fics and stuff

mimi — 29. MINORS DNI. posting fics and fic related stuffs here. i will be biased lol. THIS IS A SIDEBLOG. NSFW and mature content will be present.

[dreamsinfocus]

(Note: all main OCs written are black women~)

( 💦 = NSFW/18+)

Under co. (for if I ever write again lol)

Roman Reigns

Closer (Completed) — CEO AU 💦

Part Ⅰ • Part Ⅱ • Part Ⅲ

Strings — Mob Boss/Crime Anthology AU

Part Ⅰ • Part Ⅱ • Part Ⅲ • Part ⅠV

In The Devil's Arms — Post-Apoc. AU

Part Ⅰ ( 💦 ) • Part Ⅱ ( 💦 )

Oneshots

[luna-azzurra]

Body Language Cheat Sheet For Writers 

╰ Facial expressions

These are your micro-signals, like the blinking neon signs of the soul. But they’re small, quick, and often lie harder than words.

Raised eyebrows — This can mean surprise or disbelief, sure. But it can also be a full-on, silent “Are you serious right now?” when someone’s being ridiculous. Or even curiosity when someone’s too emotionally repressed to askthe damn question.

Furrowed brow — That face people make when they’re doing long division in their head or trying to emotionally process a compliment. It’s thinking, yes—but also confusion, deep frustration, or quiet simmering rage.

Smiling — Can be happiness… or total fake-it-till-you-make-it energy. Some smiles are stiff. Some don’t reach the eyes. Show that.

Frowning — Sure, sadness. But also: disappointment, judgment, or the universal “I’m about to say something blunt, brace yourself.”

Lip biting — It’s not just nervousness, it’s pressure. Self-control. Anticipation. It’s the thing people do when they want to say something and decide, at the last second, not to.

╰ Eye movement

The window to the soul? Yeah. But also the window to when someone’s lying, flirting, or deeply trying not to cry in public.

Eye contact — Confidence or challenge. Eye contact can be gentle, curious, sharp like a blade. Sometimes it’s desperate: “Please understand me.”

Avoiding eye contact — Not always guilt. Sometimes it’s protectiveness. Sometimes it’s “I’m afraid if I look at you, you’ll see everything I’m trying to hide.”

Narrowed eyes — Calculating. Suspicious. The look someone gives when their brain’s saying “hmmm...” and it’s not a good hmm.

Wide eyes — Surprise, yes. But also sudden fear. The oh-God-it’s-happening look. Or when someone just found out they’re not as in control as they thought.

Eye roll — Classic. But try using it with tension, like when someone’s annoyed and trying very hard not to lose it in public.

╰ Gestures

This is where characters’ emotions go when their mouths are lying.

Crossing arms — Not just defensive. Sometimes it’s comfort. A self-hug. A barrier when the conversation is getting too personal.

Fidgeting — This is nervous energy with nowhere to go. Watch fingers tapping, rings spinning, sleeves tugged. It says: I’m not okay, but I’m trying not to show it.

Pointing — It’s a stab in the air. Aggressive, usually. But sometimes a desperate plea: Look. Understand this.

Open palms — Vulnerability. Honesty. Or a gesture that says, “I have nothing left to hide.”

Hand on chin — Not just thinking. It’s stalling. It’s delaying. It’s “I’m about to say something that might get me in trouble.”

╰ Posture and movement

These are your vibes. How someone occupies space says everything.

Slumped shoulders — Exhaustion. Defeat. Or someone trying to take up less space because they feel small.

Upright posture — Not always confidence. Sometimes it’s forced. Sometimes it’s a character trying really, really hard to look like they’re fine.

Pacing — Inner chaos externalized. Thinking so loudly it needs movement. Waiting for something. Running from your own thoughts.

Tapping foot — Tension. Irritation. Sometimes a buildup to an explosion.

Leaning in — Intimacy. Interest. Or subtle manipulation. (You matter to me. I’m listening. Let’s get closer.)

╰ Touch

This is intimacy in all its forms, comforting, protective, romantic, or invasive.

Hugging — Doesn’t always mean closeness. Could be a goodbye. Could be an apology they can’t say out loud. Could be awkward as hell.

Handshake — Stiff or crushing or slippery. How someone shakes hands says more than their words do.

Back patting — Casual warmth. Bro culture. Awkward emotional support when someone doesn’t know how to comfort but wants to try.

Clenched fists — Holding something in. Rage, tears, restraint. Fists mean tension that needs somewhere to go.

Hair tuck — Sure, flirtation or nerves. But also a subtle shield. A way to hide. A habit from childhood when someone didn’t want to be seen.

╰ Mirroring:

If two characters start syncing their body language, something is happening. Empathy. Chemistry. Shared grief. If someone shifts their body when the other does? Take notice. Other human bits that say everything without words...

Nodding — Not just yes. Could be an “I hear you,” even if they don’t agree. Could be the “keep going” nod. Could be patronizing if done too slow.

Crossed legs — Chill. Casual. Or closed-off, depending on context. Especially if their arms are crossed too.

Finger tapping — Time is ticking. Brain is pacing. Something’s coming.

Hand to chest — Sincerity, yes. But also shock. Or grounding—a subconscious attempt to stay present when everything feels like too much.

Tilting the head — Curiosity. Playfulness. Or someone listening so hard they forget to hide it.

Temple rub — “I can’t deal.” Could be physical pain. Could be stress. Could be emotional overload in disguise.

Chin stroking — Your classic “I’m judging you politely.” Often used in arguments between characters pretending to be calm.

Hands behind the back — Authority. Control. Or rigid fear masked as control.

Leaning body — This is the body betraying the brain. A tilt toward someone means they care—even if their words are cold.

Nail biting — Classic anxiety. But also habit. Something learned. Sometimes people bite because that’s how they self-soothe.

Squinting — Focusing. Doubting. Suspicion without confrontation.

Shifting weight — Uncomfortable. Unsure. Someone who wants to leave but doesn’t.

Covering the mouth — Guilt. Hesitation. The “should I say this?” moment before something big drops.

Body language is more honest than dialogue. If you really want to show your character’s internal world, don’t just give them lines. Give them a hand that won’t stop shaking. Give them a foot that won’t stop bouncing. Give them a mouth that smiles when their eyes don’t. And if you’re not sure what your character would do in a moment of fear, or love, or heartbreak, try acting it out yourself. Seriously. Get weird. Feel what your body does. Then write that down.

[megamindsecretlair]

No because 🥺

It makes me genuinely sad that we have Tumblr as the *perfect* vehicle for introverted writers to get valuable feedback and we still have writers with burnout due to lack of engagement. 🥺

Readers inspire readers, readers inspire writers, writers inspire readers. Comments and reblogs from you help push writers to keep going and feel heard 😔

[msbigredmachine]

The Boy Next Door: Chapter Four

MASTERLIST ✨ harmshake's masterlist ✨ msbigredmachine's masterlist

Word Count: 8.1k

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, language, angst, violence, smut

Poster made by me. Credit to the owners of the other pics and gifs.

The first thing Ivy felt as she stirred awake was a dull, satisfying ache between her thighs. Next was the naked, muscular body enveloping her from behind, full lips brushing her shoulder. Twisting her head, she found his handsome face peering down at her, his crinkled eyes soft and his voice softer against her skin. 

"Morning, baby girl," Roman murmured, muscular arms tightening around her, “How ya feeling? You sleep good?”

Gingerly, she shifted around to face him, noting how he instinctively moved his body closer to hers, her loins clenching at the feel of his flaccid yet impressive length pressed against her stomach. “I did…after you let me,” she replied, relieved to find that the feeling in her legs had returned and her voice was still intact. “Don’t tell me you’ve been watching me sleep,” she giggled.

“I plead the fifth. You’re too beautiful not to watch, sweetheart,” he chuckled, sliding his hand down her bare back to grip her ass as his face nuzzled the crook of her neck. His touch sparked memories of their wild night; the havoc his hands and mouth and his stunning weapon of a dick wrecked on her body, his voice deep and rough and authoritative as it coaxed her through literal waves of unforgettable pleasure that had him changing his Egyptian cotton bedding afterwards:

“Your pussy feels so good wrapped around my dick…ffuuck, Ivy…”

“I love the way you moan for me, baby girl, you sound so fuckin’ sexy…”

“Haha, look at you shakin’ and leakin’, fucking up my sheets…It feels good when I'm deep like this, right, baby?”

“Relax your throat so you can take more of my dick…yeah, just like that, mmm…”

“C'mon sweetheart, let Daddy make you come on this dick one more time…”

Her eyes fluttered shut, a content sigh leaving her as Roman gently kissed her lips and rubbed his hand up and down her back. “I wanna make you breakfast…whenever we get up, of course,” he said, looking down tenderly at her features. She looked so gorgeous in his arms, her hair tousled from sex and sleep, her body soft and warm. She belonged right here with him and if he had his way, she’d never leave his bed.

As much as she longed to spend her day like this, one glance at the clock on the wall advised otherwise. "Sadly, I gotta go. Zaia and Duchess will be home soon.” Also, she would very much rather not have Gemini find her here and start another lecture like she was her damn mother.

“You can shower here to save time, get cleaned up…We did…a lot, last night,” Roman grinned, mischief dancing in his warm brown eyes.

Blushing, Ivy rubbed her nose on his chest, breathing in his scent, “We did, and my body is feeling all of it right now.”

His brows furrowed with concern. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“Not at all. And either way, I wanted it.” Easing herself upright, she glanced around the room, getting a good look at her surroundings for the first time considering how…occupied they were all night. “My dress is laying somewhere and I know the zipper’s busted, no thanks to a certain someone.”

“My bad. I’ll buy you a new one. I got a spare dress shirt you can wear,” Roman offered, letting her wiggle out of his arms and the cocoon of his bed to head to his bathroom, his gaze fixated on her naked glory all the way.

His shower was spacious, the water was warm and his sandalwood body wash was gentle on her deep brown skin. Yet it still couldn’t compare to the heat that filled her body thinking about their antics last night. The line had finally been crossed. Weeks of sexual tension had given way to giving in to her sexy-as-fuck next door neighbor. Cliché in the best and worst way. The pragmatic side of her was keen to overanalyze her actions, to pass it off as scratching an itch and be done with it to be never revisited again. The other part of her, the grieving, lonely young woman, had never felt this good, never felt as wanted and desired as Roman made her feel, and she wanted more. Needed more. For her pleasure. For her wellbeing. She would deal with the emotions when she was ready to cross that bridge. If ever.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not pick up on Roman joining her in the shower until his arms circled her waist. His long hair tickled her skin as he suckled the base of her neck, his mouth widening over the sensitive spot he'd become acquainted with, big hands roaming her body with purpose. As he turned her around, her eyes naturally fell to the shaft dangling menacingly between his tree trunk-like thighs. Even semi-erect, he was intimidating as hell. But even more intimidating was the predatory look in his eyes as he invaded her space with his big strong body, the swish of his tongue making her pussy quiver as she was reminded of how he’d worked it on her and in her until she saw stars…

The memory made her knees weak, and they just about gave way entirely when he smashed his lips to hers. His chest mashed against her hardened nipples, his fingertips grazing one before curling around her throat, soft groans exhaled in unison as the now familiar heat sizzled between them. They delved into each other’s mouths, lapping and sucking sloppily, heads twisting from side to side as he kicked her feet wider apart and grinded his erection against her mound, sending a fresh flood of wetness that had nothing to do with the running water.

“I’m gonna be late,” Ivy breathed out, an absurd statement considering that her home was literally across the street. Roman thought so too, easily dismissing her half-hearted protest with a laugh as he lifted her up against the marble wall.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he groaned, silencing her with another heated kiss, keeping her trapped between the solid wall and his equally solid muscles. Her shaky moans were his oxygen as he grasped his dick and pushed it inside her, letting out one of his own as her slick heat welcomed him. He reveled in the stunned look on her face, her jaw dropping as her pussy stretched open for him, compelling him to drive into her with hard yet measured thrusts of his hips. His haughty smirk was wide as she shuddered from pleasure, her nails scraping his broad shoulders, her thighs tightening around his waist pulling him deeper into her.

“Ssshiiit, Roman…”

“That’s right, baby, call out my name while I pound this sweet pussy…”

His arm latched protectively around her waist as he walked her to his front door. As they approached the foyer, Ivy looked up at him, her heart thudding from his smoldering gaze that always seemed to reach the depths of her soul. 

“Thank you for last night…for dinner, for the dick…It was amazing,” she whispered, pushing a stray lock of his hair back into his neat ponytail. 

As her hand dropped to his chest, Roman realized he couldn't let her leave without one more kiss. Caressing her chin between his long fingers, he molded his lips to hers, savoring the taste of her, ensuring to slip her some tongue before pulling back.

“Baby, you don’t ever have to thank me. I got you. If you or Zaia need anything, let me know. If you need to talk…or fuck…” he added slyly, Ivy gasping into his chest as he squeezed her ass, “Or both…just ask. I don’t care what time it is. Call me and I’ll be there,” he promised.

One of the perks of mutual attraction was the insane chemistry between the two parties. Having lacked this for years had almost made Ivy forget how good it felt to want and be wanted. How it felt for just one look to make her heart pound and set her body on fire. For her senses to be awakened with one touch. The butterflies, the schoolgirl-like giddiness…Roman reignited all of that in her in just a matter of weeks.

Having her all to himself seemed to unleash something in him too. Unearthed a sexual spontaneity and adventure that Ivy hadn’t experienced since her college days. Nowhere was too risky and no position was off limits; Perched on the sink in the tiny restroom of a diner, her moans hushed and his thrusts deep. On a deck chair by his pool, her legs on his shoulders, leaving her a sopping, sobbing mess. On all fours in the backseat of his Range Rover in the hospital’s parking garage, the fear of getting caught evaporating with each luscious plunging stroke inside her. Her pussy was his for the taking. Sex with him was so intense and breathtaking that she couldn’t help but wonder where he’d been her whole life.

“So are y’all dating now?”

Startled, Ivy glanced up from her phone so fast, whiplash was in her near future. She cast a nervous glance around the spa's relaxation lounge. It was empty and quiet save for the serene background music and the soothing trickle of a water fountain nearby. But for all Ivy cared, Gemini had uttered the question with a megaphone. "Do you have to be so loud?" she yell-whispered, quickly putting her phone away.

Picking up her complimentary glass of champagne, Gemini shrugged nonchalantly. "What? I'm just asking a question. You’re going on dates. You’re fucking, and the dick is obviously top tier cuz look how big your smile is from just texting him. And the feeling’s mutual, cuz your pussy got that man paying for your hair, your nails and this spa session.”

“Oh my god,” Ivy groaned, the clay mask on her face preventing her from burying her head in her fluffy white bathrobe from sheer embarrassment.

Ignoring her reaction, Gemini leaned back in her lounge chair to observe her best friend. “Look, Ivy. I’m glad you’re getting your back broke the way you deserve, girl. I really am. But I still can’t help but think you’re moving really fast with Roman.” 

On closer introspection, Ivy would agree. From the outside looking in, she was letting another man slot into the vacancy Angelo had opened up with his passing. But no one knew her life, especially not his mother Gloria, who still had nothing nice to say about her or Roman since confronting them at her son’s funeral. If only Ivy gave a shit. The woman turned a blind eye to everything her son put her through, thus, her opinions didn’t matter. No one was going to dictate how she grieved or moved on or how to raise her daughter and that was that.

