave a simple head nod, before turning the opposite direction, and heading out of the kitchen to get his shower. You let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding until you heard a door close from down the hall. You immediately snatched your phone and dialed Tasha. The entire time you had been staying here, you were putting her up on game.

“This heffa better pick up this fucking phone—.” You were cut off by her picking up on the first ring.

“Bitch… this better be good. I’m trying to do my nails.” She dragged out, knowingly.

“Tasha...” You groaned.

“Tell me why you sound like you just had a whole orgasm.” She twisted up her face as if you could see, laughing softly on the other end.

“Because, bitch, I might have.” You got up from in front of the counter, migrating into the living room and dropping onto the couch, covering your face.

“Oh no. What did Terry do now?” Tasha cackled loudly. You adjusted the phone on your ear, not bothering to use your AirPods .

“It’s not what he did, Tasha. It’s just… him existing.” You sighed loudly, fanning yourself dramatically.

“Damn. It’s that bad?” She snickered.

“No, girl. It’s worse.” You exhaled, flopping back against the cushions. “This nigga got the nerve to be outside, shirtless, cutting grass like he’s auditioning for a damn porno. And then he comes inside, drenched in sweat, drinking water like he knows what he’s doing.”

Tasha wheezed. “Did you damn near suck the air out of the room watching him?”

“…I might’ve choked on my popsicle.” You embarrassingly admitted. Dead silence. Then— She SCREAMED.

“BITCHHHHHH.” She hollered out, doubling over in laughter.

You groaned. “I fucking hate you.”

“Nah, I love this for you,” She snickered. “But, uh, be careful. That man sounds like he’s about to be all in your guts real soon.”

“Lord please… don’t say that Tasha.” You whined, feeling your heart rate speed up. Your legs crossed tight at the thought. Because the Lord knew you wanted it. And by the way Terry had been looking at you today? He might’ve wanted it just as bad.

“Girl, I’m just saying… it’s been a minute since you got that back cracked open like a lobster! When was the last time you had a man deep inside you making you forget all your worries, hmm?” Tasha asked, her voice playful but full of intent.

You groaned, throwing your head back against the couch, phone wedged between your shoulder and ear. “Damn, Tasha. You really gotta ask me that?”

“Yes, I do! ‘Cause the way you soundin’ all flustered and stressed out over this man, I know you need some relief. So spill it.” She pestered. You hesitated, lips pressing together. The truth was, it had been a minute. Too damn long. And the last time? Whew… the last time was with Rahmello, better known as Rome. That fine, toxic-ass sneaky link who had you sprung even though you swore up and down you weren’t. He wasn’t Terry fine, but he was still fine in his own right. Tall, built, skin the color of fresh coffee, and a smile that could charm the lace off a nun. The sex was fire. He was the only one who truly knew how to touch you, how to work your body like he had a damn manual. And Lord, did he love to hear you moan.

But Rome wasn’t on or about shit. He never wanted to leave your apartment after laying the pipe like his name was Mario. Not because of your body—oh no, he worshipped every damn inch of you—but because he was still technically with his baby mama and didn’t want that smoke. A coward. A man who thrived off the thrill but would never step up. So yeah… he was the last man you’d been with. And it had been two years.

“Girl, why is you so quiet? You reminiscing, huh? I knew it!” Tasha’s voice pulled you back to the present.

You scoffed. “First of all, shut up. Second of all… I ain’t reminiscing. I’m just—”

“Just realizing it’s been too damn long since you had some real dick,” She cut in, making you roll your eyes.

“Tasha, I am NOT about to be fuckin’ this man. I came down here to honor Nana’s wishes, not get caught up with some stranger!” You sighed dramatically.

“Oh, so now he’s just some stranger? You ain’t been drooling over him for the past three days? Girl, please.” She amusingly scoffed.

“That’s beside the point. The point is—I’m keeping it together.” You sucked your teeth.

“Nah, the point is, you're scared. You afraid that if you let that man touch you, it’s over for you.” Tasha snorted.

Silence.

Then, you exhaled through your nose. “YES, HOE! THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT I’M AFRAID OF!”

“I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! Oh my God—bitch, you actin’ like this nigga ‘bout to have you outside his window with a boombox, playin’ love songs n’ shit!” Tasha hollered, practically puncturing your eardrum.

“Tasha, I just KNOW that nigga got some demon dick. He look like he will have me screamin’, I GOT THE BIKE, HOLIDAY!” You covered your face with one hand, laughing despite yourself.

“STOPPPP! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! I CAN’T BREATHE!” Tasha was screaming now, full-on hollering through the phone.

“I’m serious! This man just look like he’ll have me actin’ a damn fool. And I don’t have the time or the mental capacity for that kinda stress.”You laughed too, shaking your head as you fanned yourself.

Tasha finally calmed down enough to catch her breath. “Whew… girl. I get it, I really do. But, for real—for real… if you keep fightin’ it this hard, that just means you already in too deep.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew she had a point. You just weren’t ready to admit it yet. After spending another few minutes on the phone with Tasha. You realized you needed to take care of the constant yearn that was deep inside your belly. The ache between your legs was damn near unbearable. No amount of squeezing your thighs together, shifting in your seat, or deep breathing was doing a damn thing to make it go away. And it was all of his sexy ass fault. Terry had no business looking that damn good, smelling that damn good, and moving the way he did. Your body had been on high alert from the moment you saw him out there mowing the lawn, and now, after that whole scene in the kitchen, your nerves were shot, and your body was begging for relief. You needed release, and fast. You leaned up slightly from the couch, as you listened carefully, making sure he was nowhere near. Then, you heard it—the sound of the shower running down the hall. Terry was in the guest bathroom, meaning you had just enough time to sneak upstairs and handle business before he finished. Wasting no time, you shot up from the couch and rushed up the stairs, heart pounding. The second you got into your bedroom, you fished through your suitcase, hands shaking with anticipation, until your fingers wrapped around the one thing that could bring you to the edge and push you over in minutes, your lovely rose better known as your lifesaver.

You practically ripped your romper off, the fabric slipping down your thick thighs with ease. And when you stepped out of it, you whimpered. The sight of your own slick, gooey essence stretching between your thighs had you trembling. Your swollen clit pulsed angrily, begging for attention, and in that moment, you wanted nothing more than for Terry to be the one to drop down to his knees and lick up every single drop. You bit your lip feeling a shudder run down your spine. Your legs felt weak as you climbed onto the bed, settling against your pillows. Wasting no time, you powered the rose on, immediately switching it to the third setting—the one that never failed to drag a scream right out of you. The second the soft suction latched onto your needy, swollen wet clit, your whole body jerked.

“Oh fuck! Mmmm shit.” A sharp cry tore from your lips as your thighs clenched. You threw your head back, feeling your juices gush out as it hit the toy, making a sound that had you so turned on. The sensation was so intense, so overwhelming, that you felt yourself spiraling already as you slowly rubbed the toy up and down your clit, teasing it as its suction continued to pull and tug on it, making your cream slowly gather inside your hole, ready to drip out.

“Fuuuuck, y-yess.” Your hips bucked as you rocked into the toy, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure hit you like a fucking freight train. You knew you were about to have the hardest nut of your life.

“My clit so fucking fat shit.” You moaned filthy, feeling hot and wet as your pussy began to have a mind of its own. You were in love with how sensitive your clit felt. The dream was dripping like lava as you felt the toy’s hard suction increasing as your clit fattened with need.

Your legs trembled as you held them back, the rose sucking and pulsing against your swollen clit, dragging out a sticky, wet ache that had been building for days. The first drag of suction made you shudder, a deep moan slipping from your lips as your juices dripped down your pussy slowly and onto the sheets. You rubbed the toy up and down while holding it down to add more pressure, teasing your clit, the pulsing vibration making your body jolt every time it latched onto your clit just right. The obscene squelch and suction noises filled the room, bouncing off the walls, mixing with your ragged breaths and soft whimpers. You swore you could feel the orgasm creeping up already, your belly tightening, thighs clenching, toes curling. You didn’t even care how loud you were; Terry was all the way in the guest bathroom, the sound of the shower running covering your sinful little secret. At least, that’s what you thought. What you didn’t know was that Terry wasn’t even in the damn shower yet. He had stepped out of the bathroom to grab some fresh clothes from the dryer, towel slung over his shoulder, basketball shorts hanging low on his waist, when he passed by your door. And that’s when he heard it. The wet, messy sounds. The desperate little moans.He stopped mid-step, his head tilting, listening closer. The low buzz of a toy, the way your breath hitched between every slick, suctioning pull of it. His lips parted slightly, and his hand flexed at his side, his whole body stiffening as his breathing slowed down, listening to you moan and cry. His tongue ran across his teeth as he bit down, his dick already hardening at the thought of what was happening just beyond that door. And Lord help him… he wanted to see.

“Mmmm suck that pussy! Yesss.” You cried out, eyes closed, picturing Terry’s mouth on you instead of the rose. You pressed the rose down harder, throwing your head back against the pillows as soft spurts of pussy juice squirted from you, making a nice puddle beneath your ass. Terry stood frozen outside your door, jaw tight, tongue pressed against his teeth as he listened to the wet, sloppy sounds coming from your room. His breathing deepened, chest rising and falling as his mind wandered and painted a crystal clear image of you and how you looked right about now pleasuring yourself.

“Damn,” He muttered under his breath, low and raspy. “I know that pussy look pretty when it cum.”

His head dropped forward slightly, hand flexing at his side as his mind painted the filthiest picture—your thick thighs trembling, that pretty little pussy clenching and dripping, all swollen and needy, just waiting for a real tongue to replace that damn toy. And then he heard it. His name slipping past your lips, soft and breathless, like a damn prayer as you were orgasming and creaming all over yourself , and letting out what you had been building up for the last few days.

“T-Terry— FUCK TERRY!” You cried loudly, cumming hard and intensely, as you rode the toy slowly. Immediately going sensitive you dropped the toy to the side and rubbed your aching clit rapidly with your middle finger, allowing yourself to squirt out as a second nut hit you, making your walls squirt harder. Terry’s eyes went dark, a deep hunger settling in his gut, spreading through his veins like wildfire. His hands balled into fists at his sides, his breathing ragged as the image of you writhing on that bed, your fingers tangled in the sheets, legs wide open for him, sent a pulse of raw, aching need straight to his dick. He swallowed hard, fists clenching tighter as he forced himself to step back, to walk away and restrain himself before he did something reckless. Because if he stepped into that room? There wouldn’t be any turning back. He was gonna beat the fuck out of that pussy until you saw stars.

You jerked from the aftershock of your mind blowing orgasm as you laid there, trying to catch your breath. Your heart pounded loudly in your chest as your ears were practically ringing. You’ve had your fair share of amazing orgasms when it came down to self care but this one? This one was undoubtedly the hardest, most nastiest one you had ever given yourself. You knew what your good girl could do. She was a messy juice monster that could make a mess if touched correctly and only you knew how to touch her to make it this intense. But it wasn’t just your technique this time , or your rose toy. It was that tall rich caramel nigga with the gorgeous unique eyes that had you spent and dripping cum.

“S-Shit…” You softly whimpered, feeling tired as your eyes grew heavy. As much as you wanted to get up and clean yourself off as well as change the covers. The aftershock of your orgasm sent you into a soft deep, very much needed slumber. You weren’t fond of sleeping in sweet sticky essence but you were too spent and too weak to fight against it. Not even a minute later you were knocked out, snoring softly with your legs still wide open, with not one care in the world.

A little after 4pm you finally arose from your slumber. Your body felt brand new after an hour-long nap and a much-needed shower. The kind of shower where you let the hot water run over your skin, steam fogging up the mirror while you took your time rubbing yourself down with your favorite body scrub. You needed that. Deserved that. Now, feeling refreshed, you threw on something light—a tiny tube-top dress that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs, the soft cotton clinging to your curves. You slid your feet into your fluffy fur slides, secured your hair up in a claw clip, and let a few soft curls frame your face. Cute, comfortable, and cool. Perfect for this ridiculous heat. With your Bluetooth speaker connected, you scrolled through your playlist, finally settling on SWV’s “Anything” Remix. As soon as the beat dropped, the energy in the kitchen shifted. The bass vibrated through the air, wrapping around you like an old friend. You started off slow, swaying your hips as you pulled out ingredients, letting the rhythm seep into your bones. The knife moved effortlessly through the ripe tomatoes, the sizzle of onions hitting the pan mixing with the music.

“Boy, my body’s just for you…” You sang as your shoulders bounced to the beat, and before you knew it, you were dancing. Really dancing. Hands up, hips rolling, that natural rhythm taking over as you stirred the pot on the stove. The little dress lifted with every step, teasing the curve of your ass as you lost yourself in the moment. What you didn’t know was that Terry had walked in a while ago, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, just… watching. Amused. Intrigued. You moved so effortlessly, like music was embedded in your bones. He licked his lips, eyes glued to the way your thighs jiggled with every step. That ass? A masterpiece. He could’ve watched you all damn day, but after a few more moments, he finally made his presence known.

“Ahem.” The deep rumble of his throat clearing cut through the air like a record scratch. You jumped, nearly dropping the spoon in your hand. Turning around, wide-eyed and caught, you saw him standing there, that signature smirk tugging at his lips.

“Jesus, you scared the hell outta me,” You huffed, pressing a hand to your chest, trying to slow your pounding heart.Terry just chuckled, eyes dark with something unreadable as he nodded toward you.

“Nah, baby girl, don’t stop on my account. Looked like you was really feelin’ it.” He teased.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” You rolled your eyes, waving him off as you turned back to the stove. But your heart was still racing. And not just from the scare. Terry leaned against the counter, reaching for a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting the cap off with ease. As he took a slow, deep gulp, you caught the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. The way his lips parted just slightly, tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop. You swallowed hard, looking away before your mind took you places it had no business going again for the second time today. Terry smirked behind the bottle. Oh yeah, he had peeped all of that. And after overhearing what you were really up to in your room earlier, he was having a hard time pretending like he didn’t know exactly what had you so damn flustered. But he kept that dirty little secret to himself. For now.

The silence stretched for a bit, except for the music playing in the background. You exhaled, stirring the pot before muttering, “It’s too damn quiet out here.”

Terry hummed. “You ain’t used to it yet?”

“Not even close. I miss New York. All the noise, the people, the energy… I miss just walking outside and hearing taxi’s honking or ambulance's blaring. This country cricket life is not for me.” You scoffed. Truth of the matter was that you couldn’t stand the quiet due to being alone in your thoughts. The quieter things were, the more you relived trauma and pain you tried to forget about in this very house and town. Living in the city helped you stay occupied and distracted so you wouldn’t have to feel or think. Your therapist had told you long ago that , that was an unhealthy way to cope but it was either bury the shit or be on meds for the rest of your life because you couldn’t function.

Terry leaned against the counter, watching you. “If you were back home right now, what would you be doing?”

You thought for a second, then shrugged. “Hittin’ the town with my girls or curled up with a glass of wine, binge-watching something on Netflix or Hulu.”

“Sounds like a good night.” Terry nodded, smiling slightly.

“It is,” You said, then paused, your mind drifting to something else. A memory.

“You know… it wasn’t always bad down here. My daddy used to take me to this old skating rink when I was little. Sweet Rollers. Used to be the spot for all the neighborhood kids. I had the time of my life there, zoomin’ around, thinking I was so grown.” You smiled softly, stirring the pot absentmindedly. Terry’s lips tugged into a smirk, eyes flicking to your face as you got lost in the memory. He loved that little spark in your eye when you talked about something that made you happy.

“Sweet Rollers still around,” He said casually.

Your head snapped up. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” Terry chuckled. “Still open. Still got skate nights, too. If you hurry up and get dressed, we can make the evening session.”

“Yeah, right. My big ass ain’t skated in years. I’m not about to be out there bustin’ my ass in front of a bunch of teenagers. No thank you.” You snorted.

Terry leaned in, raising an eyebrow. “All you done did since you got here is work and complain. How ‘bout one night of just… fun?”

You gave him a side-eye. “I have fun.”

Terry smirked. “Name one fun thing you done since you stepped foot in this house.”

Silence

“…Exactly.”

You exhaled, narrowing your eyes at him. “You really tryna get me out the house that bad?”

“I’m tryna get you to loosen up,” Terry said, voice low and smooth. “Ain’t no harm in that, is it?”

You bit your lip, debating. And Lord help you… but the way he was looking at you? It was making it real hard to say no.

You hesitated for a second, chewing on your lip as you looked between Terry and the food sizzling on the stove. “We gotta eat first.”

“We can eat this delicious concoction when we get back. I’ll wrap it up so it stays warm. You go get dressed.” Terry shook his head with a smirk, stepping past you and reaching for the knob, twisting the fire off. You huffed, knowing he wasn’t about to let you argue. A night out didn’t sound half bad, and Lord knew you needed to unwind.

“Fine, fine…” You muttered, turning on your heel and rushing upstairs. Now, if you were going out, you were going to look good doing it. You picked out a pair of booty-hugging daisy duke shorts that gripped your thighs in all the right places, frayed at the edges just enough to tease. Then, you slipped into a cherry-red halter top bodysuit with a plunging neckline, leaving your entire back out, your spine tattoo on full display. You accessorized with your gold nameplate necklace, matching gold hoops, and stacked charm bracelets, letting the jewelry glint against your brown skin. Your hair was next—water and gel slicked it up into a high ponytail, soft curls cascading messily while your baby hairs framed your forehead just right. Shoes? Cute sandals. But you tossed a pair of socks into your purse for the rink. Makeup? Unnecessary. Your skin was already glowing. You fluffed your lash extensions, reapplied your buttery lip gloss, then reached for your Tom Ford Vanilla Sex—a Christmas gift from your mother. The rich, warm scent filled the air as you sprayed a generous amount over your collarbone, wrists, and thighs. Just as you grabbed your purse, you heard Terry’s deep voice call from downstairs.

“You ready yet?” His voice sounded smooth as velvet.

You smirked at your reflection before stepping out of your room and heading toward the stairs. The moment you hit the top step, his head turned. You saw the shift in his expression immediately. His eyes dragged down your short frame—lingering on the way your shorts sat snug on your thighs, then dropping lower to admire how your ass filled them out from the front. His tongue swiped over his lips before his gaze trailed up your exposed back, his jaw flexing slightly. By the time he reached your face, his pupils were just a little darker.

“Damn, ma…” His voice was deep, and heavier. “You tryna have every nigga in there break they neck?” He raised his eyebrow.

You rolled your eyes, descending the stairs. “Boy, shut up.”

Terry let out a low chuckle, stepping closer. “Nah, for real. You dangerous in that.” His head tilted, his voice dropping. “Lookin’ like you tryna get chose tonight.”

“Please. I just like to look good.” You scoffed, even though your pulse betrayed you.

He grabbed his keys, still watching you like he was committing every detail to memory. “Well, you succeeded.” Then, he smirked, nodding toward the door. “C’mon, before I change my mind and keep you here all night.”

Your breath caught for a split second, but you played it off, brushing past him as you stepped outside.You felt his presence heavy behind you, his eyes still lingering. Yeah… this night might be trouble. But you were already in too deep to back out now. Jesus be a complete fence around you and your hormones tonight. The ride to the skating rink was smooth, the warm evening breeze slipping through the cracked windows of Terry’s truck. The low hum of the engine filled the silence at first, but the tension in the air was anything but quiet. You shifted in your seat, smoothing your hands over your bare thighs, acutely aware of Terry’s presence beside you. He had one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the console, his long fingers occasionally drumming against the leather. He was relaxed, but you could tell by the way his jaw flexed that his mind wasn’t completely at ease.

“You always this quiet?” You finally asked, breaking the silence.

“I talk when I got something to say.” Terry smirked, eyes still on the road.

“Oh, so you one of them?” You scoffed, shaking your head.

“One of what?” He glanced over at you briefly, amusement flickering in his gaze.

“The mysterious, brooding type. The ‘I ain’t gotta say much’ type. That whole ‘quiet storm’ thing.” You waved your hand. “Lemme guess, you think it makes you more intriguing, huh?”

“Nahhh, I just don’t waste words.” Terry chuckled under his breath.

“Mmhmm.” You folded your arms, feigning disappointment. “And here I was thinkin’ we was gonna have deep conversation, maybe share some childhood secrets, bond a little.” You pouted.

That made him chuckle again, this time a little deeper. “What you wanna know?”

You turned your body toward him, lips curling into a smirk. “I dunno… something interesting. Like, what’s your guilty pleasure?”

Terry lifted an eyebrow. “Guilty pleasure?”

“Yeah, like some random shit you love but would never admit out loud.” You stared at him, admiring the way his pretty eyes looked under the settling evening skies.

He rolled his lips together, thinking for a second before saying, “Old ‘90s R&B.”

“Word?” You perked up.

He nodded. “Yeah… I be playin’ the hell outta some Jodeci or Mint Condition when I’m by myself.”

“Not Jodeci.” You gasped dramatically, hand to your chest.

“You asked.” Terry chuckled, shaking his head.

“So what you be doing? Sitting in your truck with the seat back, windows down, singing your heart out?”

“Somethin’ like that.” He smirked, glancing over at you.

You laughed, shaking your head. “That’s wild. I would’ve pegged you for more of a hardcore rap, never-show-emotion type dude.”

“Oh, I still be on that. But sometimes, you gotta let a little Feenin’ or Pretty Brown Eyes play when the mood hit.” He licked his bottom lip, giving you a side glance.

“Yeah… I can see that.” You stared at him for a beat, biting your lip.

Terry’s eyes flickered to your mouth before looking back at the road. “What about you?”

“What about me?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“What’s your guilty pleasure?” He side glanced you, licking the corner of his mouth.

You grinned, knowing your answer might make him judge you. “Don’t laugh… but I love watching trashy reality TV.”

“Nah.” Terry snorted.

“Yes!” You laughed. “Like, the messier the better. I love the drama, the fighting, the over-the-top acting—”

“That’s wild.” He chuckled.

“Don’t judge me.”

“I’m judgin’.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.”

Terry smirked, shaking his head before muttering, “Yeah… I can see that.”

The way he threw your words back at you made you laugh, shaking your head as you settled into a more comfortable silence. The ride continued, the city lights flashing past the windows, and for a moment, you found yourself just enjoying the easy rhythm between you two. No pressure, no awkwardness. Just… something smooth. Something that felt good. Something that made you wonder what the hell you were getting yourself into. As soon as Terry pulled into the parking lot of Sweet Rollers, the deep bass of old-school R&B / Hip Hop tracks vibrated through the truck, mixing with the sounds of laughter and chatter from the rowdy crowd gathered outside. Groups of people lingered near their cars, some sipping on drinks, others showing off their best dance moves before heading inside. It was packed, just like you remembered, and an excited thrill rushed through you at the sight of your old stomping grounds.

“Oooh, this is what I’m talking about!” You excitedly grinned, practically bouncing in your seat.

Terry, however, wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic. His sharp ocean-like gaze swept over the crowd, his jaw tightening slightly. “Too many fucking people.”

“It’s a skating rink, Terry. It’s supposed to be packed.” You rolled your eyes.

“I know.” He exhaled through his nose, gripping the wheel. Unbeknownst to you, Terry wasn’t fond of overly packed places. He hated crowds in general but where he came from he knew that too many niggas in one spot and a bunch of alcohol was a recipe for some shit to pop off. Being an ex Marine Terry was always on guard and ready to handle business if need be and even tonight wasn’t no exception to his unspoken rule.

“What, you scared?” You smirked.

He cut his eyes at you. “Ain’t never been scared a day in my life.”