And it wasn’t like she was moving on with Roman. She just felt so…connected to him. Long before they became two bereaved souls that lost their life partners in tragic circumstances. Plus, it wasn’t even all about the sex. He tapped into her desire for comfort and companionship that had eluded her since her relationship with Angelo collapsed. And unlike her ex, Roman appreciated her, and it was evident in the way he treated her. Making her laugh when she was having a tough day. Checking in on her regularly. Talking with her for hours and listening to her. She liked listening to him too; the stories he shared about growing up in Pensacola, Florida, the way his eyes lit up discussing his family with so much love and adoration. And then there were his other little thoughtful gestures; the care packages with soothing teas, bath salts, scented soaps and candles. The playlist of songs that “remind me of you” as he had named it on Spotify. Bouquets of flowers delivered to her workplace that had her fellow nurses ooh-ing and ahh-ing, not excluding her boss, Lilian. 

“Whoever this man is, do not let him go,” the Head Nurse had advised as she admired the soft pink roses perched on Ivy's desk. 

She didn’t plan to. Not when he was hitting every sweet spot she owned, literally and figuratively. Maybe Gemini was right. Maybe she was dickmatized. But she couldn’t really be blamed, could she? Roman was a smart, sexy man with a soft side and a protective nature that she found extremely appealing and was drawn to. 

“You’ve zoned out on me again.” Gemini’s voice cut into her thoughts. “You are dickmatized, girl. The sex is that fire, huh?”

Yes! Ivy thought, a small smile on her face as she tried to articulate her feelings. “It’s not just that. He’s been…really good to me, Gem,” she confessed, sipping pensively on her mimosa. “I feel like grief has kinda brought us together in a good way. Like it was meant to happen like this. Yeah, he’s…passionate. And I know you’re worried about his temper. But he’s been so gentle with me. He’s attentive. Affectionate. He…cares. And it feels good. Really good,” she went on, her eyes fixed imploringly on her best friend as though trying to plead her case. 

Gemini was silent as she took in Ivy’s assessment, the skepticism on her pretty features slowly melting into sympathy. “Well, in your defense, you do look…happy,” she admitted, “Happier than I’ve ever seen you with Angelo or anyone else. But I won’t stop begging you to keep your eyes open, babe. It won’t speak well of me as your friend if I don’t.” She was yet to find anything on Roman other than the fact that he had no social media presence of any kind. Odd as that was, it wasn’t a crime. Gemini truly wanted to believe she was overreacting about him, but her gut pushed her to keep looking just to make sure, for Ivy’s sake at least. And she would. Ivy didn’t need to know. If there was indeed nothing, she would let it go and forget all about it. “Angelo just passed. Your emotions are elevated. It’s okay to take things slow and not rebound so quick.”

Ivy pleaded the fifth on that. He was a welcome distraction from losing Angelo. A reprieve from her other reality of coming home and finding traces of her child’s father around the house. He never got round to taking all of his belongings with him when she kicked him out for good, which meant she was still kicking up the occasional item of his here and there that brought fresh waves of sadness each time. 

But no one was taking his death harder than Zaia, who had essentially abandoned her bedroom for her mother’s. More heartbreakingly, she was crying in her sleep almost every night, calling out for her daddy. Ivy was worried and planned to book an appointment with her pediatrician, Dr. Zayn. 

Again, Roman came to her rescue, arranging movie nights with her daughter, the two of them cuddling up on her couch and bonding over buttered popcorn and Disney’s iconic characters. As Halloween approached, Roman joined them in decorating not just her yard but his own as well, creating a festive atmosphere that brought joy to their little community. He even took them on an outing to Dave & Buster's, where his playful and attentive interaction with Zaia stood out. It was quite heartwarming how hands-on he was with her little girl; he would make a great father someday.

Ivy knew he was only trying to help; in no way did she expect him to replace Angelo because he never could. No one could. That was Zaia’s daddy, no matter what. And though Ivy acknowledged that she may like Roman a little more than the boundaries of mere physical attraction permitted, she knew better than to let those feelings cloud her judgment when it came to her baby. Angelo would always be a part of her life. She hadn't completely shoved him all the way to the back of her mind, but at least he no longer dominated her every thought. It was getting better, and better was better than worse.

An attendant entered the ladies’ space and set a tray of assorted fruits on their table. Gemini snatched up a strawberry and dropped it into her drink. "Anyway, you're gonna be at my party, right?" she asked, “What are you wearing?”

Gemini’s annual Halloween party was a highlight of the social calendar year, and it made Ivy cringe to know she’d forgotten about it. “Fuck. I’ve been so busy with work and everything else that I haven’t thought about it. I only got Zaia sorted out for her trick-or-treat party. I’ll find something for myself this week.”

“Good. Can’t wait to see what you do this year. Your Storm cosplay last year was fire.” A long, tense beat crawled by before Gemini cleared her throat, her next words tentative and begrudging. “You can bring Loverboy along, if you want,” she grumbled.

Smiling, Ivy raised her champagne flute to her lips. “I’m sure he’d like that. I want you to get along with him. No more tiptoeing around another man in my life.” Sitting upright, she moved in for the kill. “And what about the man in yours anyway, huh? Officer Hayes, hmm? If you don’t focus on that fine ass man and leave me alone…”

Eyes wide, Gemini avoided her friend's teasing gaze. “Ion know whatchu talkin’ about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Ivy smirked.

Nobody threw a party quite like Gemini Beaufort. Her Halloween bashes were the stuff of legend, with an over-the-top grandeur that seemed to escalate with each passing year. By the time October’s final night arrived, the anticipation was palpable. Securing an invitation to her party was almost as difficult as getting into an elite club. Hosted in the grand, sweeping mansion that had been in her family for decades, attending a Beaufort party was a badge of honor in this town, an unspoken acknowledgment that you were now part of Hartford’s elite.

Hand in hand, Roman and Ivy climbed the winding stone steps. The dark silhouette of the house framed the towering trees draped in cobwebs. Skeletons hung from the eaves, their bony hands outstretched in eerie welcome, while carved, glowing pumpkins lined the path like sentinels guarding the front door. Fog rolled across the ground, and a ghostly figure swayed in the breeze, making the mansion feel like something out of a haunted tale.

As they neared the entrance, Ivy noticed Roman fidgeting with his costume. He was dressed as Aquaman, the golden, two-piece spandex clinging to his chiseled body like a second skin, his trident gleaming in his hand. But despite the impressive Jason Momoa-esque look, Roman seemed uncomfortable, adjusting the tight fabric around his torso. “You good, babe?” she questioned.

“I don’t know, Ivy,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “This thing is skintight. I feel…exposed. Like it’s showing everything.”

His nerves were a sharp contrast from Ivy’s, looking effortlessly stunning in her Clovers cheerleader uniform from Bring It On, the iconic green, yellow and gold ensemble accentuating her curves. She smiled softly at him, her eyes warming. “Well, it’s showing all the right things,” she joked, biting her lip when he frowned. “Relax. You look great. Like you just stepped off a movie set,” she reassured him.

Roman exhaled sharply, his gaze shifting toward the house where the party raged on inside. “It ain’t the outfit,” he admitted. “It’s more of the people, I think. I’m not…great with crowds.”

Ivy’s smile grew, her heart softening at his vulnerability. She had seen this side of him before—strong but uncertain. Needing assurance. “Remember how you stood by me at Angelo’s funeral? You defended me in a room full of strangers,” she reminded him. “Well, I’m gonna do the same for you tonight.” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “You look sexy as hell, babe. You’ll be fine, because we’re in this together. And if all else fails, we’ll just drink the night away.”

At that, Roman’s posture relaxed, the tension eased. He smiled at her, his expression grateful. “You right. Thanks, baby.” He paused, the gratitude in his eyes shifting to something else as he looked her over. “You look beautiful, by the way. Really beautiful,” he drawled, licking his lips. “You sure we can’t go back home and have a party of our own?”

“Down, boy,” Ivy giggled, swatting his creeping hand away as she glanced toward the door. The brass knocker had been replaced with a creepy, oversized spider, its legs curled around the handle. With a deep breath, she stepped forward and grabbed it to knock.

The door swung open, the soft creak of the hinges drowned out by the thumping bass of music from inside. A wide smile lit up Gemini’s face as her eyes fell on Ivy, her jaw dropping as she took in her outfit.

“Ivy! Girl, you look incredible!” Gemini’s voice rang out with warmth, her own costume, a curvaceous Lola Bunny from Space Jam, hugging her voluptuous shape enticingly. The white crop top, matching shorts, and knee-high socks paired with her signature bunny ears made her look every bit like the cartoon character. “I’m so glad you made it!” She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Ivy in a tight hug, the scent of lavender and cinnamon swirling between them.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Ivy grinned. “You woulda beat my ass anyway if I did.”

Gemini stepped back, eyes flicking over Ivy’s shoulder, her smile faltering at the towering figure behind her, his sharp features and easy smile that seemed just a little too practiced. He was dressed as Aquaman—predictable. Her eyes lowered to his hand on the small of Ivy’s back, possessiveness radiating from the man that the attorney was yet to warm up to. But she was quick to recover, plastering on a welcoming smile.

“Hi, Roman,” she said coolly, stepping aside to let them in. 

“Hey, Gemini,” he replied smoothly, his voice cheery as he looked around. “Thanks for inviting me. You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks,” Gemini answered. “I’m glad you both could come. It’s gonna be a fun night.”

The entire space of the mansion’s grand foyer had been transformed, an intricate web of cobwebs draping the walls, bats dangling from the ceiling, and pumpkins carved with jagged smiles glowing from every corner. The scent of mulled cider and spiced pumpkin filled the air, the low hum of conversation and laughter drifting in from the next room. Before they parted ways, Gemini’s eyes met Ivy’s again with that disapproving look that Ivy was starting to tire of. In turn, her eyes narrowed, a subtle, silent warning. Roman, however, seemed oblivious to the tension, scanning the room with that same cautious gaze. Watching them slip further into the crowd, Gemini’s eyes lingered on the big man and suppressed a sigh, deciding to focus on the party. Tonight wasn’t about him. It was about having fun, celebrating with the people she cared about, and being a good host. 

The vibrant energy soon took over, the lights, the laughter, and the familiar hum of a good time. Ivy showed Roman around, introducing him to other neighbors and a few other friends of hers, including local cops Officer Gable and Officer Hayes, the latter looking spectacular in his Killmonger armor. Dinner was a vibrant mix of the ordinary and the macabre. Alongside the classic chicken, beef, and vegetarian dishes, the buffet featured quirky options like graveyard chocolate pudding cups, bloody finger hot dogs and cheesy pizza skulls. The bar added a playful twist, serving drinks in boozy blood bags and Jell-O shot syringes, alongside cocktails inspired by iconic horror villains like Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers and Chucky.

At the table, conversation flowed freely, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Ivy sat sandwiched between Roman and Raquel, a paralegal at Gemini’s law firm.  The hostess herself claimed the head seat, with Officer Hayes right next to her. Ivy noticed how Carmelo had stuck close to Gemini all evening. It wasn’t subtle, and Ivy was certain they were sleeping together. They were undeniably cute, even if Gemini would never admit it. Ivy smirked to herself, already planning how she’d tease her friend about it later.

She turned her attention to Roman, checking on him. He’d been quiet, not saying much, listening to other people’s chatter as he picked at his food. “How’s your food? Good?” she asked, eyeing up his half-eaten plate of shrimp fried rice and garlic butter salmon.

Roman nodded, leaning close to her, “It is. But I’d rather be eating something else cuz it looks so fucking good.”

Before she could ask him to clarify, he snuck his hand under the table to rest it on her leg, moving it along her inner thigh.

"Roman!" Ivy hissed, shocked at his boldness. Surely he wasn't going to try to do what she thought he wanted to do in the presence of all these people, dimmed lighting or not. Her eyes widened as Roman tugged her panties to the side, teasing her folds with his fingers, gathering the growing wetness.

At that exact moment, Raquel decided to steer the conversation to them, leaning forward on the dining table with a sly grin. “So, Nurse Jones, we see you’ve been scooped up by the handsome new neighbor over here,” she teased, her voice brimming with curiosity. “Tell us all about it. How did this beautiful union happen?”

Ivy opened her mouth to answer, but any attempt at forming a coherent thought was derailed by two thick, long fingers suddenly plunging into her, sending shockwaves all over her body. Grabbing his wrist under the table, she struggled to keep a straight face, a sharp contrast from Roman as he stepped in smoothly. “It’s pretty straightforward, really. I came over to hers, asked to borrow some sugar, and she gave me a cookie recipe along with it. The rest, as they say, is history,” he announced, his voice warm and effortlessly charming.

The table erupted into a mix of laughter and ‘aww’s. Ivy’s flushed features were for a far less innocent reason than his sweet comment as she shot Roman another warning look. He merely raised an eyebrow as if daring her to lose her composure, his signature smirk firmly in place as his fingers pumped inside her, making her squirm in her seat as she fought to suppress her moans.

A clueless Raquel nearly spilled her wine as she clutched her stomach. “A cookie recipe! Classic! That’s so cute,” she exclaimed.

Carmelo chimed in next, his tone gentle but curious. “And Zaia? Has she taken to you?” His eyes flicked to Ivy, aware that her little girl had been the center of her world since day one.

Roman’s countenance shifted then, the playful air giving way to something softer, more sincere. “Zaia is the sweetest little girl,” he said, his voice unwavering. “She’s so smart, and she has her mama’s kind heart. I’m blessed to get to know her. Ivy’s an amazing mother. It’s been a tough year for me, and I’m so glad I’ve met them, and all of you as well. I can tell that this town will be good for me.”

The warmth emanating from him seemed genuine, and even Carmelo appeared won over. There were murmurs of approval around the table, heads nodding in silent agreement.

But not everyone was convinced. Gemini sat quietly, her glass of wine untouched, her sharp eyes flickering between Roman and Ivy. Unlike the others, she wasn’t laughing or nodding. Her arms were crossed loosely over her chest, her face a careful mask that betrayed nothing except a slight tension in her jaw.

As Roman continued to field questions and charm the room, she remained silent. Her piercing eyes took in every word, every gesture, every touch. Something about him just did not sit right with her. His words felt just a little too smooth, too charming, his timing just a little too perfect.

The others were too busy to notice Gemini’s quiet skepticism, but Ivy could feel it, even if she wasn’t looking her way. She could only imagine her indignation if she knew that Roman was currently fingering her under the table. She forced a smile as Raquel launched into another question, fighting the urge to scream as her orgasm loomed. But right as she made it to the brink of euphoria, Roman stopped, pulling his fingers out of her.

“We’ll finish this later,” he growled, kissing her cheek and patting her thigh, refocusing on his food like nothing happened.

Infuriating.

Intoxicating.

After dinner, the guests gathered in the cozy, candlelit den. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the room. Lounging on plush armchairs and sprawling rugs, the drinks continued to flow and loosen people up more and more. Someone had started a risqué game of “Truth or Dare,” but Roman seemed uninterested in the group activity, his attention wholly fixed on Ivy.

Her seat was his lap, her laughter chiming through the room as someone recounted a particularly embarrassing dare. Roman’s arm remained draped possessively around her waist, his fingers idly tracing circles on her hip. His gaze, though lighthearted, was sharp and territorial, shooting silent warnings at anyone who dared look at Ivy for more than a fleeting moment. Most irritating of them all was Damian, a mutual friend of Gemini and Ivy’s whom Roman noticed had been eyeing her up all evening, seated next to them in a gaudy vampire rockstar getup as he made conversation with her. Then for some reason, he dared to address Roman himself, nodding in his direction. “Hey, great costume, man,” he complimented.

Plastering a plastic smile on his face, Roman leaned forwards, his tone deceptively casual as he responded loud enough for the entire room to hear, “Thanks man. Ya know, I almost didn’t bother with a costume this year. I considered dressing up as a homicidal maniac.” He paused, letting the room go still for a moment before adding with an airy laugh, “Ya know, cuz they look like anybody?”

The room’s energy froze for a beat, the humor landing awkwardly. A few people exchanged uneasy glances. Damian looked flabbergasted.

Roman clapped his hands together, his grin widening as if to erase the tension. “Come onnnn, relax, people! Lighten up! Anyway, I think I nailed the Aquaman look, right?”

Laughter rippled through the room, hesitant at first, but it grew louder when Roman flashed his megawatt smile and raised his drink. The moment passed, but Gemini wasn’t laughing. From her seat on Carmelo’s lap, she studied Roman with narrowed eyes, her suspicions too great to hold in any longer.

A little while later, as guests migrated to refill their glasses and raid the buffet table for more snacks, Gemini saw her chance. She waited until Roman wandered into the kitchen alone and followed him from a distance.

“Roman,” she said, her voice sharp and deliberate.

He turned, his smile immediate but calculated. “Gemini! What’s up? Great party-”

“What kinda creepy ass comment was that, huh? Homicidal maniac? Really? After everything that’s been going on in this town? Could you show your ass anymore out there?” she accused.

“I was just trying to be funny. Sure, it didn’t hit at first but I think I recovered. If my joke was perceived as offensive then I-”

“Cut the shit,” Gemini snapped, stepping closer. Her voice was low but firm, her eyes boring into his. “I’m a goddamn attorney, Roman. Your passive-aggressive bullshit don’t work on me. I see through it, and I see right through you. You’re not who you pretend you are. I can feel it. You’ve got Ivy and everybody else fooled, but I’m not buying it.”

Roman’s smile didn’t waver, but it shifted into something colder, crueler. He leaned casually against the counter, swirling the drink in his hand. “Ivy is a grown woman, Gem,” he said, his tone almost too calm. “A mother, with her own family. Something you don’t have, and with that attitude, you probably never will.”

Gemini’s composure faltered, just for a second, at the scathing jab. Roman caught the slip-up like a cat catching a canary, and his smile widened, his voice softening mockingly. “I’m sure Ivy can make her own decisions without her lawyer friend hovering around.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping. “I’ve tolerated your hostility long enough. But let me give you some friendly advice, sweetheart. You don’t wanna get on my bad side, ever. I promise you that.”

Before Gemini could retort, the sound of approaching footsteps made them both pause. Ivy appeared in the doorway, her brows furrowed in confusion as she took in the tense scene.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, her gaze darting between the two of them.

Gemini straightened, her tone as lighthearted as possible. “Just having a chat with your boyfriend.”

Roman immediately softened, his expression shifting into one of wounded innocence. “I think I’ve upset her somehow,” he said, his voice laced with regret. “I’m not sure what I did but whatever it is, I’m sorry, Gemini. That wasn’t my intention at all.”

Stunned by his complete 180, Gemini opened her mouth to respond, but Ivy got there first. “Gemini, can I talk to you for a second?” she spoke, more a demand than a request.

Roman stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll leave you two to it,” he said smoothly, pressing a light kiss to Ivy’s cheek before slipping away.

As soon as he was gone, Ivy turned on Gemini, her eyes blazing. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

“My problem?” Gemini shot back. “I’m trying to protect you, Ivy! I don’t trust him, and you shouldn’t either!”

Ivy’s shoulders sagged slightly, exhaustion and grief creeping into her demeanor. “I don’t need this from you right now, Gem. I’m barely holding it together after Angelo, and Roman…Roman’s been there for me in a way no one else has.”

“Exactly!” Gemini said, her tone urgent. “Don’t you think it’s a little too convenient? He shows up out of nowhere, swoops in while you’re at your most vulnerable, and suddenly he’s everywhere in your life? Doesn’t that raise any red flags for you?”

Ivy’s jaw tightened. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m not Angelo. I’m not a case you need to solve, Gemini. I’m a grown ass woman and I can decide who I want in my life. Roman’s good to me and Zaia. That’s all that matters.”

Gemini stared at her, her frustration mounting. “You’re not seeing the whole picture, Ivy! Please, just—”

“Enough!” Ivy snapped, stamping her foot angrily. “You’re always looking for problems where there aren’t any! Roman’s done nothing but protect me and be there for me! Just cuz you can’t trust anyone doesn’t mean I can’t!” She trailed off. Reeled her temper back in. Ignoring the hurt in her best friend's eyes, she addressed her with a clipped and cold tone. “I’m only gonna say this one time. Stop trying to interfere in my life. If you don’t, I might have to reevaluate our friendship.”

Gemini’s eyes widened. “And what does that mean?”

“Figure it out. You’re the one who knows everything,” Ivy bit back, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Over a nigga you just met?” Gemini shook her head in disbelief. “Wow, Ivy. Wow.”

Ivy stood her ground. “I said what I said. All I know is I can’t go on like this. This constant back and forth with you. I’ve made up my mind about Roman and clearly, so have you.” She shrugged. “The only difference is I don't care what you think anymore.”

Gemini swallowed the lump in her throat as Ivy turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the kitchen. She exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the counter. Roman’s words kept echoing in her mind, chilling and deliberate. 

You don’t wanna get on my bad side, ever.

Gemini wasn’t scared of his threats. But she was more certain than ever: Roman was hiding something. And she wasn’t going to stop until she found out what it was.

Ivy stormed out of the kitchen, her sneakers pounding against the hardwood floor. She pushed her emotions down, forcing herself to breathe evenly, to shake off the lingering sting of her gut-wrenching argument with Gemini. The music from the den grew louder as she approached, but it all felt like static compared to the turmoil in her chest.

Roman spotted her immediately. He was lounging against the wall near the fireplace, sipping from a glass of bourbon, his Aquaman costume catching the firelight. His sharp eyes tracked her as she neared him, his expression shifting into one of concern.

“Hey,” he said softly, setting his drink down. He reached for her hand, pulling her close. “You okay? What happened back there?”

Ivy avoided his questioning stare, her expression tight. “I don’t want to talk about it. I just…I want to leave.”

Roman frowned, tilting his head. “Leave? Why?”

“Because,” she said, her voice faltering, “I’m not in the mood anymore. Gemini…She thinks she knows everything! She’s just trying to protect me, but I can’t deal with it right now. I don’t want to ruin your night, Roman.”

“Ruin my night?” Roman chuckled, the sound low and warm. He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “Baby girl, don’t let her ruin your night. This is meant to be fun. You deserve a break…you’ve been through so much.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts,” he interrupted, firmly but kindly. “Stay. Forget about her. I’ll handle her if she steps out of line again, okay?”

Ivy hesitated, her eyes searching his face. Something about the way he looked at her—the unshakable confidence, the way he made her feel grounded—settled the tension in her chest. She nodded slowly. “Fine. Get me a drink. A strong one.”

Roman’s lips curled into a pleased smile. “Comin’ right up,” he said, kissing her softly before heading off to do as she asked.

Deeper into the night, the party reached a fever pitch. The music thumped louder, a sultry beat that made the air feel electric. Ivy, emboldened by her third cocktail, shepherded Roman to a corner, away from the makeshift dance floor in the center of the room. Backing up on him, her movements were fluid and teasing, her body swaying to the rhythm of Chris Brown and Davido’s “Sensational”. Her head tilted back, her laughter loud and uninhibited, her eyes locked seductively on Roman’s. He gripped her hips, pulling her flush against his crotch, biting his lip as she bent at the waist to grind on him, her ass gyrating obscenely against the thick bulge of his erection. A low groan slipped from her lips when he yanked her back upright, brushing her hair out of the way to nuzzle her neck, his mouth hot and greedy on her heated skin.

The other guests watched, some whispering to each other, some pretending not to notice. Ivy was putting on a show and she knew it. Her grief, her frustration, her lingering anger with Gemini—all of it melted away as she lost herself in the music and Roman’s presence. Turning around, she wound her arms around his neck and captured his mouth with hers, absorbing the alcohol lacing his tongue. His hands traveled underneath her little skirt, grabbing and squeezing her ass cheek in large handfuls, his body rocking with hers in time with the music. 

Roman leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re full of surprises tonight, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone heavy with amusement—and something darker.

Eyeing him through her long lashes, her hand trailed down his chest, her touch deliberate as she stroked his visible hard-on through the stretched fabric of his costume, loving the feel of him throbbing in her hand. 

“I need you. Need your dick inside me,” she whispered to him, lust simmering in her brown eyes.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Roman cupped the nape of her neck, his lips brushing her ear. “Where’s Gemini’s bedroom?” 

Ivy froze for a half-second, caught off guard by his question. She pulled back slightly to look at him, a curious smirk tugging at her lips. “Why?”

His grin was devilish, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Where better to fuck you than right under her nose? Let her hear just how much you need me.”

Ivy’s heart raced, a mix of exhilaration and nervousness and alcohol twisting in her stomach. She glanced around the room, the other guests oblivious to their conversation, and then back at Roman. He was watching her expectedly, intently, his darkened eyes filled with a dangerous kind of charm.

“You nasty motherfucker,” she slurred, her full lips curved into a wicked, excited grin.

Roman leaned in, crushing his mouth to hers, his kiss laced with carnal, tantalizing promise. “Only for you, baby girl.”

Without further hesitation, she grabbed his hand and dragged him off the dance floor. As they disappeared from view, the music continued to pulse, the party continuing without them.

They stumbled up the staircase, Roman watching her ass sway from side to side as she moved. He made an impatient sound and swiftly scooped her into his arms, carrying her the rest of the way up. Giggling drunkenly, Ivy tucked her face in the thick column of his neck, licking that one protruding vein that made her crazy for him. “You smell so good, handsome,” she purred, latching her mouth to his throat with an almost vampiric hunger, her clit pulsing in anticipation for the naughtiness about to transpire.

“Which door?” asked Roman.

“Last one on the right,” she murmured, wiggling out of his grasp and mildly surprised to find the door open as she turned the knob and dragged him inside. Roman looked around with a raised eyebrow at the spacious master bedroom, sleek and organized and fitting for an uppity bitch like Gemini. His gaze cut back to the sexy little MILF before him, her dark eyes glazed and stormy, her ample chest heaving in shallow breaths. He eagerly closed the gap between them, his hands finding her hips and yanking her to his chest. Cupping his bearded face, Ivy pulled him in, her mouth meeting his with heated eagerness. Roman maneuvered them to the bed and shoved her onto it face-first, his eyes blazing as he ogled her exposed derrière.

“So fucking sexy. The things I wanna do to you in this little ass skirt,” he murmured, his hands all over her ass, smacking the plump cheeks. “Come here, baby, let Daddy give you what you need.”

In what felt like record time, she was on her hands and knees on Gemini’s king bed, her back arched, panties tugged to the side, deep, powerful backshots making her scream Roman’s name into the comforter lest all the guests downstairs would find out exactly they were up to in here.

“You feel that dick, baby girl? You like that?” asked Roman. His body weight damn near had her face disappearing into the bed. Flat on her chest, ass in the air, barely able to keep her eyes open as he dug her out from behind, forcing his dick deeper into her with tantalizing rolls and snaps of his hips. 

“Shit…I feel it, oh fuck!” Ivy cried, wanton, breathy pants punched out of her by his dizzying length and girth tunneling in and out of her, nudging against her g-spot, right where she wanted it. Fuck, he was so deep!

He liked that she couldn’t seem to control her noises because she was taking him so fucking well, his pelvis smacking loudly and lewdly against her ass, a mesmerizing sight. He grabbed the soft flesh, using his strong grip to rock her back and forth on his dick, making her meet his deep thrusts. Her pussy was so wet that it lathered the entirety of his cock, dripping down her inner thighs and onto the sheets. “Mm-hmm, make a mess on my big dick, baby. Getting fucked on your bestie’s bed like a nasty slut…You love this shit, don’t you,” he taunted her, wrapping his fist around her pigtails and using them as a steer, controlling her. 

“Yes, I love it…unnh, fuck my pussy, baby, don’t stop!” She was definitely under a liquor spell that had her talking and acting reckless tonight. This was one of the few reasons she didn’t drink much. No way in her sober mind would she have agreed to desecrate her best friend’s bedroom like this.

But right now she didn’t want to think about Gemini or anything else except the feel of this hot, big man and his even bigger dick all up in her like it was now.

Sitting up straighter, Roman pulled out and flipped her roughly onto her back. Climbing into the bed, he yanked her closer to him and hoisted her shaky legs up on his shoulders. Ivy tried not to scream at the maddening, deliberately slow wind of his hips as he forged his way back inside her. 

"Awww, right there," she whimpered, head thrown back, her mouth falling open in ecstasy, "Oh my god, your dick feels so good..."

Roman grunted, weaving his hands inside her top to massage her breasts. “Been wantin’ to fuck you all damn night.” He groaned as her walls clung to his dick, squeezing every inch as he maintained his pace, keeping up his relentless strokes inside her pussy. So wet, so warm and tight, a wonderful sensation. “Shit, this pussy too good. You’ve put a spell on me, baby girl. I can’t stop thinkin’ about you, day and night.” He bent down to lash his tongue inside her mouth, his eyes filled with a fire that matched the burning in hers. 

“You belong to me,” he growled in a dark and possessive whisper, his fingers shifting downward to play with her pussy. “You’re mine. Your pussy is mine. Forever. You understand me?” 

“Yes, baby,” Ivy moaned back to him, delirious, her body on fire, the flames fueled by his other hand gripping her throat, applying a little pressure as the bed shook and rattled under the strain of their coupling. Above her, Roman’s eyebrows knitted, his hold on her tightening as for a brief moment, his vision blurred, distorted, and suddenly, it was Gemini lying beneath him instead, her eyes wide and bulging with sheer terror, the light in them slowly fading away as he choked the life out of her.

The image, so vivid and palpable, made him fuck Ivy harder. Squeeze her neck tighter.

She was a moaning, mewling, soaked mess underneath him, her essence smeared all over both their lower regions. Overwhelmed by the thrill, the pleasure, the power of his deadly thrusts absolutely ruining her sweet spot. This was exactly how he wanted her, powerless and compliant to his will, and there was nothing she could do about it, nor did she want to. She looked into his eyes, his gorgeous face twisted in an erotic mix of concentration and pleasure. Her nails dug into his broad back, keeping him close. Body to body, skin on skin. So good; he felt so good on her, in her, and she was on the verge of explosion.

“I’m gonna come,” she whined, her breaths joining his in bursting expulsions of air as he pounded her into Gemini’s mattress. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as she came apart, her body convulsing from the orgasm to end all orgasms, robbing her of all her senses. She was all nerves and sensation as Roman continued pumping into her at blistering speed, gasping and growling against her sweat-slick skin. 