“Then come on, tough guy.” You unbuckled your seatbelt, already reaching for the door handle. “Let’s have some fun.”

Terry sighed, rubbing a hand down his face before finally nodding. “Yeah, aight.”

As soon as you both stepped out, you could feel the eyes on you—or more specifically, on him. Women stopped mid-conversation, their eyes raking over Terry like he was the best thing they’d seen all night. And honestly? You didn’t blame them. Terry was the type of man that commanded attention without even trying. Standing tall in his fitted black tee, grey sweats hanging low on his hips, and fresh sneakers, he had that effortless, I know I look good but I ain’t gotta say it kind of presence. The streetlights bounced off his sexy caramel skin, illuminating his small curls on top of his head, and highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw and the cool, detached expression that made him even more irresistible.

One woman in particular—a tall, red bone beauty with a micro mini dress that left nothing to the imagination—bit her lip as she eyed him. “Damn,” she muttered to her friend. “That man is fine.”

Before you could process the way irritation flared in your chest, Terry’s large, warm hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you toward the entrance. The simple touch sent heat rushing up your spine, but more than that, it was a silent message. Ain’t no need for you to feel any type of way, I’m with you. And if the daggers those women were shooting your way were any indication? They got the message loud and clear. Inside, the rink was even livelier. The neon lights flashed against the glossy floor, reflecting off the disco ball spinning in the center. The scent of buttered popcorn, funnel cakes, and sweet candy lingered in the air, mixing with the faint must of sweat and skate wheels burning against the slick surface.

“Oh my God,” You breathed, looking around with wide eyes. “It’s exactly how I remember.”

Terry glanced down at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “That right?”

“Yep. This place was my childhood.”You nodded, grinning. He hummed, tucking that piece of information away before leading you toward the rental counter. The girl behind the counter, a petite thing with slicked baby hairs and acrylics long enough to type paragraphs with, barely spared you a glance. Her gaze immediately locked onto Terry, and her whole energy shifted.

“Hey, handsome,” She purred, leaning forward on the counter just enough to push her cleavage together. “What size you need?”

“Thirteen.” Terry, completely unfazed, pulled his wallet out.

“Mm, big feet…” She smiled, twirling a curl around her finger. Your eyebrow shot up at the boldness of this air head before you. You blinked a few times at her. Did she just—?

Terry didn’t react, just glanced at you. “What size, ma?”

“Seven,” You muttered, crossing your arms.

The girl finally looked at you, then reached under the counter, sliding both pairs of skates toward Terry with an extra sweet smile. “That’ll be twenty-seven dollars.

Before you could pull out your own money, Terry was already handing over a crisp bill.

“You ain’t have to do that,” You frowned.

“I was raised to be a southern gentleman. You ain’t payin’ for nothing in my presence.” Terry tucked his wallet away, grabbing the skates.

You huffed. “Terry—”

“I know you can handle your own, mama,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flutter. “But let me handle it tonight.”

And just like that, your knees buckled a little. Terry smirked as if he knew exactly what he was doing, then handed you your skates.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the benches. “Let’s get you laced up.”

You swallowed, fighting the warmth creeping up your cheeks as you followed behind him. Lord have mercy… What did you just get yourself into? You both made your way over to one of the long benches lined against the wall, the music thumping as people whizzed by on their skates, laughter and conversation blending into the lively atmosphere. You plopped down with a sigh, resting your skates beside you, but before you could even think about lacing them up, Terry was already kneeling in front of you, rolling his shoulders back like this was just another day. Your breath hitched. The sight of him on his knees—those thick, muscled arms flexing as he took your ankle into his hands—did something to you. The heat that spread across your skin was immediate, undeniable. His fingers, large and slightly calloused, wrapped around your calf with ease, his touch firm but careful as he guided your foot into the skate. Your body and not to mention your pussy betrayed you instantly. A sharp tingle danced up your spine, settling deep in your clit as you watched him work. His brows furrowed slightly, dark lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones as he concentrated, making sure the skate fit snugly before pulling at the laces. The way his hands moved—strong, sure, completely in control—had no business being so damn… sexy.

“You good?” His deep voice broke through your haze, snapping you back to reality.

“Y-Yeah. I’m good.” You cleared your throat, shifting slightly on the bench. He glanced up then, his light ocean gray eyes locking onto yours, and damn. That slow, lazy smirk of his was back like he knew exactly what was running through your mind.

“Yeah?” He drawled, tugging the laces tighter before looping them into a knot. “You sure, mama?”

“I’m sure, Terry.” You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your thighs pressed together involuntarily. He hummed, low and deep, and that sound alone nearly had you sliding off the damn bench. Instead of giving you a break, he moved on to your other foot, gripping your ankle and repeating the same slow, methodical process. By the time he finished, your body was on fire, your skin practically scorched under the weight of his hands.

“There,” he muttered, patting your knee as he rose to his full height. “You straight.”

But you? You were far from straight. Because when you looked up at him—his full lips twitching in amusement, his towering frame standing over you, his scent of clean soap and warm musk surrounding you and you knew one thing for sure. This night was about to be dangerous. The bass from the speakers vibrated through the wooden floors as the DJ spun a classic 90s R&B jam, filling the rink with a sultry, feel-good vibe. The actual song that happened to be playing was Return Of The Mack. The neon lights flickered against the smooth surface, casting a glow over the skaters gliding effortlessly across the floor. Laughter, cheers, and the occasional sound of wheels scraping against the wood echoed around them as people skated in pairs, some moving in sync, others wobbling through the crowd. You took a deep breath, adjusting your balance as you stepped onto the rink, gripping the railing tightly. It had been years since you’d done this, and your legs felt unsure beneath you.

“Yo, you comin’ or you just gon’ hold up the wall all night?” Terry called out, already rolling ahead like he owned the place, flashing that cocky smirk that made your heart skip a beat.

You sucked your teeth, a playful roll of your eyes as you replied, “I gotta get my footing first. I ain’t tryna bust my ass in front of all these people.”

“Ain’t nobody worried ‘bout you fallin’, mama. You got me.” He laughed, skating backward like it was nothing. With a deep breath, you pushed off, wobbling a little as your skates started to glide. Just like you feared, your legs betrayed you, and before you knew it, you were tilting forward, ready to take a nosedive. A quick gasp escaped your lips, but Terry was there, like a superhero swooping in. Strong arms wrapped around your waist possessively, pulling you up against him with a grip that felt both solid and warm. When you looked up, his face was so close, that smirk teasing you like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Damn, ma,” He murmured, his voice low and smooth like silk, sending a shiver through you. “You just wanted me to hold you, huh?”

“Shut up.” You laughed, trying to shake off the heat creeping up your cheeks.

“Relax baby girl, you thinkin’ too much. Just let your feet glide and don’t fight it. Just move with me.” He chuckled, steadying you with those strong hands before easing you back to your feet. And just like that, you started to find your groove. With Terry guiding you, his hands firm yet gentle, the wobble in your stance faded. He kept one hand on your hip, ensuring you didn’t lose your balance, while the other hand slipped into yours, fingers intertwining like they were meant to be. Before long, you were rolling across the rink, laughter spilling out of you every time he threw in a little spin or playfully tugged you in a new direction.

“I see you getting the hang of it now,” He teased, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Mmhmm,”You shot back, grinning wide. “I told you I just needed a minute.”

“Oh, so you an expert now?” He cut an eye at you, smirking and tugging you again, making you squeal.

“I ain’t say all that,”You laughed, shaking your head, your heart racing with the thrill of the moment. With the beat rolling through you, you started to work it, feeling yourself get lost in the rhythm. Skating in sync with Terry, you spun and swayed, your laughter mingling with the music as he cheered you on, his voice rising above the sound.

“Ayeeee, aight I see you little mama.” He joked. You winked, swaying your hips in-sync as you glided effortlessly, getting lost in the music. The music suddenly shifted, a deep, sensual groove flowing through the speakers, the kind of track that made everything feel electric, as if the whole world was slowing down just for you two. You could feel Terry’s grip on you tighten, the way his energy shifted, and before you could even think about pulling away, he was pulling you closer.

“C’mon,” He murmured, breath warm against your ear. “Let’s see if you really got it.”

Your stomach flipped as he pulled you against him, your back pressing against his solid chest. His arms encircled your waist, guiding you as he began to sway, rolling his hips in time with yours, making the whole world fade away. You let out a slow breath, your body molding into his without even trying. The feel of him behind you—the steady strength of his hold, the way his fingers pressed into your bodacious curves, had your pulse racing like you were on a rollercoaster. Terry’s large stature moved like he was born to skate, fluid and confident, leading you in a rhythm that felt natural. As the music danced around you two, you surrendered to the beat, letting it pull you deeper into the moment.

“I ain’t just good at housework, baby girl,” He teased, his voice low and playful, making your heart flutter. “I got skills.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep the smile off your face, but it was too late. “Oh yeah?” you shot back, glancing over your shoulder, your eyes sparkling with challenge.

“Yeah. You see it,” He grinned, and damn, you did see it. You felt like you were floating, gliding through the crowd, every move you made infused with that infectious energy, the kind that made you feel alive. The way Terry watched you, like you were the center of the universe, only pushed you to show off even more. You bent over slowly, dipping your hips lower as he spun you both around, slow skating backwards. You had seen couples do this a thousand times on Tik Tok and part of you always wanted to do a slow set and here you were with Terry, slow grinding it to Slow Bass Line by Lloyd. The two of you must have skated for at least a good thirty minutes before you got a little winded. After a while of skating, you were starting to feel the burn in your thighs, and your throat was dry from all the laughing and talking. You leaned back slightly against Terry’s chest as you slowed to a stop.

“I’ma go grab a slushie from the concession stand,” You told him, brushing a stray curl from your face.

“Aight, I’ll be right here.” Terry nodded, his eyes still watching the skaters zipping past. With that, you carefully rolled off the rink, maneuvering your way through the crowd. The concession stand was packed, as expected, with groups of teens, couples, and families all waiting for their orders. You took your place in line, debating between cherry or blue raspberry when—

“Well, damn.” The deep, familiar drawl sent a chill straight down your spine, making you freeze in place. That voice—it had been years, but you’d know it anywhere. Slowly, you turned around, your eyes widening as they landed on a face from your past.

“Jalen?” Your mouth slightly dropped. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his lips. He looked good, you couldn’t even lie. Still fine, still tall with that same cocky glint in his eye. His gold chain glistened against his brown skin, and his white tee stretched across his chest in a way that told you he had been in the gym.

“Man, I knew that was you,”He said, eyeing you up and down like he was taking in every single change time had made to you. “Look at you, girl. All grown up and still fine as hell.”

You forced a polite smile, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and unease settle in your chest. “Yeah, it’s been a minute,” you said, keeping your tone light. “What you been up to?”

Before Jalen could answer, another voice cut in—one that made your stomach drop.

“Oh, hell nah. I’d recognize them big ass hammocks anywhere. Heyyy big mama!” The obnoxious voice teased. Your forced smile fell instantly. Not this bitch. You turned your head slightly and, sure enough, there she was. Shawna. Loud, ignorant, hating-ass Shawna. She looked exactly the same, except for the extra layers of cheap lace-front glue caking up along her hairline. Same exaggerated lashes, same gaudy press-on nails, and the same damn attitude she always had when it came to you. You took a slow breath, already knowing she was about to try you.

“Damn, girl, what brings you back down here? Ain’t seen you since you hauled your lil’ thick ass back up north.” She put a hand on her hip, cocking her head with a smirk.

“Yeah, life happens. Not that it’s any of your business.”You folded your arms, giving her a blank stare.

“Still thick as hell, I see. Some things never change.” She smirked deviously, shifting her weight to one hip, a slick smile on her glossy lips. Your jaw clenches, but you refuse to let her see you sweat. You’ve dealt with Shawna since childhood. She’s been your bully, your hater, your competition—always loud, always fast, and always looking for a way to put you down. And back then? She won. Over and over. From the cruel jokes about your weight to the way she snatched Jalen right from under you like it was her birthright. And now, here she is. Still the same, still petty, still trying to play in your face.

“I see some things never change either,” you fire back smoothly. “You still worried about me more than you worried about yourself.”

Shawna cocks an eyebrow, sucking her teeth. “Girl, please. I just call it how I see it. But damn, you done got cute or whatever.” She tilts her head dramatically. “Somebody put you on or you finally figured it out?”

“Excuse me—“ You try to correct her, but her loud ass mouth cuts in, cracking a joke at your demise.

“Boy, you used to love her fat chunky ass back in the day.” Shawna let out an obnoxious laugh, nudging Jalen. You clenched your jaw even tighter, about to deliver a sharp and downright disrespectful clapback that may or may not resulted in hands being thrown, when suddenly—A strong, warm arm draped around your waist, pulling you firmly against a familiar solid chest from the back. Terry, once again swooping it like a knight in shining armor. His presence alone was enough to shut down whatever slick shit was about to leave Shawna’s mouth.

“You good?” He murmured low enough for only you to hear, his voice steady, but there was something else underneath it—possessiveness.Your body instantly relaxed against him, feeling both safe and seen.

“Yeah, I’m good.”You nodded, your eyes flicking up to meet his. Shawna, however, was not. Her entire demeanor shifted the second her eyes landed on Terry. She damn near devoured him with her gaze, acting like her own man wasn’t standing just a few feet away.

“Whew, and who the fuck is this?” She exhaled dramatically, fanning herself with her hand. Jalen finally notices Terry too. His expression shifts, eyes narrowing as he looks between you and Terry.

“This your man or somethin’?” Jalen asks, crossing his arms. Terry doesn’t even blink. Instead, he shifts his stance slightly, his grip on your waist firm but easy, as if silently letting you decide how to handle it. But then, he speaks.

“Who’s asking?” He answered, voice sounding rougher and more authoritative than usual. The way he says it? Deep, smooth, unbothered. Like he already knows the answer doesn't matter. Like Jalen doesn't matter. And something about that makes your knees weak.

Jalen scoffs, shaking his head. “I was just curious. We got history, that’s all.”

Terry nods slowly, eyes still locked on him. “Yeah? That supposed to mean something to me?”

Jalen chuckled, lifting his hands in surrender. “Damn, bro, it ain’t even like that. We was just catching up.”

“That right?” Terry didn’t move. His dark eyes remained locked on Jalen’s, completely unbothered.

“Yeah,” Jalen nodded, though he seemed a little less sure of himself now. “Ain’t no pressure.”

Terry let a slow smirk curl at the corner of his lips. “Good.”

Shawna, still practically drooling, licked her lips. “Mm-mm-mm. I don’t know where you found this fine nigga, but girl… you won with this one.”

“I didn’t know we was in competition.”You shot her a dry look. She huffed a little, but before she could get another word in, Terry leaned down slightly, speaking just low enough for only you to hear.

“You still want that slushie, mama?” He asked, rubbing sooting circles on your lower back. Your lips parted slightly at the way he said mama like it was his name for you.

You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Go ‘head and order. I got you.” He nodded his head towards the counter.

After you and Terry basically dismiss Shawna and Jalen. You grab your slushie, feeling a rush of excitement to partake in your childhood delicacy as you step away from the counter. The rink is still buzzing with sweaty energy, and the slow jams are starting to play. Terry follows you to the bench, his eyes scanning the crowd, but you can feel him close by, steadying your nerves. You sit down and take a sip, enjoying the cool, sugary sweetness, but there’s still a lot on your mind. Terry sits beside you, and you can feel the tension between you both, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s like he’s waiting for you to open up, and that’s something you don’t do easily.

“So who were they?” He glances at you, his expression curious. You hesitate for a moment, taking another sip of your slushie before setting it down on the bench. A sigh escapes your lips before you begin to explain.

“Jalen… he was the first guy I ever really loved,” you say, the words almost slipping out before you can stop them. “We were high school sweethearts. Thought we were gonna be together forever, you know? He was… the one who made me believe in all that fairy tale stuff.” You shrugged.

Terry listens intently, not interrupting. You can tell he’s taking it all in, but there’s something about the way he watches you—like he wants to understand.

“Sounds like he had you wrapped around his finger,” He says, his voice almost amused but with a touch of something darker behind it.

“Yeah, he did. But then Shawna came into the picture… She was always there, talking trash about me. My weight, my thighs, my body—she always had something to say. I’d try to ignore it, but… it wasn’t easy. And Jalen? He never defended me. He just let her talk.” You smile weakly, fighting back your emotions. Terry’s jaw tightens a little, but he doesn’t say anything. He just listens as you keep going.

“One day, Jalen broke up with me out of nowhere. No explanation. He just… dumped me. And Shawna? She wasted no time stepping in. It was like she’d been waiting for the moment to steal him away from me. She was the one who made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. And it stung. Still stings.” You sigh, taking another sip from the straw. You can feel the anger bubbling up again, but you try to keep it in check. This was the past, right? You weren’t supposed to let it get to you anymore. But it does.

Terry’s hand moves to rest on your knee, and you glance at him, surprised by the gesture. He gives you a look, his voice soft but intense. “That’s some messed up shit. No one should make you feel that way. Especially not him. And especially not her.”

You nod, your throat tightening a little as you try to swallow the lump forming there. “Yeah, well, that’s how it went down. Shawna made sure to rub it in my face every chance she got.”

Terry leans closer, his hand still resting on your knee. His gaze softens, and for a moment, you can almost forget about Shawna and Jalen, about everything that happened before. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.

“You’re better than them mamas, believe that.” He says firmly, his voice low but full of conviction. “Way better. And they don’t get to take that from you.”

His words sunk in, and you let out a small breath, feeling the weight of the past lift just a little bit. You smile, looking down at your slushie before you heard the music shift, the tempo slowing. The music in the rink slowed, a soft, familiar melody filling the air. The first chords of “Weak” by SWV began to echo, and the slow grind of couples on the rink picked up. The rhythm made you feel light again, the nostalgia pulling at her heartstrings.

“I used to love this song,” You say, nodding to the slow jam. “It reminds me of when my dad used to bring me to this rink when I was a kid. We’d skate all night, just goofing around with the kids from the neighborhood. It was one of the best times of my life.” You got teary for a split second.

“You were a pro back then, huh?” Terry raises an eyebrow.

“Not exactly. But I sure had fun. My dad let me stay out late, skating with my friends. It was like… freedom. You know?” You laugh, shaking your head.

“Sounds like you got some memories here. You still got that spark, though. I can see it in your eyes.” Terry watches you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You meet his gaze, feeling your heart race. You hadn’t expected this kind of attention, especially not from him. But here you are, sitting next to a man who seems to see you in a way no one else has.

“Well,” you say, your voice teasing, “I’m not sure I’ve still got the moves. My skating game is a little rusty.”

“We’ll see about that.” Terry grins, a playful glint in his eyes. He carefully stood to his feet, balancing on his skates.

The song swells, and the crowd on the rink starts to slow down, couples swaying together in time with the music. You glance at Terry, then back at the rink, suddenly feeling more confident. Maybe it’s the music, or maybe it’s just being here with him. Either way, tonight, you’re going to let go of all of your inner insecurities and just live in the moment. He stands in front of you , offering you his hand, and you take it without hesitation. The night’s just beginning, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you might just have the strength to leave all the old hurt behind.

“You ready to show them what you got?” Terry’s eyes linger on you, his large fingers interlocking with yours.

“Let’s see if I can still keep up.” You smile, pushing off the bench.And as he pulls you onto the rink, guiding you effortlessly into the slow rhythm of the music, you realize something… This night ain’t about the past or your grudge your held against this place. It’s about right now. And right now, Terry Richmond got all your attention.

The clock struck a little after 9pm and you and Terry both decided to call it a night and turn in your skates. You followed Terry’s lead as the two of you stepped out of the skating rink, the cool night air kissing your skin after the heat of the packed building. The bass from inside still rumbled in the background as more folks poured in for the after-hours session. You felt a lingering excitement from the night, your legs still tingling from the rush of skating and swaying with Terry on the floor. He walked beside you, his pace slow and relaxed, but you could tell by the way his eyes swept the parking lot that his mind was elsewhere. Terry wasn’t the type to get too comfortable in one spot for too long—especially not when crowds gathered, alcohol flowed, and tempers could spark over the smallest shit.

“You good?” You asked, glancing up at him.

“Yeah, I’m straight. But you look like you still got some energy left.” He pulled his car keys from his pocket, twirling them between his fingers before shooting you a smirk.

“I ain’t gon’ lie, I did miss this. I had fun tonight.” You smiled, stretching your arms.

He nodded, then slowed his steps, tilting his head at you. “You tryna call it a night, or you got one more adventure in you?”

“Depends. What you got in mind?” You raised a brow.

His smirk deepened, his eyes flashing with mischief, “Let me stop by the liquor store real quick. Grab us something to sip on with our food waiting back at the house.”

“O-Okay.” You nodded,

Your stomach tensed slightly. Drinking around Terry made you nervous, but not because you didn’t trust him—it was because you didn’t trust yourself. There was something about him, the way he carried himself, that made you feel vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to. The ride to the liquor store was quick. The neon lights of the small shop glowed against the dark sky, buzzing faintly. Before stepping out, Terry handed you a couple of bills.

“Go next door, grab two Big Gulp cups, and fill ‘em with some slushies,” He instructed. “We mixin’ when I get back.”

“Yes, sir.” You took the money and rolled your eyes playfully. He chuckled, stepping out, and you walked into the 7-Eleven, heading straight for the slushie machine. The bright colors spun in the clear tanks, and you carefully mixed cherry with blue raspberry for one, pineapple with mango for the other. As you reached for the lids and straws, a voice cut through the air—deep, raspy, too damn familiar, making your entire body run cold and lock up.

“Sunshine?” The familiar voice spoke. Your breath caught in your throat, fingers stiffening around the cup. The air in the store suddenly felt too thick, your vision narrowing as an old, buried fear slithered up your spine. You knew that voice anywhere. Slowly, hesitantly, you turned, and there he was, Rodney. Time hadn’t been kind to him. His skin, once rich and buttery smooth, looked sunken and dry, dark circles carved beneath his hazel eyes. His frame was smaller, his once-athletic build now gaunt. He used to be fine—every girl wanted him, the older ones keeping a watchful eye, the younger ones waiting for their turn to catch his attention. He had that ’90s R&B pretty-boy look, the type of dude who stayed fresh, always smelling like cologne and bad decisions. Now, he looked like he had seen the bottom of every bottle, taken every wrong turn, and lost every battle along the way. But none of that mattered because all you could see was him. The boy who took something from you. The boy who played on your innocence, your trust. The one who made you run from this city and never look back. Your stomach twisted violently.

“It is you,” Rodney breathed, a weak smile tugging at his chapped lips. “Damn… how you been, baby girl?”

You nearly dropped the slushie as your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out the hum of the store. Your hands shook as you took a step back, the nausea rising fast. You couldn’t be here. You couldn’t do this. Rodney stepped forward slightly, his hand lifting, as if he wanted to touch you, but your body reacted before your mind did. You jerked back so fast your shoulder hit the slushie machine, your breath coming out in short, sharp bursts. Rodney quickly dropped his hand, his expression flickering with something unreadable.

“S-Sunshine, I—” He attempted to say, with tears forming in his eyes. You didn’t wait to hear whatever lie he was about to tell. Grabbing the slushies, you tossed the money onto the counter and bolted. The second you hit the night air, the nausea took full control. Your stomach lurched violently, and you barely made it to the side of Terry’s truck before you doubled over, vomiting onto the pavement. Terry was there in an instant.

“Shit—” His voice was sharp with concern, one hand hovering over your back, not touching but close enough to let you know he was right there. “Breathe, ma. Breathe through it.”