“Let me come in you,” he beseeched her with a sloppy, tongue-laden kiss, groaning at the feel of her rubbing the firm flesh of his backside, amplifying the already intense sensations coursing through his massive frame. 

"Come in me, Roman. I want all your cum," she encouraged, her fingers tangling in his long locks to anchor him to her, inhaling his sweat-slick, sweet scent. A feeling like this could never be replicated—this animalistic passion, this wild and primal need for each other. Every touch, every stroke was magic, a fountain of bliss and ecstasy that Ivy was drunk off of and she would be for the foreseeable future.

A jumble of expletives along with Ivy’s name tumbled from Roman’s lips as he came hard, his hips jerking, releasing all he had inside her. He remained on top of her when his orgasm ebbed away, shifting so that her legs slid from his shoulders and settled around his waist. He kissed her softly and relished in her satisfied sighs and the sensual brushes of their lips together. Sitting back on his heels, he studied her with a wipe of his brow, biting his bottom lip cheekily before they both burst into soft laughter as the gravity of their misdeeds sank in.

“Let’s take this party home, beautiful,” he breathed, slapping her backside lightly before helping her out of the bed. “Best believe I ain’t done with your fine ass.”

Thank goodness that Zaia was having a sleepover. “Sounds good to me, babe,” Ivy concurred as they adjusted each other's clothes before sneaking out of the room, not bothering to straighten the rumpled sheets and pillows scattered on the bed.

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[dreamsinfocus]

Oh deer...

[megamindsecretlair]

Sweet Escape, Part 2

Pairing: Bodyguard!Terry Richmond x Singer!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, trying out some angst, teasing, mentions of loneliness, mental health, power imbalance. Mentions of violence, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: You are on top of the world as one of the world’s most popular R&B singers. But behind the glitz and glam, you were unmoored, lonely, and aching for something you couldn’t put a name to. Terry makes you breakfast, bringing a sense of normalcy to an otherwise chaotic life. Still shaken from the shenanigans of your stalker, you enjoy the break Terry offers you. But all too soon, you’re forced to adapt to an ever-changing schedule. Your label makes you go to a club to promote your new single.

Word Count: 7,152k

AO3 Link

A/N: Idk why I keep doing this to myself, LMFAO. But ya'll see that man show out with his gold chain? Lordt help me, I love that man. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You stood beside the door to your balcony staring at the brightening day. The cry last night was everything you needed to reset. Perhaps it had just been too long since the last time you did. That was okay. It was okay to cry.

You clenched your fists and felt your nails dig into your palms. It was a terrible grounding technique. But pain was good. Pain meant you were alive. And as long as you were alive, your stalker wouldn’t win. He wasn’t winning when you worked hard for this shit.

All the blood, sweat, tears, predatory producers, dickhead managers, trashy bitches with their “gossip” websites, all of it. You didn’t survive this shit to let an anonymous motherfucker get you down. 

You took a deep breath. One day, you’d be able to open the balcony and actually feel the sun on your bones. You had to agree with Terry that it was too easy for someone to take a pot shot at you. Though the stalker seemed to only want to scare you so far. Killing you would kill his fantasy, wouldn’t it? 

It was too morbid to think about on such a pretty Las Vegas day. It was nearing the end of your run here before you would travel to LA. You turned and pulled your robe tighter while walking to your bedroom door and flinging it open. 

It smelled like home. Like warm biscuits, sizzling bacon, and fresh eggs. You followed the smell to the common kitchen and peeked around the corner. Terry stood in the kitchenette in a gray tank top and matching lounge pants.

Your eyes tracked the subtle vein in his arm and followed it to where it ended in his hand gripping the pan. Terry looked up at you and smirked. “I figured after what happened we could all use a little normal,” he said. 

“This…is your normal?” You asked. You hopped onto the nearest barstool and leaned over the bartop to look at the spread. He actually did make biscuits. Fluffy ones with butter melting in the middle. You were tempted to grab one but something told you Terry didn’t play about his kitchen.

You grinned and glanced at Terry who lifted his eyes to yours. You peeked down at yourself and noticed that your girls were threatening to slip out. “I am so sorry,” you said. Though you flirted and harassed the man, you weren’t predatory about it. You truly didn’t mean to let them hang out. You fixed your robe and sat back in your seat like a proper lady.

“It’s all good. Biscuits look good, don’t they?” He asked, his lips dipping in the corners. He almost smiled. Hot damn. Terry brought his thumb to his mouth to lick it and he hummed. The sound vibrated in his chest and you couldn’t help thinking what the hell he was doing as a bodyguard. Bottle that sound and package it into a vibrator and there wouldn’t be a dry cooch in the house.

“Mhm,” you said absently. Maybe the cry hadn’t done its job. Now you were just stuffy and foggy and clearly off your damn marbles. You watched Terry as he finished with the bacon. He moved on to a bowl of eggs he had already cracked and watched his arms work as he whipped up the eggs.

“I really only know how to make scrambled eggs. An omelet if I’m feeling fancy. If you want something else –”

“No, no, this is…sweet of you. I can’t remember the last time someone actually cooked for me. It’s been mostly dining out,” you said. 

“You don’t cook when you’re home?” Terry asked. 

You had to turn away from Terry. He looked downright delicious and he was being sweet. The last thing you wanted to do was make him uncomfortable by eye fucking him. 

“No, not really. There’s not usually enough time. When I have downtime, I’m usually writing a song or working out or preparing for the next tour. Gotta do something with this brain of mine,” you said. 

Terry nodded. “Shame. Nothing better than some good food cooked with love,” he said. His voice grew hoarse around the word love. Did he have an ex-wife? Did someone break his heart? There was so much you suddenly wanted to know about your bodyguard. You wanted pieces of him that no one else got. You were hungry and greedy for it. Though you had no right to be. 

“So you can’t make anything other than scrambled eggs, huh?” You asked.

Terry scooped out butter and placed it on the hot pan. It immediately sizzled and Terry’s bulging muscles worked back and forth to spread it around. He added the eggs and then turned to you. “I did say an omelet, too. Give me some credit,” he said.

“But only when you’re feeling fancy,” you said.

Terry chuckled. “You get me,” he said.

“So what makes you feel fancy?” You asked. Your eyes drifted to Terry’s every so often and it was bordering on creepy. So you hopped down from the stool and rummaged around in the cabinets.

“What are you doing?” Terry asked. 

“Setting the table,” you said. You grabbed two plates and placed it on the counter. 

“This was my gesture for you. You’re not supposed to set the table,” he said. 

“My grandma would roll in her grave if she knew I didn’t help some kind of way. You wouldn’t want to hurt poor Grammy Bean, would you?” You turned doe eyes to him and added in a cute pout, sticking out your bottom lip. 

Terry chuckled, turning back to the eggs. “I suppose I can’t hurt poor Grammy Bean,” he relented. You grinned and continued setting the bar top with plates, two cups, and forks. By the time you were done, Terry had finished up the breakfast. 

You stood behind him and handed him the plates one by one while he loaded up the eggs, bacon, and biscuits. He handed you the full plate and you set it down. “That was for you,” he said.

“Oh,” you said and giggled. “Thank you.” You rounded the edge of the bar top, suddenly feeling shy and girly. There was no reason for it. You just…fuck, how long had it been since someone did something for you just because? Not because you were paying them to do it? No hidden agenda?

Technically you were paying Terry too, but to guard you, not cook for you. It was unprompted and there was nothing you could do in return for him. There was nothing you could do to feel like you earned it. 

Terry grabbed his own plate and joined you at the bartop. He sat down and spread his legs to accommodate the long length of them. Feet planted firmly on the ground. “Don’t be too harsh on me. I know it’s not the fancy restaurant stuff you eat,” he said.

You laughed. “Don’t believe the hype, Mr. Terry. I am a southern girl at heart. This is way more up my alley than that french reduction, tuna tartar, or whatever else they think people want to eat.”

Terry chuckled and waited until you took a bite of your food. You sighed in appreciation and smiled closed-lipped at him. “This is delicious, Terry,” you said.

Terry grinned, showing off his beautiful smile. It was gone just as quick and he nodded. “Good to hear,” he said. 

What you wouldn’t pay or do to see him smile like that again. You ate beside Terry, soaking in the domesticity of it all. You were burning with questions. But you bit your tongue and just enjoyed the stillness. The peace. The quiet. 

Terry finished in record time, wolfing down his meal like he had just come back from jail or something. He stood up and grabbed two more biscuits. You didn’t know where the fuck he put it all. 

“Did Grammy Bean get you into singing?” Terry asked. 

You smiled and nodded, thinking of your grandmother. “Yup. She had a piano that she let me toddle on until she buckled down and got me piano lessons. She was a mainstay in the jazz scene. She knew them all. I was always following after her, so she ended up getting me started with singing. Encouraged me to do it for me if I was going to do this professionally. She bought me my first audition dress,” you said. 

Bless Grammy Bean, but whew, that dress was hideous. You were twelve at the time and she somehow transformed you into a little version of her. A blue and purple paisley dress with swirls and waves and too many clashing colors. Old lady shoes. If it weren’t for the studio rep who actually listened instead of laughing at you, you would’ve been sent home with tears to keep you company. 

“She sounds like an amazing woman,” Terry said. 

“She really was,” you said softly, remembering the pain of losing the most important person in your corner all over again. “How about you? Any grandma stories?” 

Terry wiped his hands on the paper towel beside his empty plate and then wiped his mouth. He missed a crumb in his mustache but you decided not to tell him. If anything, it made him more endearing. He followed the towel with his hand, swiping away the crumb anyway. Bastard.

“Yeah, my grandma was no joke. Me and my cousin Mike were terrors. Always running in and out of the house, always getting into trouble. One time, we had been play-fighting in the rain. We were covered in mud. When grandma saw us, she hosed us down, gave us a proper whuppin’ for tracking mud on her porch, and then made us clean off her porch before we could come inside,” Terry said, smiling at the memory. 

You smiled with him and shook your head, trying to imagine Terry at such a young age. Was he an awkward teen? Probably not. He was probably born with “responsible" stamped on his forehead. 

“Oh, she was really no joke,” you said.

Terry smiled and shook his head. “Not a one. She’s the one that got me into the Marines. She would tell me all her stories of the Air Force and how she was in charge of making sure the women who served were in bed by curfew. A lot of them tried sneaking out to meet up with boys. My grandma was there with a clipboard and her service weapon telling them to try her,” he said, chuckling to himself. 

“Not the clipboard too,” you said, chuckling with him. 

“They could either get checked off or checked out,” he said, pitching his voice to sound like an older lady. With his deep voice, the sound didn’t quite manage what he went for. You continued to laugh at his impression, waving your hands. 

“I’m not trying–” you kept laughing, unable to apologize. 

“It’s all good. She was a funny woman. She’d want us to laugh,” he said. He sobered and looked at you while you tried to catch your breath. Giggles escaped you as you calmed down yourself, finding yourself getting lost in his stormy eyes. 

You cleared your throat and sucked on your bottom lip. You both opened your mouth at the same time and then giggled. “You go,” he said.

“No, please,” you said.

“Ladies first,” he said. You sighed and rolled your eyes just as the doorbell rang. You cursed under your breath. You almost forgot for a few moments that you weren’t a normal person.

Terry stood up from the bar stool and went to the door for you, checking to see who was there. But you already knew. In five, four, three…

“There you are! Didn’t you get my text?” Mirage asked, walking into the room. 

Joya followed close behind with a shy, pained smile on her face. She clutched her calendar to her chest and you smiled. You nearly had a heart attack looking at Terry. There was no way in hell your sweet assistant could handle Terry’s muscles on full display. 

“I did not. I was eating breakfast, forgive me. Remind me what we’re doing today?” You asked. Because at this point, Terry effectively made you forget for a morning that you were a singer. 

Terry re-entered the room silently, moving around Mirage and headed towards the kitchen. He began to pack up the plates. “Let me help,” you said, hopping off the stool. 

“I got it. Go be awesome,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes and giggled. You followed Mirage and Joya into the living room and sat down on the huge, white pleather couch. Joya sat down in the armchair, faced away from Terry, and opened her calendar. 

“I managed to push your LA costume fittings to eleven to let you sleep in. You have an interview with Essence at three. Here is the list of questions,” she said, sliding over a piece of paper to you. You looked them over. Nothing too bad, not much you hadn’t answered before. 

“Okay, pretty light day,” you said. 

“Jake called. He needs you at the club tonight, rather than tomorrow,” Mirage said.

“What? Why?” You asked. 

“Lord AK flew in early and will be there and Jake needs you to hype up the single,” Mirage said. She cringed at your expression as you sighed and fell back against the couch. 

“I was looking forward to staying in,” you said. 

“I know, babe. I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t push it. I tried telling Jake about what happened yesterday-”

You waved off her incoming apology. “It’s not you. I know Jake is only thinking dollar signs right now,” you said, thinking of your good for nothing agent. 

“How long do I have to show my face at the club?” You asked. 

“You can’t go to a club. There’s no way to secure your safety,” Terry chimed in from the kitchen. 

“I have to. If I don’t, the single won’t get promoted. If the single doesn’t get promoted, it doesn’t sell. If it doesn’t sell, my ass is out of a job,” you said. 

Terry’s jaw flexed as he took in the information you gave him. “There’s no way around it?” He asked.

“Ah, sorry. No,” Mirage chimed in for you. 

“There’s going to be a lot of influencers there. Lots of cameras. I don’t know if you could have a bodyguard close by,” Mirage said. 

“I can blend in,” Terry said. 

You looked at Mirage and Joya before glancing guiltily at Terry. He caught on, a smirk stretching his lips. “Don’t think I can hang?” 

“I mean…I wouldn’t call you a square…” you said.

Terry chuckled and nodded his head. “I can blend in, princess,” he said.

You stuck your tongue out at him and he chuckled, returning to cleaning up the kitchen. You shook your head and turned back to your team. You went over a few more details for the day, the logistics of everything. 

“Ugh, I didn’t pack club clothes,” you said. 

“Already have you covered. After the interview, you’ll have a few choices the label is sending over,” Joya said. She consulted her calendar and thousands of tabs and sticky notes. You marveled at the way her mind worked. 

You smacked your teeth thinking of the type of clothes your label wanted you in. “Oh ye of little faith, girl! I already told them nothing silver, nothing sparkly, and nothing that’ll have your ass hanging out,” Joya said.

“I love you,” you said and giggled.

“I love you too, miss lady. We have fifteen minutes to get on the road before we’re late for your fittings,” Joya said. 

“Ugggghhhhh,” you groaned, sliding off the couch like a toddler. 

Mirage laughed and shook her head. “It’ll be painless. Well…as long as it isn’t Francois,” Mirage said.

You shivered from the floor. “I’m convinced he pokes me so many times to see if my ass is real,” you said. You all laughed and for a brief moment, you pretended that you were sixteen again with a circle of good friends, having a movie night. But those days were long past and gone. 

“Alright, alright, alright. I’m getting up. Fuck,” you said. You stood up from the floor and collected yourself. You squared your shoulders, threw your head back, and took a deep breath.

Movement to your right made you turn to Terry who had stopped cleaning to watch you. He nodded his head at you and you nodded back. Yeah, you had business to attend to.