You wiped your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut. “I’m fine,” you choked out. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

However, Terry didn’t buy it. He knew your were lying through your teeth and if it was one thing he hated, it was liars.

His jaw was clenched, his dark eyes scanning your face, reading every emotion you were trying to bury. “Nah,” He murmured. “That wasn’t just some bad food. What happened?”

“Terry, it’s—” You shook your head, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Who?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Somebody in there? Did a nigga do some shit to you in there?” He pressed harder. You exhaled shakily, gripping the truck door for support. His eyes darkened further.

“Tell me who, Y/N” He said, voice even, but you could hear the tension beneath it. You closed your eyes, willing yourself to push it down, to shove the past back into the box where it belonged. But your body wasn’t listening. Because for the first time in years, you weren’t the strong, guarded woman you had built yourself to be. For the first time in years, you were that scared 14-year-old girl again.

“C-Can we please just go home? Please?.” Your voice rasped out, clearing your throat again before spitting in remaining bile out of your mouth. Terry didn’t say anything, he just nodded, eyes on you like a hawk with a tight jaw as he opened the passenger side door for you to get in. As you’re getting in, you felt small under his gaze, almost as if he were scolding you for not being upfront about why you were fine one minute and next thing he knows you’re basically vomiting all over the pavement.

The drive home was drenched in silence. The only sound in the truck was the low hum of the radio, some old R&B record playing softly in the background. You stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, your mind far away from the present. You couldn’t believe after all this time you had seen Rodney. His face, his voice, the weight of his presence had pulled you right back to the past, back to that helplessness, back to that night. You gripped your thighs tightly, your nails digging into your skin as you forced yourself to focus on your breathing. Terry didn’t say a word the whole ride, but you felt his eyes flicker toward you every so often, his grip on the wheel tightening. He wasn’t the type to press for answers—not yet, anyway. He knew whatever was haunting you wasn’t something you could just spill out in the middle of a drive. So he let the silence ride. By the time you pulled up to the house, your stomach was still twisted in knots, but the second you stepped inside, you moved on autopilot going back to that all too familiar numb place. You went straight for the food. Earlier that day, before y’all left, you had cooked—a nice quick meal, something good to come back to. You turned on the stove, reheating the dishes quietly, barely paying attention to anything else. Terry, however, was watching you. His eyes followed every move you made, how your hands trembled slightly as you stirred the food, how your shoulders tensed, how you were too quiet. He didn’t like that shit. Without a word, he grabbed the bottle of Hennessy White he had picked up from the liquor store and poured a generous amount into both Big Gulp cups, mixing it with the slushies you had made earlier. When the food was ready, you placed the plates down on the table and turned to walk away, but before you could, his hand wrapped gently around your wrist.

“Sit down.” His deep voice finally spoke, making you tense. It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t rough. Just firm enough to make you pause. You swallowed, eyes locked onto the floor. Your body felt stiff, your chest tight, but you sat down next to him, grabbing your fork. Terry didn’t let go of your wrist immediately. His thumb brushed against your pulse, slow, measured.

“Tell me what happened,” He murmured. You inhaled sharply. You had fought tears all night, forced yourself to push it down, to not go back there. But with Terry sitting this close, his voice low, steady, and patient, the walls you had built started to crack. You took a slow bite of your food, chewing without tasting, your throat dry despite how much saliva gathered in your mouth. Reaching for your cup, you took a sip of the spiked slushie, the cold hitting your tongue first, then the warmth of the Hennessy settling in your chest. You swallowed, staring at the table.

Then, softly, you said, “It’s more than one reason I stopped coming down here during the summers as a kid.”

Terry didn’t move. He just listened. Your grip tightened around the cup as the words started spilling out, slow at first, then faster, like a wound being ripped open. You began to tell him about Rodney. About how, when you were just 14, he had been someone you looked up to, someone who made you feel seen in ways no one else did. You told him how he gained your trust, how he made you feel special, like you mattered—only to betray you in the worst way possible. How one summer night, when no one was around, he took something from you. How you froze. How you felt your body leave you, how the ceiling blurred, how you counted the cracks just to keep yourself from breaking. How, after it was over, you never told a soul. How you buried it, packed it away like luggage you’d never unpack. How you left town and never looked back. And how seeing him tonight, in that damn store, had ripped open everything you spent years trying to forget. By the time you finished, your hands were trembling around the cup. Your food sat untouched. Your throat burned. The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken emotions, but Terry still hadn’t moved. But when you finally looked at him, his jaw was tight, his eyes dark—not just with anger, but something deeper, something dangerous. You had seen Terry irritated before. You had seen him frustrated. But this? This was different. This was fury. This was war. His grip on the cup was so tight, you thought he might break it. But when he finally spoke, his voice was eerily calm.

“Say the word.” He said slowly.

“What?” You blinked, your breath catching.

His eyes met yours, steady, unwavering. “Say the word,” he repeated. “And I’ll handle it.”

The air in the room instantly shifted. Terry’s words weren’t just words—they were a promise. A quiet, dangerous assurance that if you gave him the green light, Rodney wouldn’t be breathing the same air for much longer. You swallowed, your throat dry, your chest tightening at the sheer weight of his presence.

“Terry…” You started, but your voice wavered. You weren’t sure what you wanted to say. He was still watching you, eyes dark, jaw tight. His fingers flexed on the table like he was holding himself back.

“Say the word,” He repeated slowly, measured. His voice was like gravel, rough with barely contained rage. “You ain’t gotta carry this no more. I’ll take care of it.”

Your stomach twisted. This was the part of Terry that made people afraid—the quiet storm before the destruction, the way he didn’t raise his voice, didn’t make threats. He just acted. But you didn’t want him to act. Not like that, and definitely not for you. Your Nana would be so ashamed if she had worked hard to keep him out of trouble and you got him into more shit. You exhaled shakily, setting your cup down before your fingers betrayed you and showed just how badly you were trembling.

“It was a long time ago,” You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. Terry leaned forward, forearms resting on the table, his broad chest rising and falling steadily. His silence was suffocating. Then, finally he spoke up.

“That don’t mean shit and don’t mean it don’t still matter.” He gritted. Your breath hitched. You wanted to hold it together, to keep that wall up just a little longer, but something about the way he said it, the way he was so certain, shattered something in you. You turned your head away, blinking rapidly, but Terry wasn’t having it. Before you could even think, his fingers brushed against your chin, tilting your face back toward him. It was so gentle, so unexpected, that your breath stalled.

“I see you tryna hold it in,” he murmured. His thumb grazed your jaw, his touch featherlight but firm. “You ain’t gotta do that with me.”

And just like that, the dam broke. A tear slipped free, then another, and before you could stop yourself, you were crying. Not loud, not messy, but the kind of silent, shuddering tears that came from years of swallowing your pain. Terry didn’t speak. He didn’t try to shush you, didn’t hit you with some meaningless “It’s okay.” He just… let you cry. And somehow, that meant more than any words could. After a moment, he exhaled through his nose, rubbing a slow, careful circle against your jaw with his thumb.

“Come here,” He said, his voice softer now, deeper. You hesitated, but something about the way he said it—like he knew you needed it, like he wouldn’t push if you weren’t ready—made you cave. You shifted in your chair, and before you knew it, you were leaning into him. Terry caught you instantly. One strong arm came around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into his lap, the other resting against the small of your back. His warmth surrounded you, his scent—woodsy, clean, something unmistakably him—enveloped you. Your face pressed into his neck, his skin warm against your damp cheek. You felt his breath in your hair, slow and steady.

“I got you,” He murmured. And for the first time in a long time… you believed him. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that. At some point, your tears dried up, exhaustion creeping in, your body growing heavy against his. But Terry didn’t move, didn’t rush you. His hand stayed on your back, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns through your shirt.

“You ever tell anybody?”He finally asked. You shook your head against his shoulder.

“Didn’t think so.” He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. A long beat of silence stretched between you before he gently spoke.

“You shoulda never had to carry that alone, ma.” He inhaled deeply.

Your throat tightened again, but this time, you swallowed it down. “I didn’t know how to tell nobody,” you admitted. “And when I finally thought about it… it was too late.”

Terry was quiet for a moment. Then—“Ain’t never too late.”

“Terry—” You pulled back slightly, looking up at him.

“I mean it.” His gaze was steady, unwavering. “Ain’t never too late to get what’s owed.”

A cold chill ran through you. You knew what he was saying. He wasn’t talking about healing. He wasn’t talking about moving on. He was talking about payback. You studied him, searching his face for something—anything—that would tell you he wasn’t serious. But he was. He was dead serious.

“You can’t—” Your heart pounded.

“I can.” He countered sharply.

“Terry—” You tried to speak.

His fingers flexed against your hip. “Ain’t no nigga walkin’ free after doin’ that to you. Not while I’m breathin’.”

Your stomach flipped. “I don’t want you getting in trouble for me.”

“That’s the last thing you need to worry about.” His lips pressed into a thin line. Your chest ached. This wasn’t what you wanted. You had spent years trying to put this behind you, trying to move forward. But now? Now he was bringing it all back to the surface. And worse? A small, dangerous part of you wanted to let him handle it. Terry tilted his head slightly, studying you. Then, almost like he could read your mind.

“You don’t gotta decide now.” He murmured, staring at you. You swallowed hard.

“But whenever you ready… you just say the word.” He leaned in, his lips just barely grazing your temple. And with that, the choice was yours. The two of you sat and ate your food in comfortable silence as you just tried to forget about how your past decided to pop up and be a son of a bitch. Eventually after you finished your dinner, you two ended up in the living room, the evening taking on a mind of its own.

The soft hum of ’90s R&B filled the space, smooth and sensual, engulfing the living room around the both of you. Jodeci’s “Freek’n You” played low from the speakers, the bass deep, the lyrics suggestive. You curled up beside Terry on the couch, your body warm from the Henny and slushie cocktail, the ice long since melted. The burn of the liquor coated your throat, loosening you up, making you bold. Your eyes flickered to the mantle above the fireplace, a shrine of memories—your nana’s old porcelain figurines, a few framed pictures, a vase filled with artificial roses that had collected dust over time. You exhaled, rubbing a hand down your thigh.

“I’m really gonna miss this place,” You whispered, almost to yourself.

“So don’t sell it,” He said, simple like it was an easy fix.” Terry, leaned back into the couch, his long legs spread wide, cup resting against his knee, studying you.

You snorted, shaking your head. “I am not a country girl,” You said, flashing him a playful smirk. “And besides, I don’t got a husband or kids to pass this land down to. What would I even do with all this space?”

Terry hummed, taking a slow sip from his cup. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes. Something contemplative. You let the silence stretch, the weight of everything lingering between you. The conversation had been too heavy, and you were tipsy enough to crave something lighter. An idea hit you.

Smirking, you sat up, turning toward him. “Let’s play a game,” You said, voice dripping with mischief.

“What kinda game?” Terry raised an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Rapid-fire 21 questions. But…” You paused, licking your lips, letting the moment breathe, “let’s make it grown.”

“Oh, you tryna be messy now?” His smirk deepened.

You laughed, shrugging. “You scared?”

“Me? Nahhh.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Aight, bet. You go first.”

You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… Favorite position?”

Terry took a slow sip before answering. “Depends on the woman. Some deserve missionary so I can look ‘em in they eyes while I fuck em’… others?” He exhaled, his voice dropping an octave. “Bent over, face down in the pillow, ass up high.”

Your stomach flipped, but you kept your composure, sipping your drink to hide your reaction.

“Your turn,” you said, clearing your throat.

Terry leaned in slightly, eyes low. “You ever faked it?”

You blinked before bursting into laughter. “Hell yeah.”

His brows lifted. “Damn. That’s crazy.”

“Not my fault some niggas don’t know what they doing,” You teased.

Terry chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s tragic.” He lifted his cup. “Rest in peace to them weak-ass performances.”

You clinked your cup against his, giggling as you both drank.

“My turn,” You said, leaning in a little closer. “Ever had sex in public?”

“Too many times to count.” Terry’s smirk widened.

“Damn. Where?” Your eyes widened.

“Cars. Stairwells. Dressing rooms. A rooftop one time…” He trailed off, eyes glinting with amusement. “You sound intrigued, ma.”

“I ain’t say all that.” You rolled your eyes, fighting back your smile.

Terry just watched you, like he could see through the front you were putting up.

“Alright, my turn,” he said, setting his empty cup down on the table. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, voice dropping into something smooth and dangerous.

“So…” He paused just long enough for the tension to coil tight between you. “That rose… it feel better than a nigga’s mouth?”

Your stomach dropped. The question hit you like a slap, and before you could stop yourself, you choked on your slushie. Coughing, you slapped a hand over your chest, eyes wide as you stared at him.

“W-What?” You coughed. Terry licked his lips, unbothered, amused even. His eyes dragged over your face, then down to your parted lips, lingering there before flicking back up.

“You heard me, ma.” His voice was deep, smooth, coated in something dangerous. “Answer the question.”

Your heart pounded, heat rushing to your face, your thighs pressing together out of pure instinct. This nigga was playing dirty. And the worst part? You liked it. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry despite the icy slushie burning your tongue. Your knees pressed together instinctively, but you forced yourself to keep eye contact, refusing to let Terry see how deep his words cut through you. His gaze was heavy, molten, dark with mischief, and he knew what he was doing. He had that lazy smirk on his lips, like he was just getting started, like he was enjoying watching you squirm.

“That’s a bold-ass question.” You cleared your throat, forcing a small smirk of your own.

“And yet, you still ain’t answer it.” Terry leaned in slightly, his broad frame dominating the space between you.

“Why? You trying to compare stats?” You shifted on the couch, swirling your drink in your cup, feigning nonchalance.

Terry let out a low chuckle, the sound deep and rich. He stretched his arm over the back of the couch, fingers just barely grazing your shoulder. “Nah. I already know my stats, ma. I just wanna know if you playin’ yourself out of a real experience.”

Your stomach dipped. This man… this nigga right here…

You exhaled through your nose, refusing to be the first to break. “The rose is efficient,” you finally answered, tilting your chin up in defiance. “It does what needs to be done.”

Terry hummed, eyes still locked on yours. “Efficient, huh? That’s cute. But a machine ain’t never gonna know what your body need the way a real nigga will.”

You should’ve seen that coming. You tried to keep your cool, but the way he said it? The way his deep, raspy voice wrapped around those words like silk? It sent a ripple of heat down your spine. You huffed, shaking your head, but your body betrayed you. Your skin was warming up, and the Henny had you feeling too damn good—a little too relaxed, a little too reckless.

So you smirked, tilting your head. “Oh? And what exactly does a ‘real nigga’ do that’s so different?”

Terry’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening for a half second before that smirk of his returned—cocky, knowing.

“Everything baby.” The way he said it was so matter-of-fact, so damn confident, it had no business making you clench around nothing. You bit your lip, trying not to react, but Terry caught it. His gaze flicked down to your mouth, watching the way your teeth tugged at the soft flesh, and suddenly, the air between you shifted. He leaned in even more, his knee grazing yours, voice dropping to something silky, almost hypnotic.

“You really think that little toy can do what I can?” His fingers traced the rim of his empty cup, slow and deliberate. “That rose ain’t got no tongue. It don’t know when to slow down, when to speed up… don’t know how to tease you just right ‘til you beg for it.”

A slow, heated pulse throbbed between your thighs. You opened your mouth to clap back, but nothing came out. Your body had already betrayed you—your breathing had deepened, your skin felt too tight, too hot, and Terry was watching every little shift in your expression like he was reading you.

“See, that’s the thing, ma. A real nigga don’t just make you cum. He makes you feel that shit while he’s sucking on your clit .”He licked his lips. Your thighs clenched. Hard. This was dangerous. And what made it worse? Terry knew exactly what he was doing. You bit down on your straw, trying to distract yourself, but it only made things worse. Terry’s eyes flicked to your lips again, watching the way they wrapped around the plastic, how you pulled back slow, tongue flicking out just slightly to catch a stray drop of slushie. He smirked.

“So,” he drawled, swirling the ice in his cup. “How you like to be ate?”

Your chest seized. You choked again but this time, not on the drink, not on food—on air. Your eyes went wide as you coughed, covering your mouth, your whole body heating up like you’d been thrown into a damn furnace.

Terry just chuckled, unfazed, leaning back against the couch. “Damn, ma. That a hard question or somethin’?”

“You can’t just ask somebody that outta nowhere, Terry!” You wheezed, fanning your face.

“Why not?” He shrugged. “You grown, ain’t you?”

You sputtered, taking another sip of your drink, anything to cool yourself down, but the way he was watching you? Like he had all the patience in the world, like he was waiting for you to stop fighting yourself? That made the heat worse.

“A’ight,” He mused, his voice dropping lower, deeper. “Lemme make it easy for you. You like it soft and slow? Or deep and messy?”

Your whole body betrayed you. Your thighs pressed together before you could stop them, and Terry caught it. He didn’t say nothing—didn’t have to. The small smirk on his lips said it all.

“I—” You swallowed.

“See,” Terry cut in smoothly, shifting closer, his knee knocking against yours. “Me? I don’t play when I eat pussy, baby. I clean my plate—efficiently.”

Your breath hitched.

“I like to take my time with it. Make sure I learn every little thing that makes you shake, makes you moan, makes you beg me to stay down there a little longer.” Terry tilted his head slightly, his eyes hooded, that slow, lazy smirk still on his lips. Your fingers curled around your cup, gripping it tight.

“But I ain’t selfish,” He continued, voice like molten honey, thick and dripping with promise. “I’ll tease that pussy if that’s what you like. Kiss on her real slow. Run my tongue real soft against that lil’ spot with your piercing that makes your toes curl. But if you need it nasty?” He licked his lips, letting the sentence hang before finishing, “I’ll drown in it.”

Your stomach clenched. Your thighs trembled. The Henny was hitting too damn good now, because your head felt light, your body warm, and every single thing he was saying was burrowing deep inside you, making you ache.

You stared at him, the temptation thick between you, and whispered, “That… that sounds amazing.”

Terry’s smirk deepened, his fingers brushing lightly over your knee.

“Then let me eat you out,” He murmured. “Let me show you that rose ain’t got shit on me, baby girl.”

Between the slushy, the slow jams playing and the diabolical heat and Nana’s broken AC system. Your brain was fried as you stared in the ocean eyes of a man that was crafted by God himself, practically egging you on to let him taste what you had between your thick thighs. The thought alone of his juicy lips wrapped tightly around your sensitive bud , milking you through your orgasm already had you practically drooling in your panties. You could feel your pussy becoming slippery against your thong as it stuck to you, making you hold back a whimper. As your clit swoll with need, that damn piercing began to betray you and make you nearly cum on yourself as the seat of your panties rubbed it , creating a slow friction.

“Terry, maybe we had too much to drink—. “ You tried to say but before you could even finish your sentence, Terry was in your personal space, making your heart speed up. Terry bit his bottom lip, his eyes locked onto yours, as he slowly wrapped his hand around your throat. Your breath hitched, feeling your heart pounding in your chest, as you felt his touch ignite a fire within you. Your faces were mere centimeters apart, the tension between you two palpable. Your breathing grew heavier, your anticipation building, as Terry’s full lips finally connected with yours in a slow and nasty tongue kiss. It was as if time stood still, your lips moving in perfect harmony. Your eyes instantly fluttered shut and your hand instinctively found its way to his cheek, deepening the kiss with hunger. You couldn't resist the magnetic pull between you two any longer. You scooted closer to him, with your other hand finding its way around his neck. The music in the background seemed to fade out as the two of you lost yourselves in each other's mouths. The heat between your bodies intensified, mirroring the growing desire that pooled between your thighs.

Terry growled as his grip on your throat tightened slightly, causing you to gasp and let out a small moan. It was all the encouragement Terry needed to deepen the kiss further, his tongue sliding sensually into your mouth, swirling and teasing. You moaned, sucking his tongue, allowing your spit and his spit to intertwine. The more his tongue flicked and sucked against yours, the wetter your pussy felt. It was so slick and slippery, you could smell it through your shorts. The living room seemed to transform into a steamy haven as Terry’s strong hands began to explore your body, igniting every nerve ending along the way. Unable to contain his desire for you any longer, Terry let the kiss become more aggressive, his passion shining through every movement. You responded with small whimpers, your lips tingling from the intensity of the connection. Terry’s hold on your neck released, his lips moving down to explore the sensitive soft skin of your neck. You moaned and shuddered, feeling Terry’s tongue swirling against your neck, expertly finding the spot that drove you wild. Terry’s lips sensually kissed and sucked, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your grip on Terry’s small curls in his head tightened as your cute moans escaped your lips, only fueling Terry’s nasty desire. Terry’s arms wrapped around your body, pulling you in closer, as your bodies pressed against each other.

“T-Terry, p-please.” You whimpered out breathlessly, rubbing his head. By this point you were a shaky mess and needed some relief quickly. Terry chuckled deeply in your neck, biting it slowly as he trailed his tongue upward, circling it around your earlobe before sucking it into his mouth.

“Please what baby? Hmm? Please what?.” His voice darkened, making your body quiver. As much as you tried to fight it and fight doing something you may ultimately regret. The liquor and your hormones was working against you and you said fuck it. Might as well, might as fucking well.

“Taste my pussy.” You whispered, whining for him. That was all Terry needed to hear before he pushed you back on the couch, allowing your back to rest against the pillows as he continued to leave wet open mouth kisses against your neck. Caution was to the wind at this point and damn the consequences of your actions. You needed to feel something, ANYTHING.

The heat between you two intensified, while your hands roamed freely over Terry’s toned arms, your nails grazing the surface, eliciting a groan and a moan from Terry’s throat. You watched as Terry leaned back, staring down at you as he lifted his shirt up from the back, and in an instant he had it off. You bit your bottom lip at the sight of his rich and healthy body. It was crafted to perfection and made you wanna lick every dip and curve of his cut abs. Terry’s eyes dropped lower as he watched your hand reach down and pop the button of your shorts open, letting him know you were on demon time. Terry smirked, pushing your hands out of his way before he took control, yanking the shorts off of you himself, making you gasp at his roughness. Your hips instinctively raise up to assist him in getting them off of you. Soon as your shorts came off your intoxicating arousal smell hit his nose, making his mouth instantly water.

“Fuck, your pussy so fat.” He remarked, as his ocean gray eyes stared down at the way your pussy sat against the snapped closure of your bodysuit. Your clit jumped as more of your juices seeped through your thong, creating a very noticeable wet spot on the outside of the red fabric. Terry’s eyes stay locked on yours, dark and heavy with intent, as his hands ease up under the curve of your ass, gripping you firm but slow like he’s mapping out every inch. But he doesn’t rush—nah, he takes his time, savoring every reaction, every hitched breath, every little tremble that runs through you. His lips graze over your jaw first, then lower, tracing a slow, burning path down the side of your neck. The heat of his breath makes your skin prickle, your pulse jump. He lingers at that sensitive spot near your collarbone, sucking just enough to make you squirm, his grip tightening on your hips.

“Terry…” His name slips from your lips, part plea, part warning, your fingers gripping at the solid muscles of his shoulders. He hums against your skin, deep and rich, the vibration sinking right through you.

“Relax, baby,” He murmurs, trailing his tongue down the valley between your breasts, the thin fabric of your bodysuit doing nothing to stop the warmth of his mouth. “Let me do this right.”

Your breath hitches when his hands slide down your thighs, then lower, fingers teasing at the clasp of your bodysuit between your thighs. He pauses, his grip firm but patient, his dark eyes flicking up to yours, reading you.

“You want me to stop?” His voice is thick, low, serious. Giving you an out.

You shake your head, pulse hammering in your throat. “No,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”

That slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips as he flicks the snaps open one by one, the small pops echoing in the thick silence between you. The fabric of your bodysuit peels away, his fingers grazing over the newly exposed skin of your stomach, making you shudder. Terry shifts lower, dragging his hands up the backs of your thighs, his touch warm, possessive. He takes his time, savoring the way your breathing changes, the way your body reacts to him, completely at his mercy. Your breathing labors as you feel Terry’s lips trail down, slow and deliberate, leaving a path of wet, open-mouthed kisses against your belly. His warm breath fans over your skin, and the heat of his tongue sends a delicious shiver through your body.

“You smell so fuckin’ good, ma,” He rasps against your skin, his voice thick with hunger. His nose grazes the crease of your inner thigh as he inhales deeply, like he’s savoring your wet scent, like he’s already addicted. Your own arousal was beginning to invade your nose turning you on to the highest max. Your thighs instinctively try to press together, but he’s quicker, stronger. His hands slide up, firm and possessive, gripping the backs of your knees before pushing your legs back—high and open—until they’re nearly touching your stomach. With one free hand, Terry pushes your thong out of the way, snapping it at the seams, making you gasp. Your swollen pussy lips spread open instantly for him as he pushes your legs back further. He leaned in slowly and guided one of your legs over his shoulder, running his hands over your supple thighs, parting your slippery wet fat lips to kiss and lick at you swollen clit slowly. You jerked at the sudden warm sensation of his tongue. Terry’s tongue flicked back and forth rapidly against your diamond piercing that sat against your clit, making your walls gush in an instant.

“O-Ohhh fuckkkk! Shit shit!.” You hissed, toes curling in the air. You stared up at the ceiling, feeling your breaths becoming shallow as his tongue worked slow and steady patterns between your pussy folds. His right hand slid up your thigh as he dipped his tongue down further to taste what seemed to have dripped out, grunting as the sweet sensation danced on his taste buds. Your back arched into the couch as your fingers dug into the cushion beneath you, feeling his tongue swirl up and down your pussy sloppily. Your ears were graced with soft lapping sounds as his tongue danced in circles around your throbbing clit. You could feel your creamy juices seeping like liquid gold as his tongue worked in a figure eight motion. Terry slowly started to suck gently on your clit, but then he became relentless, sucking your sensitive and swollen clit into his mouth with determination and precision.

Terry groaned loudly against your skin, the vibration sending a shockwave through your body. “Mm,” he hums, his tongue flicking out to taste your clit again. “Just like I knew you would… sweet as fuck.”

“T-Terry…” Your voice is barely there, breathless, overwhelmed.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his lips glistening with your creamy juices, his expression wicked. “I know, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick like molasses. “Feels good, don’t it?”

You nod, swallowing hard, your thighs trembling around his head. Soft whimpers leave your mouth as you stare at the gorgeous work of art between your thighs. Clit glistening with his spit and your juices as he kisses on it, while his eyes remained locked on yours. You purred, feeling his hand gripping your ass and running his other hand up to knead at your breasts, groaning into your slick lips like he’s the one getting pleasure from it.

He smirks. “Then let me finish my plate.”

And just like that, he dives back in, his pace slower this time, more intentional. His tongue moves in slow, sensual strokes, coaxing you higher and higher until your back arches, your fingers gripping the couch for dear life.

You try to hold back, try to contain the whimpers slipping past your lips, but Terry isn’t having that. “Nah,” he murmurs against your pussy, sending another wave of pleasure through you. “Lemme hear it, ma.”

“Oh daddy… d-don’t stop.” You shamelessly whine. His grip tightens, holding you exactly where he wants you, his tongue working you into a slow, desperate unraveling. He sucks, licks, flicks at your clit until your thighs are shaking, your breaths are coming in short, uneven gasps, and your entire body is tensed like a bowstring ready to snap. You inhale sharply, nearly convulsing, throwing your head back as your hand found its way into his curls. Your feet digging into the back of his shoulders every time he sucked a little more forcefully on your clit. You cried, trying to push his head back, but he held you down. Continuing to shake his head side to side as spit was dripping from his mouth onto your pussy, sucking at your clit with determination. You held his head and watched it go up and down and side to side, creating the perfect cadence to aid in your oncoming orgasm.

“T-Terry— FUCK! Wait— I-I ooooh I’m gonna cum!!” You squeal, feeling your pussy gushing incessantly. You pushed at his forehead again, but he wouldn’t relinquish as his lips stayed locked around your clit, sucking it harder, allowing his tongue to sit flat against it and flick back and forth.

“Oooh yesss daddy yesssss.” You whimpered louder.

He pulls back just slightly, his lips glistening as he licks them slowly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Don’t run from it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice sinful. “Take all this shit.” And then he’s back on you, hungrier, deeper, more consuming. Holding you open, eating like it’s his last meal.

“Terry— fuck! oh my god don’t stop.. don’t stop please.” You begged holding his head in place. He used the pad of his thumbs to spread your full lips apart as his tongue circled your entrance before dipping the tip in real slow. You squealed as you felt his tongue thrusting upward against your g-spot, thumping it rapidly. Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you felt yourself dampening his goatee hair.

“So fucking fat and sweet.” He groaned, wrapping his tongue around your clit, sucking all over it nastily as he pushed his face deeper. Your hips bucked upward, feeling your stomach tighten up in a knot. You knew you were about to cum and from the way he continued to assault your clit, it was gonna be intense and messy.

“T-Terry..” You managed to get out, eyes crossing as he relentlessly held your clit captive in his mouth. Terry’s eyes flickered up as he watched you, his gray eyes locked onto your face as he works you over with hard, deliberate strokes of his tongue and the sensation of his lips . He can feel every little tremor in your thighs, every sharp hitch of your breath. But he ain’t letting up. Not yet.

“Relax for me, ma,” He murmurs against you, his deep voice vibrating straight through your core. “Let me take you there.”

Your hands are gripping his curls so tight it should hurt, but he doesn’t care. He loves it—loves the way you’re coming undone just from his mouth, the way you’re trying to hold on when he knows you ain’t got a chance.

“T-Terry…” Your voice is shaky, needy, your thighs trembling in his grasp. You listened to the nasty wet sounds of his mouth devouring your pussy like it was a succulent piece of fruit. You squirmed beneath him, the pleasure becoming too overwhelming, but he didn’t let you play yourself out of what he knew you needed most, and that was a good nut.

“Shh, I got you.” He flattens his tongue against you, slow and deep, before switching up, flicking in a way against your clit in a turbo motion, that has your whole body jerking. He grins against you. “Damn, you sensitive as hell, baby. You been neglecting yourself or that little toy just ain’t cuttin’ it no more?”

You let out a whimper, head tipping back against the couch, body arching off the cushions. He chuckles, low and sinful, before sucking deep, rolling his tongue just right.

“Oh—fuck!” You yelp loudly, holding his head down, trying to scoot back again.

He tightens his grip when you try to close your legs, spreading you wider, keeping your pussy open for him. “Nah, don’t run now,” he rasps, lips glistening as he glances up at you. “You gon’ take all this shit. Let me hear you, baby. Let me feel you.”

He drags two fingers through your slick pussy, teasing your awaiting creamy hole before pushing them in, the cream instantly pushes against his fingers as he thrusts them slow but deep. The stretch makes you gasp, back bucking like a horse off the couch.

“That’s it,” He praises, curling his fingers just right towards your g-spot. “You feel that? Feel how my fingers fit right inside this fat pretty pussy? That little rose can’t do this, can it?”

Your breath stutters, eyes rolling back as he strokes his fingers deep, touching your cervix as he rubs your g-spot, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers, drawing you closer to your orgasm.

“I—I’m… Terry, I can’t—” You whined desperately.

“Yes, the fuck you can,” He growls, increasing his pace, pushing you right to the edge. “C’mon, baby, gimme that shit. Let me feel you cum for me.”

“I-I’m b-bout to cu—“ Your words were instantly cut short as the ache in your stomach intensified and your release shattered through you.

Terry feels it before he sees it, the way your body locks up, the way your creamy slick walls grip his thick fingers like a vice, the way your thighs tremble uncontrollably in his hands. He knows it’s coming, and he ain’t about to let up now. If anything, he doubles down, curling his fingers just right, his tongue flicking against that sensitive clit like he’s got something to prove.

“That’s it, baby,” He rasps between licks and strokes of his fingers, his deep voice vibrating through you. “Let that shit go for me. Don’t fight it. Cum in daddy’s mouth baby.”

Your breath stutters, a choked sob ripping from your lips as the pressure inside you snaps, sending you spiraling into an earth-shattering release. Your entire body jerks violently, back arching off the couch as a gush of liquid rushes out of you, soaking his hand, his wrist, his damn beard. You squirted hard as your orgasm overtook you and left you practically paralyzed.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Terry groans, voice thick with hunger as he licks and sucks clit through it, taking every drop, every last shudder. “Damn, you taste so fuckin’ good.”

“Oh—shit! Terry! YES YESSSSS! Dadddddyyyyy.” You screamed out, thrashing all over the couch as his fingers stroked you through your orgasm, milking it from you. Terry lets out a groan, deep and satisfied, as he watches you lose yourself completely, his lips glistening, his fingers still working you through every wave, every shudder. He doesn’t stop until you physically push at his head, your legs twitching in overstimulation, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Finally, he pulls back, his face soaked, his smirk downright sinful as he wipes his mouth. His eyes are locked on you and your spent, trembling body, the way you’re struggling to come back down, your chest heaving, your skin glowing.

“Fuck,” He murmurs, his voice thick with pride. “Look at this messy ass couch. Look at you, baby.” He bites his bottom lip, shaking his head. “Told you that little toy wasn’t fuckin’ with me.”

You couldn’t even form words yet, still floating in the aftershocks, but he leans up, pressing a slow, deep kiss against your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You moan, tongue kissing him back, getting drunk off your own sweetness and scent on his lips.

“You good baby?” He asks against your mouth, his hand stroking your thigh, grounding you. You nod weakly, eyes still dazed, lips slightly parted as you try to catch your breath.

“Y-Yes…” You gently rasp out, too spent to form a coherent sentence.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He smirks. As you lay there, still trembling from the intensity, your body aching in all the right ways, your mind is a swirl of confusion. The walls you’ve built so carefully around your heart are crumbling, and for the first time in years, you feel something close to vulnerability. Terry, with all his heat, intensity, and promises of more, has unlocked something inside you. But a part of you still wonders—should this just be a one-time thing, or are you ready to risk it all? You close your eyes, trying to breathe through the thick sexual tension that lingers in the air. But when you feel Terry’s presence next to you, his hand gently caressing your skin, the question lingers in your mind— do you really want to open yourself up to love again? Or is this simply just getting a nut in while you sort out your Nana’s last wishes?

Now ain’t this bout a bitch!………

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destinedfordiapers · 1 day ago

Text

Dancing Through Life

This is Part Two of the series I’m writing with @paci-papa, catch up on Part One here!

One thing is crystal clear as you lay there in a soggy diaper, waiting for your babysitters to change you:

It’s going to be a long weekend.

For the last few months, Papa had been your whole world. He made you feel so safe, so secure you never thought twice about becoming his babygirl.

You didn’t mind the wet and messy diapers you wore all day. Or how your adult clothes were swapped for your current infantile wardrobe. You didn’t even mind that your adulthood was a thing of the past, never to return.

Papa was always there to make everything better. To assure you that you were right where you belonged.

It was like the outside world ceased to exist.

“You were so right, babe. She really is better off like this! It’s hard to believe it’s her. No more attitude, no more sass. Just a well-behaved pamper packer!”

Not anymore.

Papa didn’t leave you with just any babysitters. No, you had a history with the two babysitters smiling down at you.

“Well, I wish I could take credit for the docile little thing waiting so patiently for a diaper change! But her Papa deserves all the credit. All I did was put her back in diapers where she belongs!”

Two years ago, before your new life as Papa’s poopy pamper princess, Trevor was your boyfriend. But he could only handle your attitude and immaturity for so long. Especially when your drunken escapades ended with a soaked bed.

“Well, judging by how fast she tinkled through this diaper, it was the right decision!”

You foolishly look up and make eye contact with Liv. Pee trickles into your diaper as you see her condescending grin.

Ugh, you hated Liv.

The woman who stole Trevor from you.

You remember that same condescending grin on her face when Trevor put your nighttime diaper on you before she ran off to bed with him. Or how she’d always check your diaper in her lingerie first thing in the morning.

And the horrible way she’d loudly comment that you made an “oopsie daisy in her diaper” whenever you woke up wet.

Liv stops Trevor as he walks to you with a new diaper and changing supplies.

“Babe, I’m a little concerned about Erica’s tummy. Her Papa says she usually makes a boom boom before lunch, but it’s already afternoon, and she’s only tinkled, poor thing.”

Your face turns a shade of red so bright a tomato would be jealous.

“Honey,” Trevor says, “Are you holding your poopoo?”

You cover your face in shame. “I…I…”

Liv jumps in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Little one, you have nothing to be embarrassed about, okay? We’re your babysitters! Our job is to change poopy diapers!”

You whimper, dreading what’s about to happen. “I…don’t have to…”

“Hmm. Why don’t we help make things easy, sweetie?” Liv says, grabbing your feet, “Let’s do bicycle kicks until you fill your diaper?”

“B-bicycle kicks?” you whimper.

“Yes, little one. They always work on my little niece!”

Before you can react, Liv starts moving your legs back and forth, slowly pushing them towards you before pulling back, cycling each leg.

“Mmmm,” you whimper, doing your best not to mess your diaper in front of Liv like an actual baby.

For a minute or two, the only sounds are your diaper crinkles and Liv's humming. A loud, foreboding gurgle erupts from your tummy.

You whimper, feeling your control dwindling. Every time Liv pushes your legs, you feel your control slipping. You desperately try to fight the inevitable.

Without warning, a loud toot trumpets into the room.

“Good girl, Erica! Get all your toot-toots out!” Liv coos.

It happens slowly, then all at once.

Your eyes go wide as you feel your mess sliding slowly, inevitably, into your diaper, which crackles as you fill it. Nothing you do makes any difference.

Trevor laughs, “Wow, you were right, Liv! Works like a charm!”

You have no control, like the baby you’ve become.

Each time Liv pushes, more mess slides into your diaper. She pushes on and on, your diaper struggling to contain your onslaught.

“Almost done, honey?” Liv asks, inspecting your diaper, “Anymore poopoo and we might have a blowout!”

All you can do is nod your head, too mortified to answer.

“Awwww, what did I say about being ashamed of your stinkies, baby? They’re part of life for you now. Besides, it’s not like waiting would’ve changed anything! Diapers are your potty now, silly!”

You cower as the smell engulfs you, a constant reminder of your new place in life.

Liv pats your diaper playfully. “Such a big mess, too! You musta felt so icky holding all that in!”

“No wonder Papa needs a break!” Trevor adds, “Diaper duty for little Erica here is no easy task.”

“Oh, stop, Trev. Don’t make baby Erica feel bad, she can’t help it. She’s just a baby!”

You look up at Liv with a feminine rage that fizzles out immediately. Liv meets your glance.

She’s taunting you. She knows you’re no longer a woman—you’re a silly baby in a poopy diaper.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, honey. Besides, I like you so much better this way! It was a mistake potty training you, but Papa is fixing that mistake! Your attitude is so much better when you’re pampered.”

Hearing that, you whimper, kicking your feet in shame. But too embarrassed to throw an actual tantrum.

As you kick, your bulging diaper sways heavily, threatening to burst.

“Awwwww, you can say that again,” Liv giggles, “Look at her go! Big girl things like drinking, sex, and work were much too big a responsibility for you. Papa was right taking them away from you.”

Trevor nods in agreement.

“Now all you have to worry about is being Papa’s pretty princess! It’s hard to have a bad attitude when you’re in a loaded diaper, isn’t it?”

Liv tickles your sides, cooing you. “Come on, lil stinker. Let’s get that diaper changed. You’re not getting diaper rash on our watch!”

As Liv changes your diaper, you can’t help but think about your new life—and what it means to be Papa’s pamper packer.

It was so easy to get lost in the silliness of being his princess when it was just the two of you. Papa made everything so perfect, so comfortable, you couldn’t help but want to be his diapered little princess.

But you forgot that you don’t get to stay home all day. There’s a whole world outside your cozy crib and comfy changing table.

And now you know exactly where you fit in.

Pamper packers like you may be cute and adorable, but nobody will ever take you seriously again. Not as an adult. To everyone, you’re nothing but an oversized baby in need of a caregiver.

You used to think of yourself as a beautiful, sexy woman. As Liv grabs another wipe to clean your poopy princess parts, you know those days are long gone.

Pamper packers don’t have sex. They get their princess parts wiped clean before being safely secured in another diaper before being sent off to play.

Later that night, the reality of your new life carries into the guest room. The sounds of Liv’s pleasure breaks the silence of the night.

You listen, imagining that it was you moaning. Getting lost in your fantasy, crinkles erupt from your bed as you desperately hump your pillow to the rhythm of the moans.

A crinkle symphony nobody will ever hear.

#diaper captions #diaper humiliation

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heliosunny · 3 days ago

Text

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Jiaoqiu x Reader

There was something different about the air that morning. The usual silence that wrapped around your home like a comforting shroud had been replaced with the gentle clatter of chopsticks and the rich, mouthwatering aroma of slow-simmered broth.

You stirred, your mind still heavy with sleep, the warmth of your blankets cocooning you. But then the realization struck—you lived alone.

The scent was unmistakable- hotpot. The fragrance of simmering spices, tender meats, and fresh vegetables wafted through the air. But that was impossible. Your kitchen had been empty when you went to sleep.

You forced yourself to sit up, your pulse quickening. Your gaze flickered to the small wooden table near the window—

The egg was gone.

Where once had sat a smooth, shimmering egg, now only empty cloth remained—split, torn, as if something had cracked through from the inside.

The egg had hatched.

You barely had time to process that thought before the sound of a bubbling broth pulled your attention to the next impossible sight.

There, in your kitchen, stood a stranger.

His salmon-colored hair fell past his shoulders, shifting slightly as he moved. Tall fox ears twitched faintly at the sound of your stirring, but he didn’t turn right away. Instead, he continued his work, placing thin slices of meat into the steaming broth with an air of quiet familiarity, as though this were his home, as though he had always belonged here.

Then, at last, he glanced over his shoulder.

Golden eyes met yours.

"Ah" he murmured, as though he had been waiting for this moment. "You're finally awake."

Your fingers curled against the sheets as your mind struggled to piece together the impossible sight before you. The broken egg. The stranger in your kitchen. The way he looked at you as if he already knew you.

You swallowed hard. "Who… who are you?"

His smile deepened just slightly, like someone amused by a question they had already anticipated.

"Jiaoqiu" he answered smoothly, before adding, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world "Or rather, yours now."

You didn’t move right away.

Jiaoqiu showed no signs of unease under your lingering stare. Instead, he simply turned his attention back to the pot, the rich broth bubbling as he plucked a perfectly cooked piece of meat and dipped it lightly into a sauce.

Then, with practiced ease, he held it out toward you.

Your stomach twisted, not out of hunger, but from the sheer absurdity of the situation. A stranger had hatched from an egg in your home and was now feeding you breakfast like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Jiaoqiu tilted his head, golden eyes unwavering.

"Eat" he urged gently, as though guiding a skittish animal to trust him.

It was strange, his voice held no force, no demand. And yet, it was hard to refuse. Warily, you accepted the bite.

The flavor melted over your tongue—rich, balanced, perfectly seasoned. A warmth spread through you, comforting despite the lingering confusion in your chest.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the obvious.

"...Hotpot for breakfast?" you finally asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jiaoqiu blinked, then let out a soft chuckle.

"Hotpot is everything" he replied as though it were an undeniable truth. "A meal for every occasion—joy, sorrow, celebration... even waking up in a new world."

Your fingers tensed against your lap at that last part. New world?

You studied him carefully, but he remained utterly at ease, leisurely stirring the pot with his chopsticks.

"...And what exactly is this occasion?" you muttered, watching him closely.

Jiaoqiu smiled. "A meeting of fate."

The two of you fell into an odd rhythm—sharing bites, exchanging words. Despite everything, Jiaoqiu carried the conversation with effortless grace, guiding it like a steady stream.

He never spoke about himself directly, yet somehow, every moment felt like a carefully placed step, drawing you further into his pace.

"You’re good at deflecting questions." you pointed out dryly.

Jiaoqiu laughed, resting his chin against his hand. "And you're good at asking the right ones. An excellent match, wouldn't you say?"

Then, just as naturally as everything else, he shifted the conversation.

"You should stay home today." he mused, pouring more broth into the pot. "I'll handle things outside."

You frowned. "Outside?"

Jiaoqiu nodded, golden eyes gleaming softly. "Every home needs a good foundation. If I am to stay, I should ensure it is... secure."

"You're acting like you already live here." you said, voice careful.

Jiaoqiu simply smiled, rising to his feet. His tail flicked once, deliberate and slow.

"Am I not welcome?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he picked up his feather fan and gave you a small, almost playful wave.

"Be good and rest." he murmured, as if you'd already agreed. "I'll be back soon."

Then, just like that—he was gone.

The rest of the morning passed in uneasy quiet.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you finally shook off the odd feeling and settled onto the couch, phone in hand.

A few messages from your friends had already piled up.

[Albedo0w0]: Hey, you okay? You didn’t answer earlier. [QtieCeline]: You alive? What’s with the radio silence? [Vikky]: Did you finally oversleep and get eaten by a dream ghost?

You huffed, thumbs tapping a response.

You: I'm fine, just woke up late. Albedo: Wow, the world really is ending.

A small smile pulled at your lips as you scrolled through their banter.

You spent hours later just to be on your phone.

The softest brush of silk against your skin made you jolt slightly. Before you could turn, a warm weight pressed against your shoulder.

"Mm, you're still here" Jiaoqiu mused, voice light with amusement. "Good."

Your breath caught. You hadn’t even heard the door open.

"Did you just—"

"Welcome me home?" He exhaled a small, satisfied sigh. "How thoughtful of you."

Your gaze flickered toward him. Jiaoqiu had tucked himself comfortably against your side, his hair spilling over your arm like silk. He peered at your phone screen, his golden irises gleaming with quiet interest.

You shifted slightly, but he didn’t budge.

"Nosy" you muttered.

Jiaoqiu only smiled. "It’s only natural to be curious about what holds your attention."

Still, he made no move to take your phone, only resting there. But somehow, you found yourself not pushing him away.

Instead, you asked "So… what did you do while you were out?"

Jiaoqiu hummed, as if pleased by the question. "Oh, just some adjustments."

"The path outside was uneven, so I had it paved. The old vendor down the street was running low on his best herbs, so I made sure he was stocked. And that strange draft in your bedroom? Gone."

"You did all that in just a few hours?"

Jiaoqiu leaned back slightly, his fan tapping lightly against his chin. "Efficiency is key, don't you think?"

"...You fixed the draft?" you murmured.

Jiaoqiu’s tail swayed lazily. "A home should be comfortable, don’t you think?"

The next morning, you woke earlier than expected. As sunlight poured through the curtains, you just simply lay on your bed, your thoughts drifting in the comfortable quiet.

And then, you remembered.

Jiaoqiu.

Your head turned instinctively, only to find the space beside you empty.

Of course he wouldn’t be here. You weren’t even sure if he had a place to sleep at all. He seemed more like the type to simply exist wherever he pleased. Still, the thought left a strange hollowness in your chest. Shaking it off, you got up and moved through your morning routine.