The fitting was a breeze. Luckily Francois was nowhere to be found so you didn’t have to grab bandaids as you were done with the fitting. That was the secret part you loved about being a musician. Playing dress up. Seeing the mix of fabrics and clothes and getting to see the hidden seams to allow for quick costume changes on stage. 

The interview went just as well, talking with Brandi Harper, a journalist for Essence. She was cool, down to earth, making the interview feel like a conversation rather than a Q&A. You had bonded over your love for anime, discussing the different shows you watched. 

She did end up asking about the A’Kierra interview that you did and you had to fight everything in you not to drag A’Kierra’s nasty ass. You only ended up shrugging and dismissing it. Why give that clown more ammunition? 

Now, you were back at the hotel, getting dolled up for the club. Terry sat on the couch watching everyone like a hawk. He only allowed one make up artist and one hair stylist and only after he did his little background investigation on the both of them. Your team was loyal. You told him as much. Yet he still looked at everyone like any one of them could snap. 

Angie worked on your makeup while Nicky worked on your hair. “You gon’ sweat this out?” He asked.

“Probably, yeah,” you said with a grin. Nicky rolled his eyes but laughed with you as he switched tactics. He quickly abandoned what he was doing and then undid your hair from the ponytail. 

“You gon’ stress me out, chile,” he said.

“I love you, Nicky,” you said. 

Nicky harrumphed and you blew him a kiss while he started to braid your hair. “You lucky I stay ready, miss thing,” he said. He grumbled about you while he got to work, braiding quickly and efficiently. That was why you paid to bring Nicky wherever you went. No one had hands like him. 

Joya entered the circus that was your hotel living room carrying a garment bag over her shoulder. Mirage was in the corner, on the phone with Jake setting up details about the club. 

You snuck a glance at Terry who caught you looking. You rolled your bottom lip into your mouth and Angie groaned. You apologized to Angie who had to switch tactics as well. “Every time, girl?” She asked. 

You giggled. “You’re right. I’m a bad client,” you said.

She sighed and shook her head. “You’re lucky I like you,” she said. 

“Oh, it’s my lucky night then. I need to do some gambling before we leave Vegas,” you said. You let Angie remove the gloss from your lips and went with a lip stain instead. It was a darker red than what you were used to but some sneaks in the mirror had you feeling yourself.

You may be a homebody but deep, deep down in your crevices, you liked to party too. Liked to dance and move and sing your heart out. Get some drinks going and you were the life of the party. 

Joya managed to get closer and tapped the bag. “Got what you needed,” she said.

“Thank you,” you told her. “Terry? Can I see you please?” You asked.

Terry was by your side in a second, crowding your space. It wasn’t entirely unwelcome. You pointed to Joya. “I had her get some outfits for you as well. If you’re going to blend, I need you to really blend. And I doubt you have a club outfit in that duffel you carry,” you said. 

“I’m good, thanks though,” he said.

“And just what do you plan on wearing to blend in then?” You asked.

He spread his hands and you looked at the black T-shirt and jeans he usually wore. You giggled and shook your head, much to Angie’s and Nicky’s frustration. “You cannot go to a club like this wearing your uniform, soldier,” you said.

“It’s a club,” he said. “No one’s worried about me.”

“Sheeit,” Nicky whispered. Angie elbowed him and he cleared his throat, returning to braiding your hair. He was already halfway through your head. 

You were tempted to lick your lips to keep from laughing at the adorable, confused expression on Terry’s face. “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you don’t make some kind of effort. Please, indulge me. Otherwise I’d have to go in by myself and without you there to guard me, who knows what could happen?” 

Terry’s jaw flexed. “I know what you’re doing,” he said. He grabbed the clothes bag from Joya who looked like a deer caught in headlights. She lowered her eyes and tried to back away as nonchalant as possible. Poor tink. You understood though. Terry was intimidatingly sexy as hell. 

“I wouldn’t dream of pulling anything,” you said. 

He gave you a blank stare before disappearing to his side of the suite. You turned to Joya with a grateful smile. 

In no time at all, Nicky had your head braided and put on a wig. He flat ironed it and then pulled it into a half up, half down style. “Oh, I like this,” you said, looking at yourself in the mirror he brought. 

“I know, I know. I’m the greatest,” he said.

“We’re running behind, let’s wrap it up soon,” Mirage called out, returning to her call. 

What was taking Terry so long? You wondered which outfit he chose or if he’d stick to his uniform. You had to get dressed yourself so you went into your bedroom with Angie and Nicky to help put on your club outfit and make sure you didn’t mess up your hair and makeup. 

The jumpsuit was sheer and looked painted on when you got it on. The back was out but it made your ass look extra fat. Oh, you were so keeping this. It had a tropical flower design on it that looked fun and perfect for the club. Partnered with your hair and makeup, hell, you’d fuck you tonight. 

You left your room and Terry stood up. You paused, your heels near skidding on the floor. Got. Damn. He chose to wear a navy dress shirt with gold flowers on it. He left it buttoned all the way to the top and his black jeans made him look extra delicious. 

He smoothed the shirt and looked at himself like he couldn’t believe how he got here. You giggled to get over your initial shock. “Not bad, Mr. Terry. Not bad,” you said.

“Don’t look so bad yourself,” he said. 

You smiled and followed your army of people out of the hotel, to the waiting car. Terry opened the door for you and helped you inside. He went around to the other side, climbing into the back with you. 

“Oh, not driving tonight?” You asked. 

“I gotta blend, right?” He asked. 

If he did any more blending, people would think he was a famous movie star. He pulled on some shaded glasses, completing the look while a member of your security team got in the front seat. Mirage and Joya would be in the follow car. 

Sometimes they were your best friends. And sometimes they were your best employees. The ride beyond to the club was short, really only going from one hotel to the next. But because you’d be spotted instantly, it was somehow easier to take the car than walk. 

Paparazzi lined the entrance to the club and those flashing bulbs immediately turned to your car when it was your turn. You took a deep breath, looking out at the sea of vultures. There were some fans mixed in. 

“Guess word got out that I’d be here,” you said with a rueful smile. “Wondered who leaked that.” 

Jake was such a leech. But you kept him around because if nothing else, he could hustle a dollar from a beggar. And for an artist determined to do this shit right, you needed all the money you could scrounge up. After living paycheck to paycheck growing up, robbing Paul to pay Peter, you had plans. You didn’t ever want to go back to the poor little girl you were before. 

“We can turn around,” Terry offered.

You sighed. “No. We really can’t,” you said. You took a deep breath and pulled on your metaphorical armor. You pictured it encasing you in the hardest known element. Not a chink or weak spot to exploit. 

You pulled on your own shades because the flashing lights left you dizzy. Terry’s counterpart got out of the car and then swooped around to open the door for you. Terry got out by himself and quickly walked around the car, offering you his arm. 

The paparazzi resembled a feeding frenzy at the zoo. They called your name endlessly, squawking with demands to turn here, look here, give us a smile, give us a pout, who’s your man, and on and on it went.

You posed and waved to them all, playing into your persona. You singled out a few fans and took pictures with them, signing some autographs. You blew kisses as you walked up the club’s doors and the bouncer let you in without any fuss.

The sudden darkness of the club’s interior foyer after all the flashing lights gave you whiplash. You swayed on your feet and Terry steadied you with a hand on your hip. “You okay?” He asked. 

You shook your head to clear it. “I hate that shit,” you said. But you were fine. You’d live. 

“We made it,” Mirage said, coming up from the side entrance. She wore a simple black party dress that fit her full figure well. She pulled her braids back into a ponytail and added on makeup. You hugged her and then Joya who peeked out from behind Mirage. She had changed as well, into a pair of dark jeans and a flirty shirt. 

“You both look amazing!” You said. 

“Not as good as you!” Joya said. You waved them off. They were too adorable. Linked arm in arm, you passed through the curtains and entered the club proper. Nothing was small in Vegas on the strip. The place was huge, a mass of people gyrating on the dance floor, hanging out by the bar, or trying to make moves on each other.

You made your way to the VIP section. The section was already bumping with multiple artists bopping their heads to the music. Groupies hung around the various rappers and singers, each all similarly dressed in baggy pants and jerseys or oversized coats. 

“You’re here!” Another singer, Alexandra Crane, beamed and then wrapped her arms around you. You screamed with her. The cute little singer from Atlanta had become a friend during a concert you performed together. You were glad to see that she ditched the other two in her group. 

“It is so good to see you!” You said. You introduced Mirage and Joya and true to form, Joya fangirled. 

“Oh, and who’s this?” Alex asked. 

“This is my-”

“I’m her toy for the evening,” Terry said, extending his hand to Alex. She shook it but gave you an exaggerated wink. You waved her off and let your eyes adjust to the dizzying array of spinning neon lights in the club.

The dance floor was full of uncoordinated people jumping up and down to the same four club remixes on repeat. Ugh. “Have you seen Lord AK?” You asked.

Alex shook her head. “Are you meeting up with him?” She asked. 

You nodded and bent closer to be heard over the music. “We’re promoting ‘Down Bad’,” you told her. 

She smiled and nodded her head. “Oh my god, I love that song!” She said.

You flopped onto the couch with Alex and caught up, leaving Terry to sit beside you and scan the club for potential threats. You relaxed as the night went on, going shot for shot with Alex and your girls. 

As the night progressed, some fans dared to approach and ask for pictures. Terry tried to deter them but you went against his orders, taking pictures anyway. It was incredibly brave to even ask. You wouldn’t deny them a quick picture and wave. 

The club finally changed the music to something you could actually shake your ass too. The alcohol warmed your belly and had you feeling yourself. You grabbed Alex’s hand and made your way to the dance floor. 

Terry grabbed your hand as you reached the bottom step of the VIP section. “I can’t protect you around all of them,” he said.

“I wanna dance. You can join meee, boy toy,” you sang, crooking your finger. Terry tilted his head and if you could see his eyes, you were sure he would be judging you. Ah well. You hadn’t had fun in a long time. Your stalker preferred to catch you unawares. The mask had been the creepiest contact so far. 

The fanboy letters and poems were what really creeped you out. You shivered just thinking about it. But that was the point. You didn’t want to think about your stalker. You wanted to have fun. 

Terry let your hand go and then you squealed, getting onto the dance floor and immediately started shaking your ass to the Ying Yang Twins song. You let go. You just followed the rhythm of the music and danced with Alex, pretending you were just a girl in a club, quietly hoping some man would come holler at you for a second. 

You danced in a circle so that it would make you face the VIP section. Terry’s profile was turned towards you, eyeing you as you danced. You put extra flair into your sexy dancing. Swaying your hips, shaking your ass, flirting with him with your body from across the room. 

He watched it all. He didn’t even pay attention to those around him. Didn’t give the waitress a glance as she lingered, hovered, trying to grab his attention. He lifted his fingers to wave her off and she left with a huff. That only made you smile and roll your body to the music. 

The DJ scratched the record, getting everyone’s attention. Everyone turned to the DJ in the middle of the club, up on stage surrounded by a paneled wall full of screens with colors dancing in the display. 

“Ya’ll ready for some hot, new shit? Fresh off the tracks?” The DJ asked. The club screamed. 

“Ya’ll ready or not, damn!” The DJ asked. 

Behind him, Lord AK stepped out with a microphone. “Call me a simp, ‘cause that ass got me mesmerized…” he started rapping the opening lyrics to your song. You screamed, just as shocked as everyone else.

Why didn’t Mirage tell you this was part of the plan? You looked towards the VIP section but Mirage wasn’t there. Were you supposed to sing as well? Were you just there to witness? This mickey mouse shit was unprofessional as fuck. 

Lord AK seemed to know what the hell was going on because he made a beeline through the crowd to you, serenading you with his rap, grinning widely. Gahh, he was so damn cute. If he didn’t have some deep seated fucking issues, that would be your man for real. But after the scare last year at a party, he had disappeared for counseling. 

Fuck it. You grabbed the mic from him when it came time to your part, singing to him, flirting with him and the crowd. You involved them, making them think that they were the ones you were down bad for. 

Mirage’s head bobbed in the crowd. She gave you a harried look, waving a microphone covertly. You pushed on Lord AK’s chest and sang while backing him away. You grabbed the microphone from Mirage just as Lord AK leaned in for a fake kiss. You tapped the microphone on his lips and he grinned, grabbing the microphone and began the breakdown of the song. 

There was a call and response in the middle of the song, getting quicker as the lyrics turned nastier. You and Lord AK circled each other, getting closer and closer, until you reached the climax of the song where you belted out the final lyrics. The club exploded with cheers and whistles. 

The DJ played another one of Lord AK’s songs. The idea was to get people focused on the music, not his hiatus. You felt bad for him, really. He was a talented rapper. People should already focus on the music and not that he was going through shit. Everybody was going through shit. 

Mirage fought her way to you, grabbing your microphone and Lord AK’s. “Fuckin’ Jake sprung this shit on me. By the time I knew, he was already in place and I couldn’t find you and…”

“Babe, breathe,” you said. Mirage stopped mid sentence and took a deep breath. 

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill him,” she said, shaking her head and walking away. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew. Somethin’ told me this shit wasn’t right, ‘cause I almost didn’t find you out here,” Lord AK said. 

You waved him off and hugged him, covertly taking a deep whiff of his cologne. He smelled heavenly, like a mix of spiced flowers and sandalwood. You should’ve been having his babies. You inwardly groaned at the loss of your fictional family as you pulled away. 

“It is so good to see you. Need some familiar faces, for real,” you said. 

His grin was wide and genuine, his eyes no longer cloudy now that he got rid of most of his entourage. That whole group had been toxic and you were glad to see him on the other side of it. Healthy looked good on him. 

However, back in his presence, his luminance seemed to dim. He no longer really turned your head. You only had eyes for – him. Terry remained in the VIP section but there was some unknowable expression on his face. You didn’t know him well enough to decipher this particular look. 

He was always so damn grumpy. “How long you here for?” You asked.

Lord AK shrugged his shoulders. “Enough to be seen. Then I’ma dip. This club is ass,” he said. 

“True that. Don’t leave without me seeing you again,” you said.

“You’re gonna see me in LA, girl,” he said.

“And what that mean!” You tapped his shoulder and made your way back to the VIP section. Most of it had cleared out but there were still a few movers and shakers talking, their phones out recording everything. 

The lights began to go crazy, turning the VIP section darker as the lights danced in time with the club remixes again. “Having fun?” Terry asked when you got up the stairs.

“Are you? Have you gotten up once?” You asked.

“Mhm. Just sitting here. Enjoying the free concert,” he said.

You giggled, looking away. You wanted so desperately to ask what he thought of the performance. The words to excuse the behavior were at the tip of your tongue. You wanted to make it clear that it was all an act for you and Lord AK. That you weren’t really into him, ya’ll just had good chemistry. 

But there was nothing to really explain, was there? You didn’t owe Terry an explanation. You grabbed two shots and handed him one. “If this was what you call blending in, it’s so bad. You scream cop,” you said.

“I look good, what you mean?” He asked. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and you shook your head with a giggle. 

“You gotta drink. You gotta dance. Those are the rules,” you said. 

“I don’t drink,” he said. 

“Like a you can’t handle your liquor thing or is this a health nut thing?” You asked.

Terry chuckled. “Health nut?” He asked. 

“You know you can be addicted to working out, right?” You asked. 

Terry shook his head. “I don’t drink on the job,” he said. 