This time, you made a silent decision: You were going out for breakfast. It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the hotpot, but you needed to reclaim your routine. Jiaoqiu had already settled too naturally into your space, and if you weren’t careful, you’d fall into his pace. Grabbing your things, you slipped out the door, the cool morning air greeting you.

And yet, as you walked down the freshly paved street, a street that hadn’t been this smooth yesterday, you couldn’t help but feel like you were still walking on a path Jiaoqiu had prepared for you.

Your day passed in a blur of routine.

Work had been uneventful, though a lingering weight sat at the back of your mind, the thought of Jiaoqiu, his presence, his casual way of slipping into your life.

When you stepped out of the building at the end of the day, he was already there, waiting. Jiaoqiu stood casually near the entrance, leaning slightly against the railing. His golden irises gleamed the moment they landed on you, and a slow, knowing smile curled at his lips.

"As expected" he murmured.

You stopped short. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, of course."

Before you could answer, a voice beside you broke the moment.

"You know him?"

Your coworker, someone you had walked out with countless times before—glanced between the two of you, brows furrowed. They had only ever known you to be alone after work.

Jiaoqiu’s gaze shifted towards them.

A split second later, your coworker took a step forward.

And Jiaoqiu moved.

The shift was near imperceptible, one moment, he was standing still, the next, he was blocking their path, his fan lightly tapping against their shoulder.

"You’re in the way" Jiaoqiu said.

Your coworker frowned. "Excuse me?"

Jiaoqiu’s tail flicked once behind him.

And then, just as suddenly, your coworker shoved past him.

It happened too fast.

One second, the tension was only words. The next- a fight broke out.

You didn’t think. You stepped in.

"Jiaoqiu, stop—!"

But before you could reach him, you tripped and fell.

Your knee hit the pavement—your breath caught.

And then, warm hands caught you before you could fall further.

Jiaoqiu’s grip was steady, despite the storm in his eyes.

The fight had stopped. Your coworker had taken a few steps back.

"Come" Jiaoqiu whispered.

By the time you registered what had happened, you were already seated at home, your knee carefully wrapped in fresh bandages.

Jiaoqiu knelt beside you, and you watched him in silence.

Finally, you muttered, "You didn’t have to fight them."

Jiaoqiu hummed, but didn’t look up. "Didn’t I?"

You frowned. "They weren’t doing anything wrong."

That finally made him pause.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze—and for the first time, his usual smile was absent.

"They were in my way" he said, as if that was reason enough.

You were about to argue, but Jiaoqiu’s fingers brushed over the fresh bandages, deliberately light.

"...Does it hurt?" he asked instead.

"...No. It’s fine."

"Alright." he murmured, lingering just a second longer before finally pulling away. "But you shouldn’t be so careless next time."

Sleep did not come easily that night.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your thoughts tangled in the events of the day. Jiaoqiu’s gentle hands, his calm smile, the way he had brushed past your injury like it was nothing, except for when he was tending to it.

And now, this.

Your doors and windows. They're all locked.

You didn’t remember doing it. You knew you hadn’t.

But you could guess who had.

The handle wouldn’t turn. Frowning, you applied more force, only to realize it had been tampered with. Not broken, not damaged, but secured in a way that wasn’t natural. You turned, checking the front door. Same thing. The locks weren’t just locked. They had been replaced.

When did he do this?

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

The screen lit up with a single message.

Jiaoqiu: Sleep early. I'll see you tomorrow.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a hundred different messages forming in your mind: What did you do? Why are my locks different? How long have you been planning this?

But instead, your hands were still.

Because deep down, you already knew the answer.

Tomorrow, you thought, gripping your phone just a little tighter.

Tomorrow, you would talk to him.

Morning light filtered through your window, a soft warmth brushing against your skin. It felt like any other day—except it wasn’t.

You hadn’t slept much.

Not after what you discovered last night.

You moved through the motions: brushing your teeth, getting dressed, preparing to leave, but every movement felt tense.

You weren’t just preparing for work.

You were preparing for him.

The moment you stepped outside, there he was. His presence blended seamlessly into the morning, as if he had always belonged there.

“Good morning” Jiaoqiu greeted.

Like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t locked you in your own home.

You stopped just a few steps away. “Jiaoqiu.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. “You look tired. Did you not sleep well?”

There was no use dancing around it.

“My locks” you said, voice even. “They’re different.”

Jiaoqiu blinked, tilting his head slightly.

“Oh? You only noticed now?”

He wasn’t denying it.

“Why?”

Jiaoqiu exhaled softly, lifting his fan to lazily tap against his chin, as if amused by the question. “Why?” he echoed. “Because it was necessary.”

Your brows furrowed. “Necessary for what?”

He chuckled. “You live alone” he said. “And you don’t take any safety measures. Anyone could’ve walked in. Anyone could’ve hurt you.”

“So I fixed it.”

“Jiaoqiu....that’s not your decision to make.”

Instead of arguing, he sighed. “Mmm. I see.”

He lowered his fan, his expression shifting to something softer, gentler, apologetic. “I overstepped, didn’t I?”

For a brief second, relief washed over you.

Maybe he understood. Maybe this was just a misunderstanding.

But then, he stepped closer.

“I only wanted to keep you safe” Jiaoqiu murmured, voice low. “Would you have preferred it if someone else broke in? If something happened while I wasn’t there?”

“That’s not the point.”

Jiaoqiu’s gaze softened further.

“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”

His ears twitched, tail curling slightly behind him.

“But you have to understand... I won’t apologize for caring.”

It wasn’t an apology. Because despite the words, despite the smile, despite the gentle way he spoke, he had no intention of undoing what he’d done.

Jiaoqiu tilted his head. “Are you still upset?”

You wanted to say something. But what could you say?

That he was wrong? That you wanted him to undo it?

Would he even listen?

Or would he just smile and find another way around you?

Then, his hand moved again. A small pouch, barely noticeable, slipped from his sleeve. The faintest scent of herbs and wild essence drifted in the air.

“Here.” He pressed a small sachet into your hands before you could react. “To help you rest better tonight.”

Your fingers instinctively curled around it. The scent was calming, soothing, familiar. You recognized some of the herbs—valerian, jujube, magnolia bark,.... ingredients meant to ease tension.

It was… thoughtful.

Jiaoqiu smiled as if he had read your hesitation. “I wouldn’t give you anything harmful.”

You wanted to push it back into his hands, tell him you don't need this but before you could, you felt tired. And he had counted on that too.

Then, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t worry” he murmured. “You’ll get used to it.”

#yandere x reader #hsr x reader #yandere #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu x you #jiaoqiu x y/n #heliosluckyegg

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maeintree · 2 days ago

Text

for all of us | l. laufeyson

⊹ ࣪ ˖ Sequel of For the Children

Summary: After a brutal attack against the royal family, you get hit in the crossfire and Loki realizes what's been missing all along. Pairing: husband!Loki Laufeyson x wife!fem!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Author's Note: yay i made a part two!! and i honestly had a hard time with how the story flowed because i'm not exactly a writer of fighters but i tried my best! hope you enjoy lovies!

The attack came swiftly, without warning.

One moment, you were strolling through the gardens, the children’s laughter echoing through the crisp evening air. The next, the world was chaos.

The glint of a blade. The sharp cry of a guard. The sickening clash of steel.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, instinct screaming at you to move, protect, shield. You shoved the children behind you, your arms spreading wide—a useless gesture, but all you had.

No, no, no—

The first assassin lunged. A guard intercepted, but another took his place. You tried to step back, tried to move, but a searing pain bloomed in your side, hot and white, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You gasped, stumbling, your hand flying to your ribs—wet, sticky. Blood.

I’ve been stabbed.

The thought was oddly distant, detached, as if it belonged to someone else. The pain hadn’t fully hit yet, but the weakness had. Your legs wobbled. The edges of your vision blurred.

The children—where are they? Are they safe?

Through the haze, you heard frantic voices, the clang of weapons, the distinct crack of something—magic, perhaps.

And then, a voice.

A voice you had not expected.

“NO.”

The air around you shook.

A blast of emerald light erupted across the battlefield, swallowing everything in its path. You barely registered the bodies hitting the ground, barely saw the way the assassins’ screams were cut short.

Your legs gave out.

The stone pathway rushed up to meet you, and you braced for impact—only to find yourself caught.

Arms. Somewhat familiar arms.

Loki.

You blinked up at him, dazed, your fingers clutching weakly at his tunic. He was speaking—frantic, desperate—but the words swam together, lost in the roaring in your ears.

Loki?

You had stopped waiting for him long ago. Stopped hoping. Stopped believing that he felt anything at all.

But now, looking at him—his face pale with terror, his hands shaking as they pressed against your wound—you saw something you had never seen before.

Panic.

Desperation.

Fear.

He’s afraid.

The thought made you want to laugh. Loki Laufeyson, afraid? The idea was absurd. He was always so composed, so untouchable, so—

His hands pressed harder, and you gasped, your fingers gripping his wrist in protest. He flinched as if burned.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said. A lie. A desperate, broken lie. “Just—stay awake.”

You wanted to tell him that you would, but your body betrayed you, the darkness creeping at the edges of your vision.

He’s holding me.

It was such a foolish thing to focus on, with your blood staining his hands, with the world tilting precariously beneath you. But you couldn’t help it.

For the first time in years—after all the distance, the silence, the empty nights—Loki touched you.

And he shook violently before darkness consumed you.

You awoke to the distant sound of raised voices.

It took effort to lift your eyelids, as if they had been weighed down by lead. The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the walls, the scent of herbs and linen surrounding you. Your body felt heavy, dull aches pulsing beneath your skin, but the sharp pain from before had faded to something bearable.

You were alive.

But then—the voices.

One of them was unmistakable.

“I am not leaving.”

Even exhausted, even barely conscious, you recognized that tone—sharp, biting, dangerously low. The tone he used when he was barely holding himself together.

“Your stubbornness is as legendary as your magic, my prince, but you are no use to her if you collapse from exhaustion,” came another voice—calmer, firmer. Eir. The palace healer.

“I am fine.”

“No, you are not,” Eir snapped, voice edged with rare irritation. “You have not eaten. You have not slept. You have been here for seven days. Do you truly believe she would want to wake up only to find you on the brink of ruin?”

Seven days.

You inhaled sharply. He’s been here for seven days?

The room fell silent.

Then, Loki’s voice, quieter this time. Strained. “She nearly died.”

“I know,” Eir replied, the earlier sharpness gone, replaced by something softer. “But she did not. You saved her.”

Loki let out a hollow laugh. “Did I?” A pause. “She was bleeding out in my arms, and I—I could do nothing.”

Your chest tightened.

“I could only watch,” Loki continued, voice hoarse, as if dragged from somewhere deep. “Watch and... beg.”

The weight of those words settled between them.

Eir sighed. “She is strong. She will recover.”

Loki didn’t reply.

“You should see the children,” Eir tried again, gentler now. “They ask for you. They miss their father.”

A sharp inhale. Then, after a long moment—“I cannot leave her, the children will understand—“

Frustration seeped into Eir’s voice again. “They are merely children, Loki. You cannot help her if you drive yourself to the grave, either.”

“I said—”

“Loki.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, weak and raspy, but it was enough.

The room fell utterly silent.

Then, in an instant, Loki was there.

His hands hovered over you, hesitant, uncertain—like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure he deserved to.

“You—” His breath hitched, eyes scanning your face as if afraid you would disappear. “You’re awake.”

You swallowed, nodding slightly. “And you need rest.”

A sharp exhale, part relief, part frustration. “You would lecture me the moment you open your eyes.”

Despite everything, your lips twitched. “Someone has to.”

Eir huffed. “See? Even the princess agrees with me.”

Loki shot her a glare but said nothing.

You let out a shaky breath. “Go, Loki.”

His brows furrowed, jaw tightening. “No.”

“Husband.”

He flinched.

And for the first time, you saw it clearly—the exhaustion weighing on him, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his normally pristine attire was wrinkled and undone.

He looked wrecked.

Your heart ached.

“I am not leaving you,” he said again, but this time, it was quieter. Almost pleading.

Your fingers twitched, reaching out. He caught your hand instantly, as if he had been waiting for it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered.

Something in his expression cracked.

Eir, sensing the shift, sighed. “Rest, my prince. Eat. I swear upon the Allmother herself, if you collapse in my infirmary, I will personally make sure you regret it.”

Loki scoffed, but his grip on your hand tightened.

You squeezed back, as much strength as you could muster. “Please.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief moment—then, finally, he nodded.

“Fine.”

Eir looked far too pleased, but you barely noticed.

Because when Loki pressed a kiss to your knuckles—soft, lingering, almost desperate—you knew.

Knew that, no matter how long it took, no matter how much stubbornness or silence lay between you—

He would come back to you.

The afternoon sun filtered through the grand windows, bathing the room in soft golden light. The warmth of the covers wrapped around you like a protective cocoon as you lay propped against the pillows, watching your children chatter excitedly at your bedside.

“—and then Uncle Thor said he could throw his hammer all the way across the kingdom!” one of them exclaimed, eyes wide with wonder.

The younger one gasped. “Did he really?”

You hummed in amusement, brushing a hand through their hair. “He does like to show off, doesn’t he?”

They giggled, and for a moment, all was well.

Then, the door creaked open.

Loki stepped inside, his tall frame casting a shadow across the floor. He was dressed in his usual black and green, but something was different. His shoulders weren’t as tense, his expression not as unreadable.

And in his hands—

Your breath caught.

It was your book. The one you had read countless times, the one you had thought he never noticed. The spine was worn, the pages slightly creased from the many nights you had held it close, lost in its words.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering up to meet his.

He knew.

He had always known.

Loki cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “May I have a moment alone with your mother?”

The children groaned in unison.

“Do you have to?” the older one complained, crossing their arms.

“You’ve had her all week,” the younger one added stubbornly. “It’s our turn now.”

Loki sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I see your mother has passed on her defiance.”

You smiled softly, though your heart ached at the thought of them leaving. “I promise I’ll see you before bed.”

They still pouted, but at your gentle insistence, they relented. You turned toward the door. “Could one of the servants come fetch them?”

A maid appeared quickly, offering a warm smile as she ushered them away. Their complaints faded down the hall, and soon, it was just the two of you.

Silence settled, thick and uncertain.

Loki’s fingers tightened around the book before he finally moved, his steps slow and deliberate. He placed it upon the nightstand with measured precision, his hesitation betraying an unspoken weight upon his shoulders.

“I did not know you paid such attention to my books,” you murmured, your voice soft yet uncertain.

His gaze met yours, something unreadable lingering in his emerald depths. “I pay attention to you.”

Your breath faltered, fingers twisting in the sheets.

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair before settling into the chair beside you. “I have wronged you,” he admitted at last, his voice low, edged with regret. “In more ways than I can count.” His jaw tensed. “I should have—” He stopped, shaking his head. “There are many things I ought to have done differently.”

You swallowed. “Loki—”

“No.” His tone was firm, yet not unkind. “Allow me to say this.”

You nodded, heart hammering within your chest.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms upon his knees, his fingers laced together in contemplation. “I thought to protect you,” he said. “By keeping my distance. By not—” He exhaled slowly. “By not allowing myself to feel too much.”

You frowned. “Too much?”

A humorless chuckle escaped him. “I convinced myself that if I feigned indifference, it would become truth. That you would not matter.” His jaw clenched, the muscles twitching. “But then I held you in my arms, your blood staining my hands, and I—”

His voice wavered.

Your heart ached at the sight of him—so composed in the eyes of the world, yet so unravelled before you.

Cautiously, you reached for his hand. He stiffened at first, as if startled by the gesture, but then—

He grasped it.

Tightly.

Desperately.

“I do not know what love is meant to feel like,” he confessed, voice scarcely above a whisper. “But I know this—I was undone at the thought of losing you.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “Loki—”

Yet doubt, cruel and relentless, still clung to you.

You withdrew your hand.

Loki’s fingers curled into a fist.

“You speak that now,” you murmured, voice fragile, uncertain. “But how am I to believe you?”

His brows furrowed, confusion darkening his gaze. “What do you mean?”

You forced yourself to look at him. “You were never here, Loki. And on the rare nights you were, it was as though you were absent still.” Your voice wavered, but you pressed on. “I convinced myself it was because you did not love me. That you never had.” You swallowed thickly. “Yet, in truth? In truth, I feared there was another.”

His entire body went rigid. “What?”

“You vanished each night. You never told me where you went. And when I ceased asking, you let me.” A bitter laugh escaped you, hollow and aching. “What was I to think?”

Silence.

Loki stared at you, his expression unreadable, but his knuckles had gone white from how tightly he clenched his hands.

Then—

His chair scraped against the floor as he abruptly stood.

“You believe I have betrayed you?” His voice was low, dangerous—but beneath it lay something raw.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze despite the fear twisting in your stomach. “Did you not?”

Loki inhaled sharply, as though struck. “No.” He raked a hand through his hair, his movements sharp, frustrated. “By the Norns, never.”

He turned back to you, emerald eyes ablaze with anger and anguish. “I have taken no other to my bed, nor to my heart. Not once.” His voice hardened. “I may have been a fool, but I have never been faithless.”

Your breath hitched, but doubt still lingered. “Then where did you go?”

His jaw clenched. “Does it matter?”

You let out a broken laugh. “Of course it does, Loki! You ask me to trust you, yet you keep your secrets still.”

Another tense silence. Then, finally, he exhaled, shoulders sagging.

“I sought a way to dissolve this… marriage.”

The breath left your lungs.

Loki did not meet your gaze when he spoke again. “I deemed it a kindness,” he admitted. “If I could find a means to free you—without shame, without dishonor—you would be happy.” His voice grew rough. “You would not be bound to a man unworthy of you. Someone who knows how to love you the way you deserved.”

Tears burned at your eyes. “You thought I wanted to leave?”

Loki let out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Did you not?”

Your lip trembled. “No.”

His head snapped up, eyes searching yours desperately.

“I wanted you, Loki,” you whispered. “Always you.”

His face crumpled, and for the first time, you saw it—regret. The years of distance, of silence, of misguided attempts to spare you pain.

Slowly, hesitantly, Loki knelt beside your bed, his hands grasping yours as though anchoring himself to you. “I swear to you,” he murmured, his voice barely holding steady. “There was never another. There never will be.”

Your heart twisted painfully, warring between the ache of the past and the fragile hope before you.

Loki’s grip on you tightened. “I do not know how to love you,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to the back of your hand. “But I will try. If you allow me.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his skin, the weight of his presence. The man who had once been an untouchable shadow was now pleading to stay.

And despite everything—despite the pain, despite the years of uncertainty—

You wanted to let him.

like i said, i don't condone cheating. hope you enjoyed! likes, comments, and reposts are much appreciated <3

#loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki x you #loki laufeyson #loki #thor odinson #marvel #mcu

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baeksqt · 2 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐄 — aitana bonmatí

aitana bonmatí x fem!reader

a/n: accidentally deleted this when I wanted to edit it ಠ_ಠ (I hate tumblr), so if you feel like you’ve seen this before, you have, just leave a like and keep stepping

word count: 1245

genre: fluff

summary: an adorable aitana meet cute

On a breezy spring afternoon in Barcelona, the cosy bookshop cafe Letras Vivas buzzed with its usual charm. Tucked away on a quiet side street, a haven for readers and coffee lovers alike. The warm aroma of roasted beans mingled with the soft rustle of pages being turned and the occasional tinkling of laughter from patrons. The cafe was the kind of place where time seemed to slow, where strangers might strike up conversations over dog-eared novels or debate the best way to make a cortado.

You step inside, grateful for the reprieve from the city’s lively streets. The team had arrived in Barcelona a few days early to acclimate before the upcoming Champions League final. The pressure was immense – two giants of women’s football going head-to-head – but you had sought this little sanctuary for some peace. As much as you thrive on competition, moments like these were a way to offer clarity amidst the chaos.

Clad in a casual, well-worn shirt and a pair of faded jeans, you seemed a world away from the electrifying football star celebrated in the vibrant match posters that adorned the streets of Lyon. As you moved through the dimly lit bookstore, your fingers delicately glided over the spines of countless books lining the shelves near the entrance, occasionally pausing to absorb the titles that beckoned softly. Your gaze eventually landed on a novel, its cover a breathtaking watercolour that captured the charm of a seaside town, an irresistible pull urging you to pull it from the shelf and delve into its world.

At the counter, Aitana Bonmatí, FC Barcelona’s fiery midfielder, was already ordering her cappuccino. The barista seemed charmed by Aitana’s easy banter, her quick wit and warm laugh lighting up the space. She exuded the kind of confidence that came from knowing you were exactly where you belonged. The distinctive red-and-blue hoodie with Barça’s crest proudly displayed was casually slung over her shoulders, and drew occasional glances, but most were too polite to approach her.

As you approached the counter, Aitana turned, her grin wide and inviting, her hazel eyes bright with recognition. It took you a heartbeat to place her–you had seen that grin a hundred times before, from game footage to interviews to across the pitch. The face of Barcelona’s squad and one the most formidable centres in the game. And in just three days, your opponent. Once again.

Aitana didn’t miss the split second of hesitation that flickered across your face, and she seized the opportunity to break the ice with a playful energy. “Hey,” she said, her voice warm and laced with just a hint of mischief. “Nice to see you off the pitch.”

You blinked, caught slightly off guard but managing a smile. “Oh, uh, hi. Didn’t expect to run into you here.” Your Andalusian accent was unmistakable, and Aitana’s grin grew wider.

“You Lyon players just can’t resist the good spots, huh?” Aitana quipped, leaning casually against the counter. Her eyes flicked to the book in your hand. “Good choice. That’s one of my favourites.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding up the book. “Really? You’ve read it?”

Aitana’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm as she nodded, her ponytail swaying rhythmically with her head. “You won’t believe how captivating it is! It unfolds in this charming little fishing village—teeming with intense drama, sweeping love stories, and heart-wrenching heartbreak… it’s absolutely everything you could want! Imagine it like football, but infused with much more romance and way fewer tackles!”

A smile crept across your face as you placed the book on the counter, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. “I’ll take your word for it, but relying on my opponent’s taste in literature? That feels like a risky move!”

“Oh, come on! Today, we’re not opponents at all!” The mischievous glint in Aitana’s eyes mirrored her playful smirk. “We’re just two enthusiasts who appreciate fine coffee and extraordinary tales.”

The barista expertly crafted Aitana’s cappuccino, the velvety foam adorned with an artful heart-shaped swirl that seemed to float above the cup. Instead of making a beeline for the door, Aitana lingered, her presence radiating warmth and curiosity as she patiently waited for you to finish your order, the air around you charged with an electric sense of connection. When you joined her at a nearby table, your conversation flowed with surprising ease.

Listening intently, as Aitana, ever the local, effortlessly wove stories about her childhood in Vilanova. Her voice softened as she talked about watching games at Camp Nou as a kid, her dreams of one day playing on the same pitch now a reality. She pointed out a few must-visit spots within Barcelona, her favourite tapas bar tucked away in El Born and a rooftop terrace with breathtaking views of the city at sunset.

It was your turn to share, Aitana leaned in, intrigued as you painted a picture of life in France. Your voice gained a quiet pride as you described Lyon’s relentless training culture—the way it pushed everyone to their limits and brought out the best in them. The early morning drills in the pouring rain, late-night strategy sessions, and the camaraderie that came from working with some of the best players in the game.

“So you’re telling me you actually enjoy those gruelling training sessions? Compared to the easiness of Madrid?” The brunette questioned.

“It’s not about enjoying them, exactly.” You shrugged, your smile softening. “It’s about knowing they make me better. And there’s something fun about the discipline, the way it transforms you. Being at Real Madrid, I never had that.” You finished.

Aitana nodded thoughtfully, her playful demeanour giving way to a moment of genuine admiration. “I get that,” she said. “I think that’s why I love playing here—Barcelona’s always pushed me to be more, too.”

Her words hung between the two of you, a shared understanding unspoken but felt. Despite the teams you represented and the rivalry that defined you two season after season. You were both, at your cores, not so different. For a moment, the looming match disappeared, replaced by the quiet connection of two people who understood what it meant to give everything to the sport they loved.

“So,” Aitana began, cradling her cup, her tone suddenly teasing, “how’s Lyon feeling about Saturday? Ready to lose?”

You leaned forward, a playful spark in your eyes. “Confident enough to say you’ll be the one losing.” you shot back. Your laughter mingled, drawing a few curious glances from other patrons, but neither of you seemed to care, bantering for what felt like hours.

As the sun began to dip, casting the cafe in a warm golden glow, you both reluctantly stood to leave. Outside, the streets buzzed with life, the distant hum of a guitar echoing from a nearby plaza.

At the door, Aitana paused, turning to you with a smile softer than her usual confident smirk. “You know,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “maybe after the match, we should grab a coffee again. No rivalries—just books and good company.”

You tilted your head, cheeks dimpling into a grin. “Deal. But only if Lyon wins.”

Aitana laughed, backing away towards the bustling street, her voice carrying over the noise. “We’ll see about that!”

As you walked in opposite directions, you felt a strange lightness—a fleeting connection sparked by chance, lingering even as you prepared to face her on one of the biggest stages in football.

#aitana bonmati #aitana bonmatí #aitana bonmatí imagine #aitana bonmati imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #woso fluff #woso fanfics #fc barcelona femeni #baeksqt writes

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meeraonpole · 2 days ago

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Nail Care : OP81 X READER

This is my first work so feed back is welcomed i also take request so feel free to do sooo anyways plz enjoy

It started with an offhand comment during a race weekend interview.

“Yeah, I don’t really like cutting my nails,” Oscar had said, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal.

But to you, it was. You had been dating him long enough to know he had a few endearing yet slightly questionable habits—leaving half-empty water bottles around, forgetting to charge his phone until it was practically dead, and, of course, avoiding the simple task of cutting his nails.

“Alright, give me your hand.”

Oscar looked up from his phone, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why?”

“Because I love you and because your nails are one trim away from making you look like you belong in a werewolf movie.”

He huffed, but there was a telltale blush creeping up his neck as he reluctantly placed his hand in yours. “They’re not that bad.”

“They are,” you deadpanned, grabbing the nail clippers and setting his hand in your lap.

You expected more resistance, maybe some playful whining, but Oscar just sat there, watching as you carefully took his fingers one by one, trimming them down to a more reasonable length.

“You’re being weirdly cooperative,” you noted, glancing up at him.

“I mean, it’s not the worst thing in the world,” he murmured, gaze softening as he watched you. “You’re very focused.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile forming on your lips. “Yeah, because if I don’t do it, you’ll keep going around with claws.”

He chuckled, tilting his head. “Maybe I was just waiting for you to do it for me.”

You paused for a second before shaking your head. “That’s dangerous thinking, Piastri.”

“Yeah, but it worked, didn’t it?”

You sighed dramatically but secretly loved how comfortable he was with you doing the smallest things for him. When you were done, you gently brushed your thumb over his newly trimmed nails, making sure everything was even.

“There. No more talons.”

Oscar wiggled his fingers, inspecting them. “You did a great job. Maybe I should hire you as my personal nail technician.”

You scoffed, swatting his arm playfully. “I’ll do it for free, but only because I love you.”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “Lucky me.”

#f1 x reader #f1 imagines #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fluff #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #fluff

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stellarsecrets86 · 15 hours ago

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Astro Observations 7:

Darkest placements in the birth chart

Readings Are Open. Here

(There are souls that don't just live—they survive, devour, and then rise from their graves.But some of them are touched by the Sun, others molded from shadow, and if any of those parts belong to your soul, no easy life should be your calling. You came to this earth for something a little bit hard, unsmiling, untouched, and all raw.You don't feel. You drown, you burn, you erupt-you consume. And if you learn to control your darkness, the world won't know what hit it.)

☉ Pluto conjunct Sun: Very tired of this transformation game, no? But let me give you two choices, one the younger you where people were mean to you, bullying you just for existing, other one the current you where devil won't even dare to look into your eyes. Which one will you choose? You aren't soft. You were birthed into fire, forced to survive it, and now you wield it like a blade. People fear you because they should. You don't just walk into a room-you change its gravity. You don't break, you don't bend. When you fall, you rise stronger, sharper. You are death and rebirth wrapped in skin.

☽ Lilith conjunction Moon: Darkness follows you, but it does not define you. You were never supposed to be fragile. You were supposed to be raw and primitive, a force of nature. You feel hard, love hard, exist unapologetically. They can say you are difficult, too much, too wild. They fear what they cannot control, and they will never control you. Mother's wound is deep. Female love feels conditional.

☽ Pluto opposite Moon: Your emotions are war zones. You feel it all, like an intensity that would decimate another's soul. Love is a war zone, trust a gamble, safety an illusion. People want to tame you, drown your depths in shallow waters. People will try to tame you, to drown your depths in shallow waters. Don't let them. Your emotions are your power, your fire, your truth.

☽ Saturn square Moon: You weren't nurtured, you were tested. You learned early that love had conditions, and warmth was something you earned, not an entitlement. Yet, you're steel wrapped in flesh, every wound a layer of armor, so you won't need any saving. You are the fortress, the survivor, the one who keeps standing long after all the rest fell.

♀ Medusa opposite Venus - You're feared for the thing that makes you beautiful. You're desired, possessive, and yet untamed. They'll seek to tame the thing about you that has become a gift to them-a strength-into a curse. You were never intended to be soft. You were intended to be powerful.

♂ Mars conjunct Pluto: There's war in your bones. Rage like a storm, power like a reckoning. People feel you before they see you. You don't ask for control-you take it. You don't seek destruction-but when you burn, there is nothing left but ash. Be careful with your fire; not everyone is built to survive it.

☉ Medusa conjunct Sun : Betrayed, exiled, and feared, you have lived the life of a villain in other people's stories without doing anything and you were crucified for being alive. Well, they only sharpened you, made you stronger. And now you're a legend. A force which will never be forgotten.

☉ Lilith conjunct Sun: They tried to silence you, to mold you, to break you. But you are untamed, ungovernable. A wildfire disguised as a person. You don't just take up space-you command it. Your existence alone is an act of defiance. Let them fear you. Let them whisper. You were never meant to belong, you were meant to lead.

♆ Neptune opposition Pluto: Your soul is ancient, stretched between illusion and revelation. You are the priest and the heretic, the mystic and the destroyer. People underestimate you, thinking you are lost in dreams. But you see through them. You see through everything. You are the keeper of secrets, the destroyer of lies.

♂ Lucifer conjunct Mars: Against all, you rebelled in heaven and forged your own paths. The arrogance appears to those who never know the fire, the hunger, or need to be something else entirely other than a mere follower-yourselves the leader, a revolution in action.

♀ VENUS SQUARE PLUTO: Love is not soft. It is hunger, an obsession to devour. You don't need to connect-you need to own, completely submit. Your love will change or it will destroy. You attract the broken and dangerous, those who see your fire and believe they can contain it. They can't.

♂ Mars opposite Saturn: An animal caged. A chained soldier. The hunger to fight is there, the power to break free, but something is holding you down- authority, karma, fate. Yet, it's patience that became your weapon. You weren't meant to have small fights in the first place. By the time you explode, this is for something far bigger-some world-shaking event.

♀ PERSEPHONE CONJUNCT PLUTO: You have been taken by the darkness, shaped by it, but you did not become it. You are both the queen and the captive, the innocent and the ruler. You walk between two worlds, and you hold the power of both.

☿ Mercury square Pluto: Your words don't just cut, they eviscerate. You see through people, their lies, their fears, their weaknesses. You don't waste time on small talk because you know that the truth is always buried beneath the surface. Be careful, your words can either heal or destroy. There is no in-between.

☽ Hekate conjunct Moon : You dream in prophecy. You feel the shift of energies before they materialize. You are the guide, the torchbearer, the one who sees what others refuse to acknowledge. The unknown is your home, and darkness does not make you afraid.

☉ URANUS OPPOSITE SUN: Lightning in human form. Born to break the system down, tear down walls, and be that disruption no one saw coming. The people say you're a rebel, but only because they cannot control you. You don't take the path; you make your own. And when the world catches up? You're already gone.

♀ NESSUS SQUARE VENUS: Love is entangled in the karmic cuts, echoes of betrayal, and obsession for you. You attract the ones who covet your light yet cannot retain it and those teaching you about pain before teaching love. But man, when you break free.you'll know a love nobody's gonna be able to take from you.

☽ Chiron square Moon: Pain is your mother tongue. You learned suffering before you learned love. But in your scars, something is divine. You are the healer, the guide, the one who walks through hell and comes back with maps. You were meant to hurt-but you were also meant to transcend.

☉ Nemesis opp Sun: You are karma incarnate. A reckoning. The one who unmasks the false kings, corrupt rulers, those who build empires on lies. Some will fear you. Others will worship you. But all will know you.

♄ Saturn conjunct Pluto: Power built from ruin. You know struggle, oppression, the weight of expectation. You have been forced to carry burdens that were never yours. But your strength is absolute. You don't just endure-you dominate. You are the architect of your own empire, built from the ashes of every battle you've survived.

☿ Hekate conjunct Mercury: You carry the voices of the dead, the whispers of the unseen. A mind crossroads between worlds. Drawn to what's unknown and mysteries that others fear. Trust your intuition; it has never been wrong.

[If you possess these aspects, you are not average. You are not created to play small. Your darkness is your sword. Use it.]

🪱🦂

#astrology #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #birth chart #horoscope #intense astrology placement #dark astrology #astrology aspects #mercury in astrology #asteroids #asteroid #asteroifs in astrology #venus in astrology

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shrewsburysworld · 2 days ago

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✧YANDERE HUSBAND JUNGKOOK✧

Yandere husband Jungkook who married you because he loves you—so much that he can’t bear the thought of anyone else having you. From the moment he slipped that ring onto your finger, you became his, and he made sure the whole world knew it. Love, to him, isn’t just about happiness—it’s about possession, devotion, and a bond that no one can ever break.

Yandere husband Jungkook who can’t see you looking at any other man than him. The moment your eyes linger too long on someone else, his grip tightens around your wrist, a silent warning. His soft-spoken words and gentle smile may fool others, but you know better. His love is all-consuming, and he won’t tolerate even a second of your attention straying from him.

Yandere husband Jungkook who believes that keeping you by his side is the only way to ensure your safety. The outside world is dangerous, filled with people who don’t understand your love, people who might try to take you away. So he makes sure you have everything you need at home—why would you ever need to leave when he can give you everything right here?

Yandere husband Jungkook who whispers sweet words into your ear at night, his arms wrapped around you so tightly that you can hardly move. "You’re mine," he murmurs against your skin, his voice both a promise and a warning. "Forever." And you know he means it—because there’s no escaping a love like his.

Yandere husband Jungkook who spends hours searching for the perfect gift for you, something as precious as you are to him. He wants to see your eyes light up, wants to hear you say his name with that soft, grateful smile. Nothing is ever too expensive, too rare, or too difficult if it means making you happy. Because your happiness belongs to him, and him alone.

Yandere husband Jungkook who sees you naked with someone else on his own bedroom, the gift still clutched in his hands but he doesn’t confront you. His heart pounds violently in his chest, his vision blurs with red, but he doesn’t say a word. He simply watches from the shadows, memorizing the way your body moves, the way you whisper someone else’s name, the way that bastard clings to you asking for a divorce. And in that moment, he knows—this isn’t something he can ever forgive.

Yandere husband Jungkook who starts acting strange, his usual loving touch now laced with something colder, something darker. His kisses linger a little too long, his grip on your waist is just a little too tight. He smiles, but his eyes don’t match. You feel it in your bones—something is wrong. And when you try to reach out to your lover, their phone goes unanswered, their presence erased like they never existed.

Yandere husband Jungkook who watches as realization dawns on your face, your body trembling when you hear the news—your lover is dead. The world around you tilts, your breath shattering in your throat. But when you turn to Jungkook, he’s already looking at you, his dark eyes filled with something unreadable, something terrifying.

Yandere husband Jungkook who never needed to say it out loud, because deep down, you already knew. It was him. It was always him. And as he pulls you into his arms, whispering how much he loves you, how you’re his and his alone, you realize that there was never any escape. Not from his love. Not from him.

Pt. 2??

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overdressedcarp · 2 days ago

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I've been thinking for a while about the optional Magatama dialogue in The Cosmic Turnabout where you can prompt Fulbright about what's bothering him, and for both of the wrong answers, he acts like you got it right, and actively leans into the bit. For example, if you suggest that he's exhausted by life, he agrees and claims he's thinking about quitting his job and going to space. (Honestly, mood.)

(AA 5-4 and 5-5 spoilers below the cut)

It's a good line on its own: funny, and definitely relatable. With 5-5's context, though, it brushes up against a deep-seated desire to disappear, to run away and start over, something the Phantom hasn't been at liberty to do in years. He's shackled to a seven-year-old assignment, strangled by loose ends that he can't tie off. For maybe the first time in his life, he has to wake up every day and live with the effects of his actions, made blisteringly real in the form of the people he hurt.

(Do I think he's walking around harboring deep, profound remorse for UR-1? Not really, no. But the self-protective lie of "my choices don't matter because I'm not really a person" only goes so far when you're clocking into work every day to hang out with the guy who's on death row because of you, who's grieving because of you, and suddenly you're the only person he trusts to hear about the monster that ruined his life, and you planned for this but you didn't plan for this and honestly at that point I'd want to quit my job and throw myself into the vast expanse of space, too.)

Also worth noting, during this entire scene, any time Fulbright goes to answer a question or make an assertion about himself, the tinted glasses go up like a shield. Eyes hidden, hand obscuring the lower half of his face. It's something he does pretty regularly throughout the game, but it's egregious here. My man is on the defensive and he's giving absolutely zero ground.

But the big thing for me is the other "wrong" option, where if you claim that Fulbright is troubled by love, the Phantom's knee-jerk "yes, and," response is to tell a story about a carp named Love who ate a bunch of goldfish because he put them all in the same tank.

In the moment it's supposed to be absurd and comical and one more example of how hapless this guy is, but in retrospect, it's kind of telling that when the Phantom tries to conceptualize love in relation to himself, the first piece of Fulbright-flavored bullshit that comes to mind is about a creature that brings pain and death through mere proximity, not out of malice, but out of nature. As though, subconsciously, he's fixated on the notion of a foreign element that's been dropped into an otherwise peaceful space. A fish that seems like it belongs there until it devours the others.

He really could have said anything—he could have made up a story about a bad breakup, or a really sad movie, or a family member who died. He could have jumped to talking about Blackquill, and how he's concerned for his emotional state given the nature of the current case. But instead, his mind instinctively gravitates to a Love that consumes everything around it: a Love defined by its capacity for violence. There was never a world where the carp could exist alongside the goldfish without hurting them.

And idk. I feel like if he wasn't feeling some kind of way about that, then it wouldn't be bleeding into his Olympic-level improv gymnastics routine to convince Phoenix that he doesn't have any secrets and you can put the supernatural lie detector away now, thanks.

#ace attorney #aa5 #aa5 spoilers #dual destinies #bobby fulbright #aa phantom #character analysis #meta #remember when i said i had more serious thoughts about this guy? at last i am here to deliver #look. if capcom didn't want me to psychoanalyze all of the phantom's sillygoofy fulbrightisms #then they shouldn't have made him the main antagonist of lawyer game: analytical psychology edition #the whole point of his breakdown in 5-5 is that he's a person and it terrifies him!!! and you expect me not to think about that????#anyway this post brought to you by the generous peer review of homicidal-lingonberry #who got to listen to me ramble about this in dms first

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marsdql · 1 day ago

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yandere!jay headcanons!

Yandere!Jay who will pepper you with love—gentle kisses all over your face, soft whispers about how much he adores you, arms wrapped around you so tight it’s almost suffocating. He treats you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, like he can’t believe you’re his. “I love you so much, you know that? You’re my everything.” But the second he finds out you went out without telling him? That sweetness fades instantly. His jaw tightens, his smile drops, and his eyes darken. “Oh? You thought that was okay?” His voice is eerily calm, but the tension in the air is suffocating.

Yandere!Jay who suddenly gets cold and distant, leaving you to sit in uncomfortable silence as he processes the fact that you dared to go somewhere without his permission. His usual affectionate nature disappears, replaced by something much more dangerous.

Yandere!Jay who grabs your wrist just a little too tight, pulling you closer so you can see the sharp glint in his eyes. “Tell me, sweetheart. Who were you with?” He asks, his tone dripping with fake sweetness. The way he tilts his head would be charming—if it weren’t for the jealousy radiating off him.

Yandere!Jay who plays mind games, making you feel guilty for ‘hurting him.’ He sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair as if he’s deeply wounded by your actions. “I just worry about you, you know? What if something happened? What if someone tried to take you from me?”

Yandere!Jay who won’t let this slide easily. If you don’t apologize properly, expect him to ignore you, leaving you desperate for his warmth again. And once you do apologize? He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Just don’t do it again, okay? I don’t like being mad at you.” But the warning in his voice is crystal clear—he won’t be so forgiving next time.

Yandere!Jay who spoils you like a princess—buying you expensive gifts, cooking your favorite food, and whispering sweet nothings in your ear while he holds you close. He loves seeing you happy… but only when it’s because of him.

Yandere!Jay who completely switches up the moment he finds out you went out without telling him. His fingers tighten around his phone as he reads your text. "Oh, so you went out?" His jaw clenches, and suddenly, his whole mood darkens.

Yandere!Jay who calls you immediately—his voice is eerily calm, but you can feel the tension through the phone. “Where are you? Who are you with?” His usual sweet tone is gone, replaced with something much colder.

Yandere!Jay who doesn’t believe your excuses. “You forgot to tell me? That’s cute. Try again.” His chuckle is low and humorless. He’s pissed, but he’s not going to explode just yet. No, he wants to see you squirm first.

Yandere!Jay who tells you to come home immediately. He doesn’t care if you’re in the middle of something—he wants you back where you belong. And if you take too long? Expect him to come get you himself.

Yandere!Jay who waits for you at the door, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The moment you step inside, he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You must really enjoy testing me, huh?” His voice is low, his fingers just barely digging into your skin.

Yandere!Jay who suddenly pulls you into a suffocating hug—but it’s not comforting. It’s possessive. His lips brush against your ear as he whispers, “Do you have any idea how much I hate being away from you? How much it kills me when I don’t know where you are?”

Yandere!Jay who makes sure you learn your lesson. Maybe it’s keeping you trapped in his arms for hours, refusing to let go. Maybe it’s taking away your phone for the night so you “won’t be distracted.” Or maybe… it’s a quiet, lingering punishment. He won’t kiss you, won’t touch you—he’ll make you beg for his affection again.

Yandere!Jay who eventually forgives you—but not without a warning. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re mine. You know that, right?” His lips ghost over yours before he finally kisses you, slow and deep, reminding you exactly who you belong to.

Yandere!Jay who smirks when you nod, pleased that you understand. “Good girl. Don’t make me do this again.” His tone is playful, but you know better. It’s not a request—it’s a threat wrapped in sugar.

[ @teddybeartaetae]

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mattsobvimyfav · 21 hours ago

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unknown

Y/N has always played it safe—balancing her job as a pediatric nurse, and her careful lifestyle. But one night out with her friend, Jordan, changes everything. When she meets Matt and Chris—two dangerous, enigmatic brothers—she’s drawn into a world she doesn’t belong in. But the more she resists, the harder they pulls her in.

pt 4

The sun filtered softly through the blinds, casting warm streaks across the room. I blinked slowly, stirring from sleep, only to find Matt's arm draped securely over my waist, his chest pressed against my back. This is how it has been for the past week, the boys would handle their business or I'd go to work and they'd end up back at my apartment.

I smiled faintly and gently nudged his shoulder. "Matt," I whispered, brushing my fingers against his arm. "Matt, wake up."

He groaned softly, his eyes fluttering open, hazy with sleep. "What?" he murmured, his voice rough and gravelly.

I laughed softly. "I have to go. I’ve got nannying today. Gotta watch the kids."

His brows furrowed slightly as he processed my words. "Already?" He pulled me closer for a brief moment, burying his face in the crook of my neck. "Can’t you skip it?"

I chuckled, running my fingers through his messy hair. "Tempting, but no. I actually like these kids, you know."

Matt sighed dramatically, finally releasing me. "Fine."

I sat up, stretching before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "You’ll survive. Besides, I’ll be back later. If you guys want to come back?"

He watched me for a moment, "Yeah. Maybe."

Matt may sleep in my bed every night, but he keeps his distance. There’s no hand-holding, no soft whispers in the dark. He isn’t lovey-dovey, and he hasn’t even admitted to liking me. Oddly enough, I don’t mind. I like how casual it is, the comfort of having someone there without the pressure of defining it.

I pulled on a pair of biker shorts, a cozy oversized hoodie, Nike socks, and my Hokas. Running my fingers through my hair to smooth it out, I glanced back at Matt, still sprawled lazily across my bed, his eyes half-lidded with sleep.

Leaning down, I pressed a quick, soft kiss to his lips. "Lock the door before you leave, okay?"

He gave a small nod, his eyes following me as I grabbed my bag and headed out, leaving the door slightly ajar behind me.

The drive to the family’s house was peaceful, the early morning sun casting a warm glow over the Boston streets. The familiar route felt comforting, like slipping into an old routine. I pulled into the driveway, grabbed my bag, and made my way to the front door. Before I could knock, the door swung open, revealing Ella, with her wild curls bouncing as she launched herself at me.

“Y/N!” she squealed, wrapping her tiny arms around my legs.

“Hey, El!” I laughed, scooping her up into a hug. “Miss me?”

She nodded vigorously. “A lot.”

Inside, Owen, her brother, sat at the kitchen table, engrossed in a book about dinosaurs. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and his serious little face made me smile.

“Hey, buddy,” I greeted, ruffling his hair as I set my bag down.

He glanced up, offering a shy smile. “Hi, Y/N.”

Their parents gave me a quick rundown of the day’s plans before heading out. Once the door closed, Ella tugged on my hand. “Can we go to the park?”

“Of course,” I replied, packing snacks and water before we set off.

The park was bustling with families enjoying the warm air. Ella ran straight to the swings, demanding to be pushed higher and higher. Owen wandered off to examine rocks and sticks, his curiosity endless.

After an hour of chasing them around, we settled on a blanket under a large oak tree. We shared sandwiches, Ella chattering non-stop about her imaginary friends, while Owen quizzed me on dinosaur facts.

Back home, we spent the afternoon building a fort out of blankets and couch cushions. Inside our makeshift hideout, we read books and played with flashlights, their giggles echoing off the walls.

As evening approached, I prepared them dinner, it was simple—grilled cheese and tomato soup, with Ella proudly declaring she was my sous-chef.

When their parents returned, the kids clung to me, reluctant to say goodbye.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Ella asked, her eyes wide and hopeful.

“Not tomorrow, but soon,” I promised, giving them both a tight hug.

Driving home, I felt a warm sense of contentment. Being around these kids felt like a breath of fresh air from the adult life I created for myself.