“This isn’t a job. You’re blending. Blending means going method,” you said. Terry sighed and grabbed the shot out of your hand. He knocked it back without a grimace and you matched him, tipping the shot glass back and grinning at him. 

The DJ gave the club remix a break and turned on Post Malone’s “Rockstar”. You squealed and threw up your hands. “I love this song! Dance with me,” you said. You grabbed his hand and tried to pull him to standing. He remained firmly planted in his seat.

“I definitely don’t dance on duty,” he said. 

The alcohol made you petulant. At least that was your excuse and you were sticking to it. You gave up trying to get him to stand so you took another shot for courage and then began dancing in the VIP section.

The neon blue and purple lights danced across the shades he still wore. You couldn’t see his pretty eyes and you pretended that he was a famous person. Someone who understood what it was like to feel lonely in the middle of a crowd. That image quickly disappeared though. You didn’t want a fantasy. 

You wanted to remain yourself. You wanted Terry to remain Terry. The inflexible, professional, gorgeous man who took your safety seriously. The same man who let you peek behind the curtain of his control earlier today. The same man who made you feel in ways you hadn’t in a very long time. 

You turned around and began dancing for him. Just for him. Rolling your ass in a slow circle to the song, bending down as you did so, making your knees do most of the work to entice Terry. 

He adjusted himself in the seat, tilting his head at you. “What are you doing?” He asked, his voice rough. 

“Dancing with you since you won’t dance with me,” you said. You continued to dance, looking back at him every so often to make sure he was still looking. You grew more bold as you danced, now doing it just because. Just because he made you feel normal when so much of your life wasn’t. 

You backed into his lap and mimicked bouncing on it. You grabbed his knees and ground your ass in lap, used him for support while you danced slower and slower. The thrumming beat matched the beat of your heart, turning you bolder. 

You looked over your shoulder and bit your lip, still grinding in his lap. Terry took a deep breath but you weren’t making it easy for him. “You know you want to dance with me,” you said over your shoulder.

Terry leaned forward and grabbed your hips, slamming you down onto his lap. You yelped, feeling a third leg pushing at the fabric of his jeans. He placed his lips next to your ear and whispered, “Behave.” 

You grinned and kept grinding and dancing on him, giving him a lap dance whether he wanted it or not. He didn’t stop you, only gripped your hips harder with his thick fingers. He slowly began to move with you, rubbing his bulge into your ass.

He moved one of his hands from your hips to trail a finger along your exposed, sweaty back. You gasped, feeling electricity pass from his fingers to your skin. You took back control by abruptly standing up, turning around, and climbing into his lap. 

You continued your dance, wriggling in his lap. You bent backwards, stretched, and then rolled forward. Terry dragged a finger down your chest and you wished it was open in the front too. You liked his hands on you. You really, really liked his hands on you.

Your skin grew overheated, waves of heat rolling through your body. Terry gripped your ass and squeezed. You gasped and fell forward, knocked off your rhythm with just a firm grip. You ought to be ashamed you were that easy, but hell, who could blame you? 

When he looked that good? Smelled that good? Felt so damn good? 

Terry leaned forward and you steadied yourself on his shoulders. You braced for those full, lush lips to touch yours. Watched as if in slow motion as he leaned in. Your breathing was so rapid, your chest rose and fell. 

Terry moved one of his hands to your face, bringing you closer by cupping your cheek. Your eyes drooped, too eager to get this over with yet wanting to savor every little second. His hand was hot against your cheek. His breath fanned across your face.

He bypassed your lips to bring his closer to your ear. “I don’t take advantage of drunk women,” he whispered. He licked your neck and you moaned, shivering as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water down your veins. “I like my women sober when they’re riding me.”

You gasped while he stood up and gently placed you on the couch. “Stay here. I’ll grab you some coffee.” 

You stayed put while he disappeared to do just that. You stared after his retreating form, at a complete loss for words. You were hot and bothered. Your flabbers were ghasted. And you were so damn horny you thought you’d pass out. 

Such a bastard. You fanned yourself as Terry returned with coffee and water, making you somehow drink both. He escorted you out of the club with a few stops to take pictures with fans. Despite whatever the hell he thought, you were not drunk. 

He had you tucked into the car before you could say, “Cinderella”. There was nothing to talk about in the car. The interior was too tense. Too thick. Too cloying with the mix of cologne, perfume, sweat, and hairspray. You rode in silence back to your hotel, escorted to the room, and stood silently while Terry checked every nook and cranny of the room. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Terry,” you sang lazily, heading to your bedroom doors. Terry crossed the living room to his side.

“Goodnight,” he said. 

You stared at each other as you closed the doors at the same time. Finally alone, you turned and leaned your back against the door feeling like the biggest fucking loser on the planet. 

Whew. Help yourself to some more treats! The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1

Tag list: PLEASE. I love ya'll FRFR.

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@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

@semi-yah @halfreal-and-halffiction @motheroffae @melaninpov @pinkpantheris

@slutsareteacherstoo @blackerthings @dreamsinfocus @brattyfics @mermaidchansons

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@thegreatlibraryofalex @amyhennessyhouse @hihellogoodbyebruh @becauseimswagman1

[dreamsinfocus]

package it into a vibrator and there wouldn’t be a dry cooch in the house.

[mimitheaardvark]

Respectfully I'm this close to blocking ppl who don't use the read more function like yall never heard of car.pool.tunnel. syndrome????

[dreamsinfocus]

Sike lol time to block

[megamindsecretlair]

Sweet Escape, Part 1

Pairing: Bodyguard!Terry Richmond x Singer!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, trying out some angst, teasing, mentions of loneliness, suicide, depression, power imbalance. Mentions of blood, knife, and violence, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: You are on top of the world as one of the world’s most popular R&B singers. But behind the glitz and glam, you were unmoored, lonely, and aching for something you couldn’t put a name to. With freakish threats escalating, you turn to your stoic bodyguard, Terry, in hopes that you’ll finally feel safe and like you belong.

Word Count: 5,102k

AO3 Link

A/N: I know we all have bodyguard Terry on our brains so here's my contribution! I'd love to know your thoughts on the angst, I wanna get better at it. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You felt like a damn doll. You’d been plucked, prodded, lifted, and separated so many times, you felt like you were melting beneath the studio lights. This was the last interview of the morning and you were ready to slip back into your slippers and call it a fucking day. 

As production assistants flittered around like chickens with their heads cut off, you scanned the room. The lights prevented you from seeing much, but you were able to make out your best friend and manager, Mirage, and your personal assistant, Joya standing by the monitors. Mirage gave you a thumbs up and you sighed.

Mirage knew you inside and out. She giggled, knowing that you wanted to turn all this shit over by now. They wanted you to be here on time but the messy host, A’Kierra West, was nowhere to be found. And if there was one thing you hated, it was to be kept waiting. 

A makeup assistant came up to you and blotted you with a napkin. You smiled at her. “Thank you,” you said. 

The assistant blinked and got startled and you lifted an eyebrow at her. You’d been nothing but nice so you didn’t know where that reaction was coming from. The assistant fled from the stage and you put it out of your mind.

You bit the corners of your cheeks to keep from exploding. Right as you were about to call out to Mirage, A’Kierra waltzed into the room in a cloud of hairspray and her defining feature, her big ass boobs. The boobs preceded her into the room, tucked into a too small red dress that was better suited for clubbing than a talk show. 

A’Kierra took her sweet, precious, slow time making her way to the stage, stopping to talk to the directors and producers, before finally gracing the stage with her presence. You stood up, since it was technically polite, and gave her the fake Hollywood kiss to both cheeks. 

She smelled like an old white lady at Macy’s. The cloying, flowery scent tickled your nose. You wrinkled your nose and sniffed.

“It’s new! I’m so glad you love it. I’ll send your assistant a bottle!” A’Kierra said. She grinned, showing a row of veneers too large for her face. You smiled to keep your face from showing your true emotions. This bitch was nuts.

“Thank you! I can’t wait!” You said and sat back down in your seat. “So we did the promo and the commercial, now we just do the whole intro and get into it,” A’Kierra explained.

“I’ve done a few of these,” you said.

A’Kierra laughed, the shrill sound like nails on a chalkboard. Her deep brown skin glowed with shimmery lotion but it only served to make her look washed out in the dress. Whoever was dressing her must hate her. 

“Yes, but you’ve never done my show before,” she sniffed. A makeup assistant floated onto the stage out of the shadows and touched up A’Kierra’s lipstick. “Thank you, darling. Make sure my coffee is nice and hot when we’re done?” 

The director emerged between the cameras giving his final notes on the taping. He instructed you to be natural and relaxed. You glance slid towards Mirage who hid a grin behind her hand. The phone that was permanently glued to her hand hid most of her face, but you already knew what she was laughing at. 

Optics…Optics…

The director counted down and then the popular theme song of the show played. The audience you couldn’t see began clapping loudly, wildly, as if you were on stage for a concert rather than an interview taping.

A’Kierra cued up the questions Mirage had you go over earlier. You handled each question well, playing to the crowd, and leaning into the persona you crafted for the world. The carefree, girl power, rah-rah, confident diva with strong knees and an even stronger pair of lungs. 

“But what do you say to all of these mommy coalitions calling for your head, saying you’re a bad influence on their children? Saying you’re over-sexed, lewd, and not lady like at all?” 

It was only your media training that kept you from unleashing your pent up fury. You giggled and shook your head. This was not in the script. “What do you mean?” You asked, giving yourself time to answer. 

“Some may say that the rise in your career also gave rise to all these conservative groups, using you to fund their message of protecting their children from your explicit lyrics and lifestyle. It’s no secret that girls and young women look up to you. Is this really the message you want to send out?” A’Kierra smirked, leaning back in her seat. She crossed her legs, and tapped her notecards against her knee. 

You smiled and chuckled. “I’d say…I’m not responsible for your kids. Maybe if they spent more time paying attention to what their kids are listening to than up my perfect ass, there wouldn’t be an issue. I promote self-confidence for adults. I make grown music for adults. At no point have I ever claimed to be a role model for young girls and I’m not responsible for what these mommy coalitions think of me,” you said with a sweet, saccharine grin. 

A’Kierra kept a smile plastered to her face but there was more than enough ooh’s and aww’s coming from the audience. You stared A’Kierra down, communicating with just looks. She blinked first, clearing her throat and organizing her cards. “Well, that’s certainly a take!” A’Kierra said and laughed along with the audience.

You giggled with her, feeding into all the fake bullshit. This was the last show you wanted to be on. But the optics. Fuck the fucking optics. This show trafficked in gossip and rumors, more focused on catching people on lies and half-truths than speaking about something normal. 

Once the cameras stopped rolling, you waved to the audience and then removed the mic pack from your hip. You passed it to the nearest production assistant, wanting to be free of wires for a long, long time. Well, at least until your next city stop.

Mirage and Joya fell in step beside you, going over the next few items on your list today. When you were done here, you had a small promo shoot for the next city you were going to be in. It’d been a while since you were in LA and you were looking forward to the In and Out burger you were going to inhale at the first chance you got. 

By the door to the studio, your heart skipped a beat looking over the scrumptious, delectable piece of meat you had for a bodyguard. Terry Richmond came highly recommended through the agency you typically used. You ran through their sorry excuse for bodyguards like a kid went through candy. 

But Terry was different. From the first meeting, he was completely professional, calm, and courteous. He didn’t bullshit you with flattery, he didn’t flirt to get with his dream girl, and he treated you like a normal person. That alone had you saying yes before the ink could dry on the contract. 

Add in the fact that he was a former Marine and prepared for…just about everything, you’d felt safe in his presence in a way that you hadn’t with other bodyguards. You didn’t know what led him to this position, but you were glad fate was looking out for you.

“Careful Mr. Terry, stand any straighter, and your back might hurt,” you said. 

Terry stood ready with his hands in front of him, one hand holding the other wrist. He dressed plainly in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, showing off huge, bulging muscles. He slanted his ever-changing eyes towards you but there was no other sign that he heard you. 

He went through the door first, taking his job a smidgen too seriously. “Would it kill you to talk, Mr. Terry?” You asked.

Joya handed you your phone and you absently went through your texts as you walked. “No, ma’am,” he said. 

You nearly faltered in your steps. He actually answered. You shook your head in amazement, feeling a thrill that he was in a chatty mood today. You glanced up from your phone to watch his ass move in his jeans. 

He was unreal. A fantasy in a male body that he honed to perfection. Bless his genes, seriously, because there wasn’t a single flaw on the man. 

“See, we’re almost having a conversation,” you said. You handed Joya back your phone with your thanks and followed Terry to the greenroom. You couldn’t wait to take off the fugly silver outfit. Why were you so damn shiny?

“We have plenty of conversations, princess,” he said. You giggled and rolled your eyes at his back. He called you that when he thought you were being a little shit. He approached your dressing room and entered first, doing a quick scan for any potential threats. You waited in the cramped hallway for his inspection to get done. He emerged back out turned those sinful eyes on you. 

“It’s safe to go in,” he said.

You smirked at him. “Try not to miss me for the thirty minutes it’ll take to get all of this off,” you said. You tilted your head at him. Terry blinked at you. You sighed.  “You’re no fun!” 

Terry’s lips lifted in the corners. “I’m plenty of fun. Thirty minutes,” he said, his rich, deep voice soothing. 

“Yes, sir,” you said. You gave him a stern, no-nonsense nod and grinned at him. He did the little smirking thing of his and let you walk into the room with Joya and Mirage hot on your heels. 

Once the door closed, Joya collapsed against the door frame with a wistful sigh. “I wanna pass out every time I get near that man,” she said, fanning herself with the planner she always carried around. It suited her more to write all of your appointments down rather than inputting it into a digital calendar anyone could hack. She never put the thing down. You half suspected that she slept with it under her pillow.

All of the safety measures were sweet, but after a month of no contact from your supposed stalker, you were starting to feel out of sorts. Like this life wasn’t real and you were watching your life pass by on a television set somewhere in a white room. 

The first thing you did was take off your platform heels, sighing as your feet sank into the plush paisley rug. “Zip, please,” you said to Mirage. 

Mirage chuckled at Joya and helped unzip the tight dress you wore. Air returned to your lungs with every inch gained and you sighed again. “He really is too pretty,” Mirage said quietly. 

“Too damn pretty!” You agreed. That was definitely a concern for you when you met up with him. But after twenty minutes of conversation, you were able to glean two things from the mysterious Mr. Richmond. For one, he didn’t play, ever. He was as stoic as any soldier you’d ever run across. And two, something happened to him. Something…soul changing. 

Maybe it was a lost love, maybe it was a personal tragedy. Whatever it was, it made him immune to you. You flirted, you teased, you harassed the man. And he kept his attention on guarding your body. Like you hired him to do. 

You pouted as you approached a cabinet in the room that stored your real clothes. Next to it, there was a clothing rack with outfit choices that you had discarded. Thoughts of how you could get under Terry’s skin kept you occupied as you opened the cabinet doors and shrieked at the gruesome sight before you. 

Your clothes were cut up to shreds, a confetti of fabric at the bottom of the cabinet. Joya and Mirage joined you and shrieked in their own horror. There was a replica mask of your own face staring back at you pinned to the door with a large, very illegal knife. Blood – or god, what you hoped wasn’t real blood – dripped from the mask and down the cabinet door.

The mask was uncanny. One of the most realistic ones you’d ever seen. Terry rushed into the room, gun in his hand but pointed towards the floor. He scanned the room with a flick of his eyes, immediately moving in front of you, and shielding you from the mask. 

It was too late. The image was already burned into your retinas. His massive back took up your field of vision, but due to the black t-shirt, it only let your mind drift. Your mind’s eye recalled the mask in every finite detail and your stomach turned with churning bile. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” you whispered. 

Terry closed the cabinet with his elbow, turning around to you. You looked at him, just in time to feel dizzy. Your knees buckled and Terry caught you, yelling to Mirage and Joya for a doctor. 

Terry hefted you into his arms and left the room. Outside, the cold blast of air in the hallway shocked you enough to not slip into unconsciousness. Terry positioned you on the nearest crate.

The air in your chest began to boil, clawing its way through your clogged throat. Distantly, you knew that you were hyperventilating. But all you saw was your own face. Your own soulless slouched face, rubbery, with makeup stains on the teeth, and a giant knife through the forehead. 

“Hey, don’t do that,” Terry said. He grabbed both sides of your face. You grunted, trying to shake your head. Trying to shake him off of you. His foreboding presence was screaming for you to run. 

“Breathe. Breathe, princess,” he said. 

You groaned, turning your head away. You couldn’t stop seeing it. Your face. Your face. Your face. 

“Count with me. Six, two, four, nine, one, five,” Terry counted.

“What?” You whispered. Terry tightened his grip on your face and forced you to look at him. His startling light eyes bore into yours. 

“Count. Six,” he said. He was so close that you could count every single one of his long, pretty eyelashes. 

Your body shook uncontrollably. A lone tear dripped from your eye and you rubbed it away. “Don’t do that. Let yourself feel it,” he coached.

You shook your head. “Never cry,” you whispered. You narrowed your eyes at him. Whatever he saw in your eyes, he backed off. He nodded. 

“Count then. Six, two, four, nine, one, five,” he said.

“Six…four…”

“Start again,” he said.

He repeated the numbers easily, remembering whatever asinine digits he wanted you to repeat. You needed away. You needed to be free. You groaned and jerked in his hold. The image of your face twisted and melted in your eyes. Turning your memory into slush. What was even real anymore?

“If you can’t do it, I’ll start with three numbers,” he said.

You huffed as you turned your attention back to him, repeating his damn numbers. You had to slow down, had to think about which number came next. Nine and one were the easiest to remember. For some reason, you kept wanting to throw a seven in there.

When you were able to repeat it three times without stopping to think, Terry lowered his hands from your face. You shivered at the lack of contact. His big paws covered your entire face, generating heat. Now that you no longer had it, you felt colder than ever. 

Another tear threatened to fall but you were much calmer now. Better able to hold back the raging tempest inside. Later. Later you could break down. But it wouldn’t be here.

“Who would do…”

“Someone who doesn’t know the difference between a fantasy and a reality,” he said. 

It was quiet in the hallway. The studio was on the other side, down the hall. At the T-instersection where you were, there weren’t even assistants carrying things. It was just the two of you. 

Terry stood directly in front of you, pushed in between your legs so that he could bend and cup your face. Now, you were acutely aware of how close he was. How his chest rose and fell as if he were the one calming down from the scariest shit of his life. And you were the one who found a fan had attempted to kill himself in your swimming pool a month ago. This far surpassed that harrowing night.

“I just wanted to sing. I wanted to stop being invisible. I never asked for this,” you said, the back of your eyes burning with the need to cry. You hadn’t cried in years. The well had long dried. And now twice within Terry’s presence, you wanted to break down and lay it all at his feet.

“You were never invisible,” he said softly. 

Terry gave you a look you couldn’t quite describe but knew instantly. Almost like for a brief moment, he knew you inside and out and didn’t flinch. You cleared your throat and straightened up a little. You grabbed the front of your dress and crossed your arms. The air from the closest vent blew across your back and made you shiver.

Mirage jogged down the hallway with a paramedic close on her heels. She was scrambling, practically in tears, as she ran down. Terry cleared his throat and stepped back, finally turning those crystal eyes away from you. The spell he’d woven broke, stealing your breath. 

You took a deep breath to get it back and fended off Mirage after she clung to you, telling you how worried she was. “I’m fine, babe, I promise,” you said. You waved off the EMT and Terry pushed the EMT forward.

“Let him do his job,” Terry ordered. And for some reason, that didn’t bother you a bit. You shut your mouth and stared at Terry while the EMT went through his preliminary workup. He shined light in your eyes, asking you basic questions like your name, age, and where you were. 

You answered all of his questions, without attitude. For once feeling like you didn’t have to come out swinging first. The EMT cleared you for shock, telling you to get some rest. “I have a photo shoot to keep,” you said, shaking your head. 

“Not anymore,” Terry said. 

“You don’t get to make that call,” you shot back. The EMT looked between the both of you, the subtle daggers you were throwing each other. The EMT quickly put up his supplies and slipped from between you and Terry. 

“I’m tasked with protecting you. Let me,” he said. 

You hopped off of the crate and watched two officers arrive, stepping into your dressing room with security guards from the studio. You stood up straight and pulled on that bitchy persona you were known for. You wore it like a well-used coat, broken in and comfortable. 

“Your job is to guard me wherever I may be. I only have a few more stops on this tour and this incel isn’t going to ruin my dream. If that’s going to be a problem for you, I can call your agency,” you said. You looked at him from beneath your eyelashes. Wondered if you were able to fool him after he’d gotten a peek behind your four inch thick walls. 

Terry leaned back, his stare turning hard. Judging. Your lips parted on a silent gasp. “No need. We’re clear,” he said, his voice just as hard as his eyes. Cold like diamonds. His jaw flexed and he stared straight ahead, giving you a blank, thousand yard stare.

Joya ran into the hallway, pushing past looky-loos and producers. Everybody had a phone out. It’d only be a matter of time before the press caught wind and accosted you outside. You couldn’t leave in this stupid dress. 

Joya finally poked her tiny head up from between the gathering crowd. She held a bag in her hand and handed it to Mirage, leaning over to grab her knees and huff. “Emergency stash,” she huffed.

“You’re a genius, Joya,” Mirage said. 

You avoided Terry’s gaze as you walked further down the hall to a different dressing room. Terry cleared this one first, moving about the room more thoroughly than he did the last. He opened the cabinet and you flinched, half expecting another doppelganger staring at you. 

Nothing jumped out so Terry brushed past. “All clear,” he said. 

He closed the door and you sighed, closing your eyes for a brief moment. That was bitchy of you. Hella bitchy and he didn’t deserve it. You paid him to worry about your safety. You snorted. You were paying people to care about you now. That’s how far you’d fallen. 

“Dare we ask?” Joya asked. 

Mirage turned to her, making a cut it out gesture. “You can say it. I was mean for no reason,” you said. You peeled the silver dress off of your body and shivered. Felt like shedding snake skin. That was the last thing you needed to visualize. 

“It wasn’t…not..for a good reason,” Mirage said.

“It was out of line,” you said. You didn’t typically feel guilty this soon after pulling the diva card. It usually took a few days. After you were half deep into your favorite bottle of wine with only Mirage and Joya as your company.

Joya handed you a pair of leggings, an oversized orange sweater, and a pair of socks. You quickly got dressed, pulling your hair into the best ponytail you could manage. She handed you a hat and a pair of sunglasses. You sighed, feeling more like yourself. You liked dressing up in your costumes for the tour, liked getting pretty like the dolls you used to play with. But there came a time when you just wanted to pig out in a pair of sweats or shorts. 

You slipped on a pair of tennis shoes and Joya draped the silver dress over the back of the couch. She took out her planner, flipping to a sticky pad that she scribbled a note on. She stuck the paper to the door of the dressing room.

Terry looked you up and down, noting your wardrobe change. He looked at Joya and nodded and she giggled breathlessly. 

“Look, Terry,” you began, ready to own up to what you did. 

“We’re good. Stay on me, okay?” He asked. 

You nodded. Terry used his full height to stalk down the hallway. You avoided looking at your dressing room. At the…you were going to be sick. Your stomach twisted as you passed the room, passed the police. 

“I already talked to them. They know about the, um, you know. They won’t need to question you,” Mirage said.

“Thank God,” you said. 

Terry pushed and ordered people to move as he led you out of the studio and to the black truck parked in the connected parking lot. He opened the door for you and you paused before climbing in. 

“I’m sorry about what I said. Truly,” you said. Terry’s eyes defrosted a fraction. He glanced at you and nodded. 

“We’re good,” he said. 

You nodded and hopped in the car. Mirage and Joya hopped in on the other side. Terry walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in, pulling out of the driveway just as the first news cameras were arriving. 

You sighed and leaned against the backseat. “Great thinking, Joya,” you commended. 

“Thanks, but it was Mirage. She made the point that the press was going to have a field day and I took off,” she said. She had her pen and phone out, staring down at your calendar. 

“I called ahead and told them that we were going to be late because of what happened. They said they can move the shoot if you–”

“No. I can’t slow down,” you said. Your schedule was held together by glue, paperclips, and chewing gum. Together with Mirage, you managed to carve out true rest periods. Slots of entire hours where you didn’t have to go anywhere, didn’t have to smile at this, or endorse that. 

Your mind drifted back to what you told Terry in the studio. All you ever wanted to do was sing. You watched countless videos of your favorite singers, sung your heart out whenever you had the chance, snuck and took singing lessons because you knew that this was where you wanted to be.

Hollywood never showed the uglier parts. The parts where it felt like there would always be a thousand hands crawling all over your skin. Thousands of fans taking it too far. Sending you disturbing videos of either their tiny dicks, feet, moles, chest hairs, or telling you how much you sucked at singing. They said you were overrated. Mannish. Too full of yourself. Every one of them had a different fantasy of you in their heads. Every one of them wanted a piece of you. And whoever this maniac was, they weren’t going to stop until they succeeded in killing you. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. It might be time to step down from singing for a while,” you said.

“What! Noooo. Why? Because of this loser?” Mirage asked. 

“It’s everything. I’m just so tired,” you whispered. Terry’s eyes flicked to yours in the rearview mirror. Your eyes burned again and you looked away from him. Curse him and his damn hypnotizing eyes. 

Terry got you to the photoshoot without breaking any traffic laws. But he was close. He escorted you to the door, a steady presence the entire way. No one was getting through Terry. That thought put you at ease as you turned your mind off and went back to the doll everyone wanted you to be.

Hours later, Terry was at the receptionist’s desk at the hotel coordinating your move. You were switching hotel rooms, again. You were packed up and loaded up into the truck, again. You were checking into a different hotel, classier than the last, under a different name and was once again in the elevator with Terry by your side. 

He hardly carried a duffle bag. A small thing that looked silly bouncing against his big ass. Terry escorted you to the room, dropping his bag to the floor. He unsheathed his gun and pressed it close to his body. 

“Wait here,” he said. He opened the door with the keycard and let himself in first. He turned on the light and swept through the entire suite, checking behind every nook and cranny. You followed behind him anyway. Even if your stalker did manage to find the place, there was no way he had enough time to set a trap. 

Terry came back into the foyer and stopped up short when he saw you looking at the complimentary wine bottle. You read over the standard hotel note. “I told you to wait outside,” he said and put up his gun. 

“I’m tired and I want to lay down.” You waved him off. What you really wanted to do was take a hot fucking bath and bawl your eyes out. The “later” had finally come and you wanted to break down in peace. 

Terry moved to the door and grabbed his duffle, bringing it inside. He closed and locked the door, putting on the safety latch for good measure. He slung the duffle over his shoulder and walked to the adjoining suite door. He opened it and then stopped across to his side of it.

“I’ll be right on the other side if you need anything,” he said. You leaned against the open door and gave him a small smile. 

“Thanks, Terry. For today,” you said.

“It’s my job right?” He asked.

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?” You asked. 

Terry smiled tightly, like he wasn’t quite used to it anymore. “Not a chance, princess,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes again, pinching your lips together to keep from smiling. All it did was bunch up your cheeks and give away the rising heat in your cheeks. “Goodnight, Mr. Terry,” you said.

“Goodnight,” he said. He closed the door and you stood on the other side of it. Wondering what it must be like to know him intimately. To know what made him smile or laugh. What made his eyes light up with joy. Or what brought such sadness to his eyes. 

You wondered what it would be like to fall into his arms, easily, readily, and have him embrace you like you were the most precious thing in the world. For a brief moment, you let yourself daydream. Let the fantasy take shape in your mind.

That was a much more comforting image to hold onto than the crushing weight of the day. You turned away from the door, heading to your side of the suite. You entered your room and ran yourself a bath.

The room steamed up with heat from the bath you ran. The clawfoot tub was pristine, with an ornate faucet. The rug underneath felt like clouds. You focused on the strangeness around you. 

The few trips you did take were nothing like this. You stayed in nice hotels, hotels your family was able to afford, but not like this. It didn’t stink like mold. The opposite. There was some kind of subtle, expensive perfume in the air. 

The bathroom was so spacious, you could fit three clawfoot bathtubs in it and still have room left over. You were in the lap of luxury and it felt like a gilded cage, designed to keep you in a perpetual state of “other”. Temporary. In the world but never of it. 

You turned off the hot water and swirled your hands through the foamy bubbles. It was the perfect temperature so you took off your clothes, threw on a bonnet, and sank in. The heated water was a welcome balm, soothing the tension you carried in your body. 

The tears came too easily, just under the surface. It slipped down your cheeks and you finally let yourself break down. Allowed yourself to feel the stress and loneliness of the day. You had one of the most horrific days of your life and everybody who mattered already knew about it. 

There was no one to vent to. No one who wasn’t already on your payroll. And to be honest, that hurt most of all. 

Ya'll know what I'm about. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

Taglist: This skyrocketed LOL. I love ya'll, so so much!

@planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide

@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00

@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva

@avoidthings @lovedlover @blackgurlnhermoods @flydotty @sageispunk

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[parentheticalaside]

My dream for the election is that it’s definitive. I want a 2012-style Election Day where everyone built it up beforehand to possibly be close but then the results start rolling in and it was like “Oh, nevermind. It’s obviously Obama. Everyone go to bed.”

I just want voters to put a stake right through the heart of Trumpism so that it crumbles to ash before our eyes. That’s the dream.

[gingersnapwolves]

like to charge, reblog to cast

[harmshake]

Featuring: Roman Reigns x Ivy (Black Fem OC) Word Count: 11k Warnings: 18+, NSFW, language, angst, mentions of death/funeral, smut. Sorry for the delay but as you can see from the word count...this chapter is a beast. Happy Halloween! 🩸

Happy reading! Read more Roman fics by me or msbigredmachine, if you'd like! ✨

One week was starting to feel like an eternity when those seven days lacked the sight of Ivy and Zaia. His woman, whether she wanted to admit it or not, Angelo loved her like she was meant to be his wife. Sure…it took him time to get his head on straight and show it. And sure…he still wasn’t perfect at it. But it was the liquor that tried to make him meaner, angrier, than who he really was, that’s what his AA sponsor had told him, but damn it…Ivy still wouldn’t let him make things right. And now she wouldn’t even let him see his babygirl who he didn’t mean to hurt. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. 