When I got home, the quiet comfort of my apartment wrapped around me like a familiar blanket. I kicked off my Hokas, dropped my bag by the door, and flopped onto the couch with a sigh. The soft cushions welcomed me as I reached for my phone, scrolling through the notifications until I landed on the group chat with Matt and Chris.

Y/N: Home, finally.

It didn’t take long for Chris to respond.

Chris: Perfect timing. There’s a party tonight. We’re going. You in?

Almost instantly, Matt added:

Matt: Come with us.

I stared at the screen, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. A party wasn’t exactly on my agenda, but the idea of seeing them both, of slipping back into that chaotic, unpredictable energy they brought, felt tempting.

Y/N: What time?

Chris: We’ll pick you up at 9.

Y/N: I’m in.

I set my phone down and let myself relax for a little while, stretching out on the couch. The hum of the city outside my window was a soft reminder of the world still spinning. After a short rest, I stood up and made my way to my room to get ready.

I pulled out a cheetah print cropped top, pairing it with a sleek black mini skirt and my favorite leather boots. The outfit hugged my curves perfectly, giving me a boost of confidence. I decided to keep it simple with my hair, curling it into loose waves that effortlessly framed my face.

With one last glance in the mirror, I grabbed my small black purse, sitting on the couch again and waited for Matt and Chris to arrive.

At exactly 9 PM, I heard a knock at the door. Opening it, I was met with Matt’s dark, intense eyes and Chris’s mischievous grin. Matt’s gaze slowly roamed over my outfit, his jaw tightening slightly before he muttered, “You look good.”

Chris clicks his tongue, "Yeah, you do"

I rolled my eyes, locking the door behind me as we made our way to Matt’s car. The car roared to life, music thumping softly as Matt drove through the city streets. The party was on the outskirts, in an old warehouse lit up with neon lights spilling from the windows.

We stepped inside, the heavy bass vibrating through the floor. The air was thick with smoke, the scent of alcohol, sweat, and something faintly metallic lingering. People moved like waves, pulsing to the beat, laughing, shouting, and lost in their own worlds.

Matt and Chris immediately got to work, connecting with a few guys in dark corners. I found a spot on an old, beaten-up couch, watching the crowd while sipping on a drink someone had handed me. It wasn’t long before Matt made his way back, sitting beside me and pulling out a small blunt. He lit it, taking a slow drag before passing it to me.

I hesitated only for a second before taking it. I was somewhere new and didn't know anyone but Matt and Chris, I was unsure about being high and drunk here. I ultimately decided Matt and Chris would keep me safe if anything was to happen so I grabbed the blunt from Matt’s hand. The buzz hit quickly, mixing with the drink.

It had been about twenty minutes since Matt had left me alone on the couch, and my mind still felt like it was swimming in a fog. I had tried to focus on the people around me, watching them as they moved through the crowd, laughing, talking, losing themselves in the chaos of the party. But every face I looked at felt unfamiliar, out of place. Nothing made sense, not even the noise. The thumping bass, the flashing lights—it all felt too loud, too bright, like it was mocking me.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

And then, suddenly, the noise of the party shifted. The music didn’t stop, but the voices grew louder, sharper, rising above the rest. I looked up from where I was sitting, instinctively turning toward the sound. That’s when I saw Matt.

He was standing at the edge of the crowd, his back rigid, his face hard as stone. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were focused on something—or someone—a guy in the crowd. The guy was yelling at Matt, hands flailing wildly in the air. His voice was thick with aggression, but I couldn’t make out his words over the music.

Chris was beside Matt, his posture tense, his eyes scanning the crowd like a predator looking for a target. It was obvious this wasn’t a casual confrontation. The way Chris stood—motionless, like he was waiting for something—told me things were about to get real. Fast.

The yelling escalated, louder, and more intense. I couldn’t hear the words, but the aggression in the air was palpable. I felt a pit in my stomach as I watched Matt and the other guy exchange words. I wanted to look away, but something made me stay. It was like I couldn’t pull my gaze from the tension that was building between them.

And then, in a flash, Matt’s fist connected with the guy’s jaw. The punch was swift, precise, and brutal. It landed with a sickening thud that cut through the noise of the party. The moment it hit, everything exploded. It was like someone flipped a switch—people screamed, fists flew, bodies scrambled, and the fight spilled into the center of the room.

I could barely process what was happening. Matt and the other guy were locked in a brutal exchange, throwing punches with such intensity that the entire atmosphere of the party shifted. Blood mixed with sweat, and the harsh, flickering lights above cast eerie shadows across the room.

But Matt wasn’t just fighting. His movements were sharp, controlled, and fast—too fast for the guy to keep up. It was clear he wasn’t just defending himself—he was letting his rage drive every blow. He was holding his own, but there was something dark and violent in the way he moved, a fury that I hadn’t seen before.

As the fight spiraled further out of control, something shifted in the room. I saw Chris reach inside his jacket, and before I could even process what was happening, he pulled out a gun, the metal gleaming under the harsh lights. The sight of it sent a cold chill through me, freezing my blood. It was aimed at the people trying to jump into Matt’s fight, the mere presence of the weapon in the middle of this madness was enough to make everything feel dangerous.

For a moment, time seemed to slow. The fight between Matt and the other guy continued, but now people were backing off, the sight of the guns keeping anyone from getting any closer. The crowd was tense, unsure of whether things were going to escalate further, but Chris didn’t make a move to use the weapons. They just held their ground, making sure everyone knew they weren’t to be messed with.

The fight was broken up quickly after that, people rushing in to separate them. The other guy was dragged away, kicking and yelling, still trying to get another shot at Matt, but the fight had already drained the energy from the room. The party slowly began to settle, but Matt’s fury hadn’t.

Without a word, he turned and stormed toward me. I barely had time to react before he grabbed me by the waist, his grip strong and unyielding, and hoisted me over his shoulder as if I weighed nothing. My stomach lurched in surprise, and I instinctively grabbed at his back, but he didn’t seem to notice. His body was rigid, his anger still boiling just beneath the surface.

"We’re leaving," he growled, his voice low and dangerous, like he was daring anyone to stop him.

Chris was right behind him, his face set in stone. He hadn’t said a word, but his presence was enough to make sure no one got in their way. They moved through the crowd with the kind of confidence that came from knowing they controlled the situation—guns tucked away, but the threat hanging heavy in the air.

Outside, the cool air hit me like a slap. Matt gently set me down but kept a firm grip on my hand. His knuckles were bloodied, his breathing ragged, but his eyes… his eyes were dark, Not in the way I had ever seen them before.

We drove in tense silence, the car filled with the residual heat of anger and adrenaline. No one spoke.

The drive away from the party was cloaked in silence, the tension thick and unspoken. Matt's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles still bruised and raw from the fight. Chris sat in the passenger seat, his jaw clenched, eyes flickering between the road ahead and Matt's rigid posture.

I sat in the back, the cool leather of the seat against my thighs grounding me. The city lights faded as we drove further, replaced by quiet streets lined with towering trees and sprawling houses. I leaned forward slightly, glancing out the window.

"Uh, where are we?" I asked, my voice breaking the silence.

Matt didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the road. Chris turned slightly, his smirk returning, though it lacked its usual ease. "Our house," he replied casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I blinked, my mind trying to process his words. "I thought you guys lived at the trap."

Chris chuckled softly. "The trap is where we work. This is where we live."

Matt pulled into the long driveway of a massive, modern house tucked behind tall, sleek gates. The exterior was all sharp lines and dark glass, illuminated by soft, ambient lighting that gave the place an almost surreal glow.

Stepping out of the car, I followed them up the stone path, my curiosity outweighing my confusion. The front door swung open effortlessly under Matt's hand, revealing an interior that made my jaw drop.

The house was nothing like I expected. High ceilings stretched above us, adorned with minimalist chandeliers that cast warm pools of light onto polished hardwood floors. The living room was expansive, with plush, oversized furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city skyline like a painting.

I toed off my boots, feeling out of place. "This is... not what I expected."

Chris threw his phone on the marble kitchen counter, grinning. "What were you expecting? Milk crates and mattresses on the floor?"

I shrugged, still taking it all in. "Honestly? Yeah."

Matt finally spoke, his voice low and rough. "Appearances are deceiving."

He disappeared up the stairs, leaving me alone with Chris. Chris flopped onto the enormous sectional, patting the seat next to him. "Get comfortable, sweetheart. You're staying for a while."

I sat down, sinking into the soft cushions, my mind racing with questions but my lips staying shut. The air felt thick, almost heavy with something I couldn’t quite place, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what it was.

“Upstairs,” Matt’s voice called from above, rough around the edges. I hesitated for just a second before making my way up, my heart pounding a little faster. I’d never been here before, and something about being alone with Matt—his house, his world—felt different.

When I entered his room, I stopped in my tracks for a moment, taking in the sight. The bed was massive—almost ridiculously so. His boxers and a t-shirt were laid out neatly on the sheets. I swallowed hard, nerves creeping in, but I forced myself to keep moving forward.

He didn’t even look up from his phone. “Change,” he said, his voice flat, as if he was saying something completely ordinary.

I nodded, retreating into the bathroom attached to his room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind me, I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. I changed quickly, not wanting to waste any time, but something about the whole situation felt off.

Once I was dressed, I climbed into the bed beside him, pulling the covers over my body. He was already there, sprawled out and clearly still tense, his mind a million miles away. He didn’t even say anything as he flicked on the TV, the soft glow illuminating the room and casting shadows across his face.

I shifted closer, resting my head on his shoulder, the weight of the night pressing down on me. “How do you have this house?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. My voice was barely above a whisper, but I had to ask.

Matt didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the TV, his jaw tightening as if the question bothered him more than I expected. Finally, he shifted, just enough to look down at me, “You’ve seen what we do,” he said, his voice low, edged with something I couldn’t quite read.

I felt my stomach knot. He wasn’t wrong. I had seen it—the deals, the late-night phone calls, the way Matt and Chris operated in a world I had no part in. The life they’d built wasn’t exactly something you could just turn off.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. I could feel the weight of it all hanging between us, pressing down on my chest. But instead of pulling away, I just snuggled closer, needing the comfort. His arm wrapped around me, his grip tight and protective, but I could feel the tension in his body, the anger from earlier still lingering.

“I don’t need this,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers brushing against my skin, the touch surprisingly soft.

I stayed silent, not sure what to say. The truth was, I didn’t need this either. But for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to leave.

I stayed there, pressed up against Matt’s side, his arm still wrapped around me, my head resting on his shoulder. The low hum of the TV filled the silence, but my thoughts were elsewhere, swirling in a mix of confusion and unease. The strange quiet of the house, the tension in his body, the weight of his words—it all felt like too much. I was lost in it, trying to make sense of everything.

And then my phone buzzed, breaking the stillness.

I pulled it from the pocket of my jeans and saw Jordan’s name lighting up the screen. My heart sank. I didn’t feel like dealing with her right now, especially not after everything that had gone down tonight, but I unlocked my phone and opened the message anyway.

Jordan: Did you hear what happened with Matt tonight?

I stared at the screen, feeling a wave of panic rise in my chest. I quickly typed a response, my fingers shaking slightly as I tried to keep my emotions in check.

Me: Stop trying to parent me. I’m an adult. I can make my own decisions, okay?

I hit send before I could second-guess myself. But the pit in my stomach only deepened as I stared at the message, like I was waiting for something to happen—waiting for her to text me back.

And then it happened. Matt's arm shifted, and before I even realized what was going on, he grabbed my phone from my hands, his movements sharp and quick. My stomach dropped as he looked down at the screen.

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words caught in my throat as I watched him scroll through the messages. His eyes flicked over the screen, his jaw tightening as he read Jordan’s message.

My heart was hammering in my chest as I silently cursed myself for not locking the phone, he glared at the screen, his expression darkening with each passing second. I could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, his body stiffening as he scrolled through the messages. He didn't say anything at first, but I could feel the tension growing between us.

He slammed my phone down onto the bed with a force that made me flinch, his eyes meeting mine, full of frustration. "She’s been texting you about me... about us?" he asked, his voice low, dangerously calm.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing heartbeat. I didn't know what to say. I could feel my breath quicken as I scrambled to explain myself, but he cut me off before I could get the words out.

“Jordan,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. "She’s been on your case for weeks now, huh? With that bullshit, telling you to stay away from me and Chris?" He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "She doesn’t know shit about what goes on here. She acts like she does because we let her spark up with us once in a while." His voice dropped lower, almost too quiet. “She has no idea what it’s like... what it really takes to keep a place like this.”

I felt the heat rise to my face, a mix of embarrassment and guilt. Matt’s anger was raw, and I could see it in his eyes. But at the same time, I also felt a strange mix of fear and protectiveness over him.

“I told her I could make my own decisions,” I said, my voice shaky, trying to hold onto some sense of control.

Matt scoffed, leaning back on the bed, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at the tv. "Yeah, well, she needs to mind her business." His tone was sharp, and the anger still simmered just below the surface. "She doesn't get it. She doesn't know the shit she thinks she does about me and Chris."

My heart pounded in my chest, guilt eating away at me. She was just trying to look out for me, even if it didn’t feel that way.

I reached for my phone, but Matt grabbed it first, holding it just out of my reach. “You’re not talking to her anymore,” he said, his tone final. “She’s not gonna mess this up for us.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at me, waiting for a reaction.

I couldn’t tell if it was the intensity of his gaze or what, but I didn’t fight him. Instead, I just lay there next to him, unable to shake the feeling that I was trapped between two worlds—between Matt, the life he led, and everything Jordan had been warning me about.

Matt’s body was rigid beside me, his presence solid and warm. The tension in his muscles hadn’t quite relaxed, his jaw still clenched, and I could feel the storm of emotions swirling in the air around us.

The lights in his room were dim, casting long shadows across the walls, and I was still trying to wrap my head around everything that had happened. The fight at the party. The blood.

While we were laying there the door opened with a creak, and Chris’s voice broke through the stillness.

"Matt," Chris called out, his tone sharp. "We’ve got a visitor."

Matt tensed beside me, his muscles tightening as he pushed himself up from the bed. "Stay here," he said, his voice low and controlled, but there was something dangerous lurking in it. "Don’t leave the room."

I barely had a chance to respond before he was already moving, slipping on a shirt and heading toward the door. My stomach twisted. I wanted to know what was going on, what kind of "visitor" they were dealing with, but Matt’s warning echoed in my mind. I stayed in bed, though the unease in my chest wouldn’t settle.

The minutes dragged on, each one heavier than the last. It had been ten minutes since Matt and Chris left the room, and I couldn’t sit still any longer. My curiosity gnawed at me, a constant itch I couldn’t ignore.

I slipped out of bed quietly, moving toward the door. I could hear the faint sounds of voices downstairs, muffled, but nothing that gave me any clear idea of what was happening. What they were doing.

I cracked the door open just enough to slip out, trying not to make a sound. My bare feet padded across the cold wood floor as I crept toward the top of the stairs. The house felt eerily quiet, the silence hanging heavily in the air. I could hear muffled voices now, sharp words mixed with a few desperate pleas. My heart skipped a beat.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I paused. What I saw froze me in my tracks.

At the bottom of the stairs was the guy from the party—the one Matt had fought earlier. The guy was on his knees, his head bowed, his hands trembling in front of him. He looked like he was begging, but I couldn’t hear his words from where I stood. I could see the fear in his eyes, though, the panic as he tried to make himself small under the weight of Matt and Chris’s presence.

Matt and Chris were standing over him, both of them tense, and I could see the guns in their hands. Matt had his at his side, the barrel gleaming in the dim light, while Chris held his steady, aimed at the kneeling man.

My breath caught in my throat. I felt like I was intruding on something I wasn’t meant to see, like I was looking into a world I couldn’t understand.

Matt’s voice rang out, low and filled with an edge of danger. "You know the deal," he said, his tone cold, commanding. "You pulled that stupid fucking shit tonight. ‘You dont get paid enough’ Fuck that."

The guy on his knees didn’t speak at first, but I could see him nodding desperately, tears running down his face as he raised his hands in a pleading gesture. His whole body trembled, and I could feel the fear emanating off him in waves.

"I-I didn’t mean to—" he started, his voice shaky, but Matt cut him off.

"Shut the fuck up," Matt snapped, his voice hard.

I took a step back, my heart pounding, my body frozen in place. My eyes were still locked on the scene below, the tension between the three men thickening with every passing second. It was like a standoff, a moment where everything teetered on the edge of something dangerous.

And then, my foot shifted slightly, the floor creaking under my weight. The sound was soft, but it was enough.

Matt’s head snapped up, his sharp eyes finding me at the top of the stairs. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and I felt his gaze lock onto me, cold and piercing.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Matt’s voice rang out, low but filled with an unmistakable edge of anger. His words sliced through the air, and I felt the sudden weight of them. His gaze shifted quickly between me and the guy still kneeling on the floor.

I didn’t know how to respond. My breath caught in my throat as my mind scrambled to make sense of everything happening in front of me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. I wanted to apologize for intruding, for seeing something I wasn’t supposed to see, but I couldn’t make myself move. I was frozen, caught between the need to explain myself and the sheer fear of what this moment meant.

Matt’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. He didn’t speak for a long moment, but I could see the fury simmering just below the surface.

"You should’ve stayed in the room," he muttered, his voice dangerously calm.

I swallowed hard, my body tense as I realized how much I didn’t understand. How much I had already gotten myself involved in.

The man on the floor looked up at me, making eye contact, his body trembling in fear, Chris caught on to the man looking at me and hit him in the face, hard, causing me to gasp at the sound.

Matt took a step forward, his posture almost predatory, "Get back to the room," he ordered, his voice low. But there was something in his tone that made my chest tighten—something that made me realize I wasn’t just an innocent bystander anymore. I was part of this.

I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I couldn’t stay there, not at this moment. My legs felt like they were going to give out, but I managed to turn around and retreat back into the shadows, disappearing into the hallway as quietly as I could.

The sound of Matt’s voice echoed in the distance, but I didn’t hear the words. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heart and the realization that the life I had stepped into was far darker and more dangerous than I ever could have imagined.

The door slammed open, and Matt was standing there, his presence filling the room like a storm. His chest was heaving, his jaw tight, eyes burning with anger. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, like it was pressing down, suffocating me.

"What is wrong with you?" he snapped, his voice harsh and raw.

I instinctively shrunk back, my heart pounding in my chest. He stepped forward, his frustration practically radiating off him, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"I told you to stay in the room. I literally asked you one fucking thing, but you went ahead and—" He cut himself off, pacing a few steps before turning back to face me, the anger in his eyes almost too much to handle.

"Do you have any idea what you just saw?" he continued, his tone lowering but still laced with irritation. "This isn’t some fucking joke. This is real. People get hurt, Y/N. People die."

I opened my mouth to say something, but the words felt trapped in my throat. What could I say? I didn’t even know how to explain what had been going through my head when I snuck out of the room, what had driven me to see what was happening downstairs.

Matt shook his head, his gaze never leaving me. "This is dangerous, and if you want to keep seeing me and Chris, you better start understanding what that means."

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming. His voice was calmer now, but there was no mistaking the edge of finality in it. "I’m not going to baby you, Y/N. You either get it together or you walk away. Because you’re playing with fire and expecting not to get burned. And I’m not just gonna sit back and watch you do that and wait till you do.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words tangled in my throat, choked by the weight of his anger. My chest felt tight, my heart racing, and without thinking, I slid off the bed and closed the space between us.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I reached for him. My hands found his chest first, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin, the steady, rapid thrum of his heartbeat. “Matt, I’m so sorry.”

I wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face into the warmth of his neck, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the sharp edge of sweat and adrenaline. “Please, I didn’t mean to—I just wanted to know you were okay,” I murmured against his skin, my lips brushing softly over the curve of his neck as I spoke.

His body remained rigid, his hands clenched at his sides, but I held on tighter, desperate to break through the wall his anger had built. I placed soft, frantic kisses along the line of his jaw, his neck, my voice shaking between each one. “Please, Matt. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I just—I needed to see you.”

His breath hitched, a sharp exhale that made me cling to him even more. My fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white, as if letting go would make the distance between us even worse.

“I’ll listen next time. I swear. Just—don’t be mad at me,” I begged softly, my words muffled against his skin, my lips finding the hollow of his throat where his pulse beat fast and hard.

For a moment, he didn’t move. The tension between us thick enough to drown in. Then, slowly, his hands came up, not gentle but rough, gripping my arms, his fingers digging in just enough to remind me of who he was.

But he didn’t push me away.

Matt’s grip loosened slightly, his fingers sliding from my arms to my waist, pulling me in closer. His head dropped to look in my eyes, his breath warm and uneven as it fanned across my skin. His eyes were still closed, like he was trying to hold something in—something fragile beneath all that anger.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, filled with frustration, but not just at me. At himself. At everything. He let out a shaky sigh, his hands gripping my hips tighter like he was afraid I’d slip away. “I want you here,” he whispered, his voice softer now, almost broken. “But you’ve got to listen to me, Y/N. You don’t get it, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

My chest ached at the rawness in his words, the vulnerability bleeding through the cracks in his tough exterior. I cupped his face gently, His gaze was softer now, the sharp edges dulled by something deeper.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered again, my thumbs brushing over the rough stubble on his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make things worse. I just, I don't know.”

He let out another breath, his hands sliding up my back, pulling me against him until there was no space left between us. My face buried in his chest.

“I don’t want to worry about whether or not you’re going to listen,” he murmured, his voice muffled but clear enough to make my heart clench.

I held him tighter, pressing soft kisses to his jaw, trying to ease the tension in his body. “I’ll listen,” I promised softly, my fingers threading through his hair. “I’ll do better.”

Matt didn’t respond right away. His grip on me tightened, like he was still trying to process everything. Then, slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes still dark but softer, the storm behind them finally settling.

Without a word, he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion, tossing it carelessly to the floor. His skin was warm, scattered with faint bruises from the fight earlier, his chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths. His gaze never left mine as he reached for me again, his hands finding my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies were flush.

“c’mere,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, but not with anger this time.

He guided me back toward the bed, pulling me down with him. The sheets were cool against my skin, but his warmth made up for it as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. I nestled against him, my face tucked into the curve of his neck, breathing in the faint, familiar scent of him.

His fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along my back, grounding me, his touch gentle despite the roughness of his words earlier. His heartbeat was steady beneath my ear, a rhythm that slowly lulled me into calm.

“You matter more than I want you to.” he whispered into the dark,

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, right over his heart.

Sleep came slowly, but it came—with his arms around me, holding me like he never wanted to let go.

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(divider by @cafekitsune) @tbfaptbfae @ch0llies @2muchofaslvt @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @mattscore @watercolorskyy @urfungi @slut4christopherr @mattsturnii @christmastreecake @izzylovesmatt @larnieboox88 @realuvrrr @namelesssav @matts-girlfriend @emely9274 @sturnslutz @secret-sturniolo @vickytaa @matteatmeout @pair-of-pantaloons @ananskanansbsnwbensb @theboredknightcat-blog @sturniolostuff @dariellemccaul @mamamadssss

#christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #chris sturiolo fanfic

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r3starttt · 6 hours ago

Text

ACT ONE

PAIRING: Caitlyn x reader

SUMMARY: all scenes where Caitlyn appears in act one but with reader.

CW: mentions of grief. angst. lots of fluff. oral. public sex.

TAGLIST: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @patronagrona @halle5s @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight @nosferatuv

At this point, you may as well live with her. The house has become an echo of silence, too hollow and too heavy for Caitlyn to bear alone. Tobias is a ghost himself, drifting in and out, his presence marked only by the faint clatter of cutlery as he eats in solitude, retreating once more into his room. And Caitlyn is haunted. Haunted by faces and moments that play on a cruel, endless loop. Jinx. Her mother. What she could’ve done. What she should’ve done. Choices to act, to protect, to pull the trigger—all left untouched, unclaimed. The weight of it all presses against her, and the only lifeline she allows herself to reach for is you.

So now, she’s here, curled up beside you on her bed. The room is cold, its stillness mirroring the emptiness that seems to stretch across every corner of this place. Even the outside world mourns. The rain has been unrelenting, a quiet lament that soaks and taps against the windows like a reminder of shared sorrow. You can’t help but wonder if this is the right place for you, if immersing yourself in this sea of grief is the wisest choice. But then you look at her.

Her hands are tucked beneath her cheek, her face serene yet marked by the faint shadow of unrest. Her brows furrow, even in sleep, as if the storm inside her mind refuses to quiet. Gently, you cradle her face, your fingers tracing the soft contours of her jaw, brushing over the faint hollows of her cheeks. Your touch moves upward, combing through the messed strands of her hair. The knots formed from her restless tossing untangle beneath your fingers, and the soothing rhythm of your hands feels like the only lullaby she can bear.

A quiet hum escapes your lips, a melody you don’t think much of but one that seems to work. Slowly, her frown eases, replaced by a soft, almost hesitant smile—a smile she seems to fight, as though afraid it might shatter. It’s been so long since you’ve seen her smile.

“Morning,” she whispers, her voice low and rasping with the weight of sleep. Her hand shifts from under her cheek to find yours, her fingers threading through yours in a tender, grounding gesture.

“Morning,” you murmur in return, your voice soft as you lean closer beneath the cocoon of sheets. You press a kiss to her forehead, lingering there, the warmth of her skin against your lips grounding you both. For a moment, the world outside, with its rain and sorrow, fades. For a moment, it’s just her, and that feels like enough.

But you’re not the only one here. Violet has been wandering through the house, a presence so quiet yet heavy, a living reminder of everything that’s fractured. Caitlyn had insisted on letting her stay, her voice stained with a kind of reluctant understanding that pain like this doesn’t belong to just one person. It is shared, diffused, seeping into every corner of the lives it touches. When Caitlyn told you, you said nothing. Not in agreement, nor in protest. You didn’t dare show that you cared.

There was something tender about Violet—the softness in her manner, the raw edge to her grief. She carried herself with a quiet dignity, but her eyes betrayed her: red-rimmed and glassy, too burdened to hold anyone’s gaze for long. From the little you knew, it was clear she had deserved better. Tobias, however, saw none of that. For him, the very sight of her was a wound reopened. His anger sat on the edge of his tongue, unspoken but omnipresent, simmering beneath the surface. He was mad, sad, heartbroken, and everything in between. Having a stranger in his house, a woman whose sister had brought devastation to his family, felt like betrayal in its purest form. Caitlyn's insistence on Violet's presence was a knife to his already shredded heart.

And you? You stayed silent. You sat there, an outsider observing their silent war, pretending not to notice the sharp glances and terse words exchanged when they thought no one was looking. You understood, or at least you told yourself that you did. You saw their pain, raw and jagged, and tried to hold space for it all. But understanding wasn’t enough. Because in truth, you couldn’t bring yourself to place blame—not on Violet, not on Caitlyn, not even on Jinx. It all felt too tangled, too complicated, like a string knotted so tightly that pulling at any thread might unravel the whole thing.

The tension in the house was suffocating, building and breaking in whispers and murmurs that swelled into shouting. You pretended not to hear, ignored the raised voices that crept under doors and through walls. That was their fight, their privacy, and you had no right to disturb it. At least, that’s what you told yourself—until Caitlyn pulled you into it.

She had become more meticulous, more controlling, as if the chaos inside her mind demanded order in the world around her. Every movement, every decision, she dragged you along. It wasn’t just habit or need, it was fear. Fear of herself, of what she might do if left alone. She was terrified of causing more harm, of making one more mistake that might not only hurt but destroy the fragile pieces still holding her together.

The shadows of her guilt loomed large. Jinx had stepped into her shower once. Jinx had taken her mother. The thought of what else Jinx might do—to you, to Tobias, to anyone Caitlyn still dared to love—paralyzed her. And yet, she feared the reflection in the mirror even more.

You could see it in her eyes, the way they darted toward you every few seconds, as if checking that you were still there, still breathing. She had made you her constant, her refuge, her proof that not all was lost. But it came with a cost. Being tethered to someone drowning in their own despair meant you were always at risk of sinking with them. And yet, you stayed. Because Caitlyn needed you. And you needed her too.

"This is all my fault." Caitlyn’s voice was uneven, frayed at the edges, carrying the weight of yet another argument with Violet. Her steps were restless, almost aimless, as she paced into the living room before collapsing onto the couch beside you. The cup of tea she'd abandoned earlier sat cold on the table before her, its surface a quiet testament to her neglect of even the simplest comforts. Her strength seemed spent, reserved solely for crying and, occasionally, your embrace.

The letters scattered across the coffee table mocked her in their neat lines of shallow condolences. Hollow phrases of regret and empty assurances from people who couldn’t begin to fathom the depths of her anguish. You’d taken to opening them in her place, sparing her the cruel repetition of their false sincerity. Tobias had tried to help, his presence a strained and fleeting support, but after the faint echoes of raised voices, he’d muttered an apology and retreated to his room, leaving you alone in the quiet.

"Love… you know it’s not," you said softly, leaning back and reaching for the cup of tea, hoping it might bring her even a shred of comfort. "Did Violet say something? We heard—"

She cut you off, her hand pushing yours down, the motion sharp but lacking the force of true anger. "Stop." The plea, despite its brusqueness, was so fragile.

You fell silent, your gaze locking onto hers. Her eyes, glassy and red, carried an exhaustion that seemed to seep into her very being. You searched for a clue, a flicker of understanding as to what torment had clawed its way back into her mind this time.

"My mother was right," Caitlyn murmured, her voice weak, almost swallowed by the room’s stillness. It cracked under the strain of her sorrow, and your chest tightened at the sight of her—this woman you admired so deeply—reduced to such cruelty toward herself.

"My arrogance led me to take on more than I could handle." Her fists clenched, her knuckles pale as if trying to anchor herself.

You could feel the anger radiating off her, sharp and bitter, not just toward Jinx or Violet, but toward herself. Toward you, even. Toward everything and everyone that had become tangled in this mess. She hated the circumstances that had left her exposed and hollow, hated the gnawing insecurity that whispered she wasn’t enough. And yet, what pained her more was the thought that no one around her—neither Violet nor Tobias nor even you—could be enough for her either. It was a loneliness that festered, a wound that refused to heal.

But then, the room shifted.

A black envelope appeared. It bore no ornamentation save for a symbol pressed into the dark paper. They cared little for the pageantry of their position, choosing instead to let the symbol do the speaking. Unlike the many others envelopes you’ve opened so far, written with the fanciest tones and even decorated.

Caitlyn’s frown deepened as she took it, her expression darkening further as she recognized what it meant.

You handed her the envelope and the badge enclosed within. Her eyes, those piercing blue orbs, scanned the words printed on the letter. With each line, her grip on the badge tightened.

And then, without a word, she stood.

She didn’t look at you, didn’t explain. There was no request, no demand, not even a glance to acknowledge your presence.

You were left behind. Again.

Left alone to the silence of the room, to the scattered letters and the burden of her absence. Caitlyn, as much as she loved you, was taking advantage of your presence, of your devotion. She left you to clean up the pieces, to sift through the meaningless apologies on those envelopes and tidy the remnants of her spiraling grief. She left you to endure the aftermath while she chased whatever closure—or recklessness—her heart demanded.

You gave her space—not the kind that pushed her further into isolation, but just enough to let her breathe, to gather her scattered thoughts. You ate with her father, the meal tinged with a shared hope that hunger might coax her out of hiding. Yet, her absence was a weight neither of you mentioned aloud.

Tobias offered you a small, knowing smile, one that carried the quiet gratitude and understanding only a parent could convey. It was a look you’d seen before, in Cassandra’s gentle glances—their shared acknowledgment of the love and care you held for Caitlyn.

"Look in the garden," Tobias said softly, his voice lined with something between encouragement and resignation.

And you did. The air cool and fragrant with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers. The space unfolded before you like a living painting, the greens vivid, the blossoms vibrant in the soft light of the day. The path ahead seemed to glow faintly, a trail of violets guiding your steps like a whisper from nature itself.

“Cait?” you murmured, your voice low as not to disturb the fragile tranquility of the moment. You placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, feeling the slight shiver that ran through her. She didn’t flinch, but her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm. You lowered yourself onto the bench beside her. “Everything alright?” you asked, hesitant, the concern in your voice brushing the air between you. You were on the verge of apologizing for intruding when her gaze finally shifted to you.

The relief that washed over her face was almost luminous, softening the sharp lines of her anguish. A small, fragile smile broke through as she reached for your hands, cradling them. Without a word, she leaned into you, her cheek pressing against your shoulder as though finding shelter in your presence.

“Ever since it happened...” she began, her voice a quiet tremor, “three faces keep spinning through my mind.” Her words were slow and deliberate, each syllable heavy with exhaustion, as if speaking them aloud cost her a piece of herself.

“I see Mother—when they found her.” Her voice cracked, and the pause that followed felt like a knife held at your chest. “Every fiber of me just sinks, like a stone swallowed in dark water.” She stopped, her silence thick and oppressive, and you could feel your own heart missing.

“And then there’s Jinx, laughing.” The sound of her sigh was uneven, almost a gasp, as though the memory itself had taken the air from her lungs. “I want to tear that laugh from her throat forever.”

The venom in her voice made you freeze, the raw, unchecked fury a side of her you’d never known. It was a wildfire in her eyes, consuming everything in its path, and it frightened you—not because you feared her, but because you feared what that anger might do to her.

“It’s so easy to hate them...” she whispered, her voice trailing off into the rhythm of the windmill nearby. Its blades turned steadily, the faint creak and groan of wood mingling with the soft rustle of petals caught in the breeze. The air seemed to carry the garden’s sorrow, the weight of it pressing against your chest.

You squeezed her hands gently, your thumb tracing slow, soothing patterns across her skin. “And the third one?” She tilted her head back slightly, her eyes finally meeting yours. They were tired, lined with shadows that no amount of rest could erase, yet there was something luminous in their depths—something that spoke of vulnerability and trust.

“You,” she said softly.

The single word hung between you, delicate and profound, as her gaze searched yours for a reaction. Her brows furrowed slightly, the faintest trace of worry in the lines of her face.

She leans into you, her chapped lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes you shiver. The kiss is brief yet lingers in your chest as haunting as it is sweet. When she tilts her head back, her eyes meet yours, and the moment feels suspended, as if time itself has paused to honor the weight of this intimacy. Your skin tingles where her cold fingers trace up your arms, their path slow. They find their way to your neck, her touch a mix of hesitancy and need, before her lips return to yours.

This time, the kiss deepens. There’s a fervent gentleness in her movements, an urgency tempered by care. You respond instinctively, matching the rhythm of her lips. Your breaths interwine, until you pull away just enough to press another kiss to her lips, softer this time, a silent assurance that you are here.

But Caitlyn doesn’t stop. Her mouth finds yours again, her tongue grazing your lips. For a moment, you hesitate. Perhaps it’s the rawness of her emotion, or the vulnerability of being in this open space where anyone might stumble upon you. Maybe it’s the Caitlyn you see now—a woman so familiar yet so distant—that makes you pull back, just slightly.

“Cait...” you whisper, your voice breathless, your eyes searching hers for clarity, for reassurance.

Her response is a smile, a rare one you’ve missed, the one you’ve longed to see for what feels like a lifetime.

And it undoes you.

Your lips find her neck, trailing a line of kisses along her skin, each one a confession of the emotions you can’t put into words. Your hands move instinctively, slipping beneath the fabric of her uniform, seeking the warmth of her thighs. The soft give of her skin beneath your palms.

Her hands rest on the bench, her fingers curling slightly as if anchoring herself to the moment. Her lips part, a soft gasp escaping as your touch deepens. Her breath mingles with the cool air, each exhale carrying a note of longing. She tilts her head back, and her body shifts subtly, her legs parting in silent invitation.

There’s no need for words. Her body speaks for her, a language of trust and desire that you understand without effort. You lean into her. Your lips press on her legs, starting with her knees as you pull her uniform up enough to slide your fingers into the hem of her panties. Her hips adjust, allowing you to pull her underwear down her legs and slid your fingers near her folds. You kiss your way up her inner thighs, never leaving her out of sight. Your thumb rubs small circles around her clit, feeling the wet growing. Caitlyn holds herself in place, letting out quiet whimpers and gasps while fighting for her legs to stay wide open for you.

You slid your hands once again at the sides of her thighs, leaning closer to press small kisses on her clit and down her slit, savoring every inch of her before sliding your tongue up and down, slurping obscenely while moaning against her. "Please..." you begged breathlessly. "Cum for me."

You stand beside her during the speech, her arm looped tightly through yours. Her fingers fidget with yours, nails that expose the restless and uncertain in her with the scars they leave in your skin. Yet, there’s a softness in how she squeezes your hand, as if reminding herself that you’re there. When her mother’s name is mentioned, you feel the slight tremble in her grip, a signal of the tears gathering in her eyes, threatening to spill. You glance at her, catching the sheen of vulnerability in her gaze, and your heart aches to comfort her.

But before you can whisper how you're here for her, the moment shatters. A thunderous boom cleaves through the air, its force rattling your chest. A streak of red light arcs into the sky, burning your view. Screams erupt all around, high-pitched and frantic, mingling with the sound of chaos. The crowd scatters and you freeze, caught in the disarray, until you feel her hand pulling you—urgently, forcefully—dragging you away from the danger.

“Are you alright?” Caitlyn’s voice cuts through the noise, firm yet tinged with worry. Her hands cup your face, her eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes you forget the pandemonium for a second. Before you can fully respond, she snatches a rifle from a fallen enforcer. You nod, though your legs feel unsteady beneath you, your mind swirling with fear and confusion.

A red-haired enforcer grabs your arm and ushers you toward the back of the stage, guiding you to the safety of a waiting truck. As you climb into, surrounded by panicked council members, your breath quickens, the fear of something happening to Caitlyn pounding in your chest. It's so loud and so strong you fear it might stop. And it does, when a sharp impact swallows you into darkness.

When you wake, the room feels colder than usual. Caitlyn’s voice breaks through the haze, her words sharp and trembling. “A memorial...” she mutters, her tone teetering between outrage and disbelief. She’s seated at the edge of her bed, you see in her muscles how her back is tight and rigid, her hands balled into fists on her thighs. A nurse exits quietly, leaving you alone-- you almost pray she doesn't.

Her frown is a weight too heavy to watch, her teeth biting hard into her bottom lip, drawing blood. "What kind of animals..." she spits, her voice rising, "All they did is piss me off!"

This side of her is uncharted territory—raw, angry, and terrifying in its intensity. It’s a version of Caitlyn you’ve never seen before, and the sight of it scares you. But still, you move toward her, crawling onto the bed to approach closer.

Her head tilts slightly, leaning into your presence as if drawn by gravity. The fire in her expression falters, replaced by a heartbreaking vulnerability. Her eyebrows tremble, her lips quivering as she fights to contain the sobs threatening to break free. “I don’t know what to do,” she confesses, her voice cracking as her hand rises to cover her face.

She trembles beneath her own emotions, her fingers twitching as her hands drop uselessly into her lap. "She dies and leaves and I’m just supposed to fill this hole like she was never there to begin with." Her words come out in fragments, each one cutting deeper into your heart.

A single tear escapes her, carving a trail down her cheek, and it feels like the final crack in a dam about to burst. Gently, you reach out, your thumb brushing away the tear, your hand trailing down to her chin to lift her gaze to yours. “Hey,” you whisper softly, the word laden with all the comfort you can muster. “We’ll be alright.”

Her eyes meet yours—red and glossy, matching the rawness of her chapped lips. Her exhaustion is etched into every line of her face, the weight of her grief pressing down on her like an unforgiving tide.

“Come here,” you urge, your voice tender yet steady. She hesitates, her hand reaching up to cup yours for a fleeting moment before brushing it away. She wipes at her tears, a futile attempt to hide her vulnerability.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, her voice faltering. “It’s just...” You silence her with a shake of your head. You understand the walls she’s built, the weight she carries, and you refuse to let her bear it alone.

“It’s all coming apart,” she whispers, her tone fragile, almost defeated.

“No, it isn’t,” you counter, your words firm before cupping her face, your touch grounding her. “We won’t let it.”

The warmth of the fire casts a golden glow across the room, dancing along the walls and casting flickering shadows on the green upholstery of the ornate armchair you occupy. The tea in your hands sends soft tendrils of steam curling into the air, the faint scent of chamomile mingling with the woody aroma of burning logs. The book in your lap lies open, its pages half-read, but your eyes stray to the flames, their hypnotic sway lulling you into a rare moment of stillness.

The sharp crack of the door swinging open shatters the serenity. The sound echoes like a gunshot, startling you enough to spill a few drops of tea onto the small, polished coffee table before you. Your gaze snaps to the doorway, and your breath catches in your throat.

She’s standing there, framed by the doorway. Her face is a canvas of bruises, the darkened hues of purple and red marring the thin curves of her cheeks. Scratches crisscross her skin. Dirt clings to her clothes and streaks her hands. But it’s her eyes that root you to the spot—red-rimmed and glistening.

Her lips are parted, and though no words come out, the tremble in her bottom lip betrays the raging inside her. She’s been crying—you can see it in the rawness of her expression, the puffiness around her eyes—but there’s something more, something primal and consuming in the way she stares at you.

“Are you alright? What happened?” you ask, your voice urgent, almost stumbling over the words as you rise from the couch. The tea and book are abandoned on the table, forgotten in the sudden shift of your world.

She doesn’t answer, at least not with words. Instead, she steps forward, her boots heavy on the floor, carrying the weight of her anguish with every movement. The firelight catches the tears that threaten to fall again, and you notice the subtle wince in her steps, the stiffness in her posture.

You reach out instinctively, your hand brushing against the dirt-streaked fabric of her sleeve.

“Talk to me,” you urge, your tone softer now, pleading.

For a moment, it seems as though she might speak, her mouth opening slightly, but then it closes again. Instead, her eyes find yours, wide and glassy, searching for something—reassurance, safety, understanding.

The fire continues to crackle behind you, its warmth a stark contrast to the coldness that seems to cling to her. Your hands gently brush against her hair, now tangled and dusted with remnants of the outside world.

"Where’s Violet?" you ask softly, the question laced with unease. The mere thought of losing someone else, of her standing before you so battered and with more grief on her shoulders, sends an icy jolt through your veins.

Her reaction is immediate, sharp—her eyes roll in irritation, her teeth sinking into the flesh of her bottom lip as though she’s trying to chew away the words she doesn’t want to say. She pushes past you, the faint scent of dirt and sweat trailing her as she tosses her gun carelessly onto the nearest surface. The dull thud of metal on wood makes you wince.

"She stopped me," she spits, each word drenched in fury. "I had Jinx—right there—and she stopped me... for a stupid child." Anger ripples through her, but beneath it lies a wound far deeper than she wants to admit.

You don’t interrupt her. You simply stand by the door, watching as she paces, her movements frantic yet constrained, like a caged animal desperate for escape. Her words tumble out in disjointed bursts, a storm of emotion too overwhelming to contain. But even as you listen, the weight of her pain settles over you, a burden you’re all too willing to share if she’d only let you.

Her rambling halts abruptly, the noise of her anguish giving way to a silence that feels almost oppressive. You take a hesitant step forward, your voice calm, steady. “Let me...”

She doesn’t argue, doesn’t resist, and that alone tells you how exhausted she truly is. You guide her gently to her room, allowing her to step into the bathroom.

The shower runs, steam curling into the air as you help her wash away the grime of the day. Her movements are slow, mechanical, but she lets you guide her, her trust in you unspoken yet profound. You don’t rush, letting the water and your careful hands work to soothe her, to strip away the evidence of whatever nightmare she’s just endured.

Later, as you sit behind her, combing through the damp strands of her hair, you feel the tension still clinging to her. Her shoulders are tight, her neck marked with faint bruises that stand out against her pale skin. Your fingers work gently, unraveling knots, both in her hair and, you hope, in her mind.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the spot where her hairline meets her temple. "It’s going to be fine."

She doesn’t say anything, but you catch it—the faintest curl of her lips, a smile so small it’s almost imperceptible. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it’s enough. Only you, it seems, can quiet her fear for a moment.

But perhaps you had been wrong all along. Perhaps it wasn’t only Caitlyn you were trying to convince—it was yourself.

The name, "Caitlyn Kiramman," rings out suddenly, the sound sharp and cutting, turning acrid as it settles in your ears. It twists your stomach into tight, unrelenting knots, your pulse quickening with an instinctive dread.

Your eyes snap to her, wide with disbelief. She’s too far away, standing on that raised platform like a figure in some tragic play. There’s nothing you can do—no hand to grasp, no words to whisper that might reel her back. You can only hope, pray even, that the Caitlyn you know, the one who always looks for you in a crowd as though you’re her anchor, will see you now and find her way.

But she doesn’t.

Her eyes meet yours for the briefest of moments, not with the steady resolve you’ve clung to, but with something unrecognizable—mocking, almost defiant. Her gaze burns.

You see her chest rise and fall, her breath shallow and erratic, her hands twitching at her sides. Her skin glows with an unnatural warmth, a fever born of anxiety and mounting pressure. The ceremonial uniform clings to her, an ill-fitting armor that seems to suffocate rather than protect her. Her face, once serene even under the heaviest burdens, now betrays her unraveling composure.

The murmurs in the crowd grow louder, each hushed gasp and whispered word a dagger in your heart. She hears them too. It’s evident in the way her shoulders tense and her brows curve inward, forming lines of worry and doubt. Her nose scrunches as though trying to block out the suffocating air around her. The bruises and scratches you’d helped her hide beneath layers of powder now peek through the flush of her reddened cheeks, revealing a fragility she seems desperate to mask.

Her lips part as though to speak, but no sound comes. Instead, her breaths grow uneven, quickened, fluttering with no escape. She hesitates, falters, her steps unsteady as she moves toward Ambessa.

Your heart plummets.

This wasn’t supposed to happen—not like this. Everyone around you seems to agree, their silent nods and approving glances affirming Caitlyn’s every move.

Everyone but you.

Your throat tightens as you watch her bite the inside of her lip. It’s the kind of detail that would normally endear her to you, but now it feels like a weight pressing against your chest.

And then it happens.

Caitlyn steps to the forefront, her figure illuminated by the dim light of the grand hall. Ambessa looms before her, a towering figure draped in authority and power. The room stills as the older woman steps forward, placing a heavy cape over Caitlyn’s shoulders. The gesture is deliberate, ceremonial, and it feels like the final blow in a battle you’ve already lost.

You watch Ambessa lean in, her voice too low to hear but her lips close enough to Caitlyn’s ear to utter something significant, something that makes Caitlyn’s expression waver for the briefest of moments.

You can’t take it.

Your heart screams at you to intervene, to shout, to do anything but stand there frozen in your disbelief. But your body betrays you.

This cannot be your Caitlyn. The Caitlyn you’ve fought for, bled for, loved beyond reason. The Caitlyn who was supposed to fight for what was right, not be swallowed by it.

But she stands there, and for the first time, you wonder if the Caitlyn you thought you knew is already gone.

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