He was just so fucking heated that Ivy had the audacity to allow a stranger to be so close to her, to their daughter, just because he was a classically handsome nigga. Something about that face of his put a small chill through his heart, even as he felt his blood boil when they fought last week. But none of that shit mattered now. Ivy seemed to have chosen that meathead over him, blocking his number so his apologetic texts couldn’t even go through. He had a key to her house still but he didn’t bother showing up when he feared the woman had changed the locks or put a restraining order on him considering the volatile look in her eyes last Angelo saw her…and the fucking evil look on Roman’s face like if he caught Angelo near that house again, he’d go missing.

And it wasn’t like Angelo was scared of that big ass nigga, but more so he felt something instinctive about his safety, something that made his blood curdle when it tried to heat again at the thought of him. Or maybe that was the whiskey burning through him after he tossed back another shot. The bar and lounge he sat in was a bit crowded for a Thursday night, warm bodies pushed up on him on all sides as he leaned his elbows on the wooden counter with his face in his palms. He let out a sigh, or a grunt, or a burp, he couldn’t be sure at this point. He was wasted, though, that was for sure, the first time he’d been wasted in years. He wanted to be disgusted with himself that he let himself get back here after how hard he worked to sober up and be a better man for himself and a better dad for Zaia…but he was so groggy with that fifth shot of Maker’s Mark that he almost felt nothing, almost numb.

Which was a welcome change to feeling hatred. Hatred for how he unintentionally upset his little girl, how he couldn’t hold her and tell her daddy was sorry. Hatred for how Ivy shut him out instead talking, or arguing, it through like they usually did. Hatred for how the reason seemed to be another fucking man who had no business in their business…

“Ay, gimme ’notha one of thessse,” Angelo slurred to the bartender who was passing by with a tray of shots for the rowdy ass group of older women to his left. The guy took one look at him, sucked his teeth, and shook his head, his short locs shaking with it, before Angelo called to him, “I know y’heard me, man!”

The bartender returned a couple of seconds later with an empty tray and still no drink for him as he spoke over the loud Metro Boomin and 21 Savage song playing throughout the bar, the bass of “Don't Come Out The House” trying to drown him out. “You’re cut off. I told you that after the last one, man. Pay your tab and get outta here.”

Angelo tried to refrain from catching an attitude, tried to reason with him…but maybe his words came out more slurred or hostile than he intended because the next thing he knew, the bartender started reaching for something under the bar like Angelo was a threat. And when Angelo started to reach for him, trying to keep him pulling whatever he had hidden under there by pulling him by his shirt collar after he reached over the bar, security was on him like white on rice, handling him like he was a threat neutralized, tossing him outside until he stumbled into the parking lot.

It took everything in him not to switch around and knock that fool upside the back of his bald head as he walked away because even in the haze of his drunken thoughts, Angelo didn’t want to see a jail cell tonight. But the hatred that still surged in his blood wasn’t wearing off. Matter of fact, that shit just made it worse…and it wasn’t the security guard who deserved the smoke. Nah. That was Roman.

Angelo ran his slightly trembling hands over his white t-shirt that had gotten wrinkled from the altercation, the whiskey starting to scorch through the hatred, or fuel it, as he took a deep, shaky breath to calm himself enough to get behind the wheel and pull up to that meathead’s house across town. His car was on the south side of the bar and Angelo staggered past rows of vehicles, having to grab a few by the trunk to get his bearings when either his Jordans caught on the loose gravel of the asphalt, or when he left the street lights behind him as this side of the building was shrouded in darkness. 

Thankfully he could still see his silver Lexus tucked between two black SUVS in the short distance. He could also see the darkness move near his car, a flit of a shadow fitting itself between his vehicle and the building and out of sight. “...Thuh hell?” Angelo said under his breath and blinked, wiping his hand over his face, a wriggle of shame crawling up his spine that he was so drunk that he was seeing shit like that. Or maybe it was just a stray cat. Either way, he steadied himself and slipped into his front seat, swearing to himself he wouldn’t get pulled over or let Roman punk him again tonight…not when he had the glock under his seat for occasions such as this. 

He got the engine going and got going down the road fast, foot heavy on the gas and brain just as heavy as it sloshed with one mission in his skull, the darkness following him as the road was dimly lit with the sparse street lights zipping past him on the side of the pavement. Only the reflectors on the road glared in his vision with his bright headlights lit his path and Angelo wasn’t sure when even those disappeared, that darkness engulfing his view before it was a wide oak tree consuming it at full speed that his brakes didn’t want to keep him from crashing into. His tires screeched on the dewy grass and soft soil and his shocked yelp just was piercing as his foot mashed the pedal that suddenly wasn’t working no matter how many times he stomped on it…that darkness that was after him surrounding him in an instant as everything went to black.

“The Hartford County Sheriff's Office is asking for the public’s help to find Bianca Belair, a 25-year-old woman who is missing,” Linda, the local anchorwoman, said in a monotone as she sat at her news desk. “She was last seen October 19th at one p.m. leaving her place of work, Planet Fitness on Ellington Road wearing a black leotard and black leggings. Anyone with information regarding Bianca’s whereabouts is urged to contact the Hartford County Sheriff’s Office Central Dispatch or dial 911.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Ivy mumbled as the evening news report she peered down at on her iPad zoomed in on a photo of the missing young woman, her pretty, bright smile and long, braided ponytail falling over her shoulder with the bold, black words MISSING appearing right beneath it. She was glad she listened to the news with her AirPods in her ears so Zaia, who was hopefully fast asleep upstairs, couldn’t hear such scary and sad stories. And what a scary and sad image, someone who looked so full of life was missing and potentially in trouble…or dead. Ivy hated to let her thoughts stray to the worst, but with what happened to that other woman, Rhea, and her unborn child, as well as the several other women who wound up missing and murdered…she prayed Bianca would be found safe and sound and soon. 

She sank further into the cushions of her couch and took a sip of her evening hot tea, a blend of lemon and chamomile, usually the perfect after-work potion to relax her nerves when the hospital could be so busy and yet bleak at the same time, but the soothing flavor in her mug didn’t do much soothing with that news still on her screen before it flashed to another. 

“A suspected drunk driver is dead after his car crashed five miles south of the VIBES Bar and Lounge on Thursday night,” Linda said and Ivy shook her head as she tucked her knees to her chest, balancing her iPad against them as she cradled her warm mug in her hands. “Emergency responders were dispatched today after multiple 911 calls reported a crash on the side of Maple Avenue. Upon arrival, they discovered a vehicle, a silver Lexus, had collided with a tree with one person found inside the car, identified as Angelo Harris, aged thirty-three, who was pronounced dead at the scene.”

The mug of tea in her hands nearly spilled into her lap as Ivy suddenly felt numb from the neck down, and yet somehow she felt a vicious shudder slither through her body and sink into the pit of her stomach until she felt violently nauseous, ripping out her AirPods because she couldn’t hear the rest of the story. She wanted to gasp, scream, cry, but all that left her lips was a feeble gurgle that housed her shock. Angelo was…dead? How? He was just in her house last week. He was drunk? He hadn’t drank in years.

And if that feeling of him being in her life and out of it just as fast wasn’t already making her sick, it was the wriggle of the slightest of slight…relief. Ivy didn’t hate the man and certainly didn’t wish death on him, but the stress he had been putting her through was going to send her to an early grave, she was sure of it. It’s why she banned Angelo from ever coming near her or her daughter ever again, especially after he confused and hurt the child with his stupid rage. Yet to hear that he had fallen victim to a drunken accident…it made her feel like maybe she pushed him to it—or maybe he pushed himself to it after the stunt he pulled last week. He was getting more explosive, more angry, and less easy to manage. Maybe his relapse was bound to happen…but Christ, a car fatal wreck?

Ivy shut her iPad off and tossed it to the couch before she all but slammed her mug to the coffee table before she leapt up and down the hall to the downstairs bathroom, her thoughts a fucking jumbled, guilty, sad, anxious, horrified mess, just like her stomach as she threw herself to her knees in front of her toilet, bracing the lid and hunching over. Except the churning bile didn’t come up, only hot, stinging tears that came down from her eyes and dribbled from her chin as she let out a sob. A part of her felt bad to even cry because before she heard that news, she was still grateful about her decision to kick Angelo out of her life…but the other part of her felt the abrupt and disgusting grief of losing a person she once cared about—about her daughter losing her father.

Zaia. How on earth was Ivy going to tell her baby that her daddy was gone? She couldn’t think straight enough to form thoughts let alone words, her tears choking her up as she struggled to quiet herself lest her daughter or Duchess wake up to investigate the noise. But noise sounded from beyond the bathroom, anyway, her cell phone bleating with what she inherently knew was a call from Gemini who definitely was watching the late news and saw the same story. And then another sound blared out, three heavy and steady knocks at her front door, the sudden cacophony in her head and now in her home making her sick to her stomach all over again. 

Ivy couldn’t imagine who it could be as Gemini couldn’t be here that quickly, and she silently prayed it wasn’t Roman, her new, next door neighbor who she hadn’t had the nerve to speak to much in the last week after the physical altercation he got into with Angelo. It wasn’t for a lack of trying on his behalf as he’d left her a hand-written apology letter on what felt like an expensive stationary of weighted paper in a cotton envelope, followed by a couple bouquets of white and pink roses. Yet none of it made Ivy feel ready to deal with a new man in her life when she finally got through dealing with the old one. And absolutely not now.

However, when the knock persisted, a woman’s voice trilled through her door. “This is the Hartford Police Department. We’re here to speak with Miss Ivy Jones regarding Angelo Harris.”

Ivy rubbed at her puffy eyes and cheeks with the back of her sleeve before she scrambled to her feet, flinging herself to the mirror above the sink to check if she looked somewhat presentable as she wasn’t expecting visitors at ten p.m. on Saturday, especially not the fucking cops. They made her nervous, even though she never did anything to make them wary of her, yet she found herself frantically tucking her curly flyaways into her messy top knot, smoothing her shaky fingers along her black sweater, and trying to walk at a normal pace and look normal when she opened the door to see an older, brunette woman and bald man behind her in their blue uniforms standing there with stern looks on their faces.

“Are you Ivy Jones?” the woman officer asked after glancing down at the clipboard in her hands. 

“Y-yeah. I am,” Ivy blubbered, snatching her sleeves over her knuckles to blot at her watery eyes again. The woman’s steely line for lips shifted into a softer sort of grimace to see Ivy visibly disheveled before she flipped through the papers on her clipboard, the officer behind her pointing a flashlight over her shoulder to provide a little more light than Ivy’s porch lights. 

“I’m sorry but we’re here to deliver bad news. Your partner Angelo was killed in a car accident three days ago.” The woman officer paused as she waited for Ivy react, step aside, do something, but Ivy felt stuck, her feet in her fuzzy slippers grouted to her wood floors, her eyes fastened to the dark space behind the officers’ heads, and her head bogged down in too much noise to even hear the officer properly, her thoughts and phone still ringing like a shrill cry for help. “You wanna answer that, ma’am?” the woman officer offered in a soft tone and Ivy blinked twice before she nodded and ripped her feet from where she stood to trod over to her couch and grab her phone.

Fresh tears brimmed her eyes when she saw Gemini’s name and the five missed calls from her as another one came through, and Ivy let them marr her face as she answered and heard her best friend try to soothe her before she could even say a word, likely hearing her subtle snivel on the line. “I am so, so sorry. I can be there in twenty minutes if you want the company, love.”

“Yes, thank you,” was all Ivy could muster up through her tears so thick they clogged her throat. Hearing her best friend’s calm voice amid the chaos gave Ivy a bit of solace, even for that brief call before she hung up and let the police talk her through Angelo’s accident before delivering her a copy of his death report since he had her listed as his next of kin. And she would need every single bit of that solace as she contemplated how to talk her babygirl through what just happened tonight in the morning. 

She made her way upstairs now, tiptoeing as she neared Zaia’s bedroom and slowly twisting the doorknob to not make a sound and disturb her as she poked her head in to look at her sleeping peacefully, thankfully not disturbing Duchess, either, who only lifted her tiny head a tad to witness Ivy gently closing the door behind her. However, when she was halfway down the stairs, another, quieter rap upon her front door made Ivy’s head hurt again as she wondered what the cops had forgotten to speak with her about. She longed for the night to just be done, a gargled, exhausted sigh leaving her lips as she pulled open the door. She swallowed that sigh against her will, though, heart aching in a new, mangled way when she saw it was Roman on her porch, instead. 

“Ivy…I just heard. I’m…I’m sorry.” The depths of his deep voice reached his eyes, dark, deep, and gazing down at her through a lock of his loose, long hair, a remorse in them that she felt try to shudder her bones as he stood before her tall but almost crouched in his position. Wide shoulders sunken and big hands buried in the front pocket of his red, Nike hoodie. His bearded chin downturned with a slight clench that worked through his jaw as he studied Ivy studying him, the surprise on her face to see him seeping out of her slowly as his sympathy for her seeped in. She could feel it, feel how sorry he was not just for Angelo’s accident, but for what happened last week. Sorry that he was part of her troubles, sorry that he upset her enough that she didn’t want to see him, and sorry for Angelo’s demise.

And Ivy knew it to be true, his letter and roses still tucked away in her bedroom, the card lying facedown on her vanity dresser and the flowers in the glass vase they came with and perched on the opposite side. But things between them were just…awkward. And now unsettling as neither of them could have predicted that this would be the way Angelo would stay gone from her life. Something that she had felt Roman wanted to help her with before he put hands on the man, and now she found herself slipping her hands around his waist after a small step towards him, his own hands carefully slipping up her back until he cradled her to his chest, her face hidden in his as she freely wept into it.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” Roman whispered to her again, his warm breath wisping through her hair before he rested his cheek there as he held her as she cried, wordless, aching sounds rasping out of her and muffled by his hoodie as everything and nothing made sense all at once. This man, by all means a stranger, comforting her and that comfort feeling familiar to her, giving her a different taste of the solace she desperately needed. The ugly guilt of that peace wrapped up in him tried to make Ivy cry harder, but Roman’s fingers stroking little circles along her spine tried to soothe the rattle in her bones. 

In the haze of her tears and fears, it felt like another breakthrough of sorts. Just like that moment they shared in her backyard as they held hands…that even in such scary and sad times, there was a glimmer of hope and healing to be found in the seconds that ticked away. Those seconds turned into what felt like minutes as Roman let her cry and cling to him for as long as she wanted, until Ivy glanced up at him with glistening eyes and asked quietly, “Do you want to come in? It’s cold out here.”

Truth be told, she hardly felt that autumn chill with his heat surrounding her, but the goosebumps on her bare legs in her pajama shorts told a different story. Roman nodded once, his full lips tucked in between his teeth as if to lessen a hopeful smile as he followed her inside, the heat of her home almost waning in comparison to his when they settled onto her couch and he put his arm over her shoulder, nestling her to his much bigger and muscular body that she could feel tense up beside her as she rested her head on his chest. It made her wonder if that sudden stiffness in him was because he, too, felt that odd coiling of sin to be so close with a person he’d essentially just met…and yet that coiling of curiosity and warmth kept them close, anyway.

He cleared his throat, Ivy’s eyes on his Adam’s apple shifting and his hand coming up to run over his mouth and grayish beard, his other hand on her arm with fingers still stroking in those little circles, pacing slower now, his voice somewhat gruff and cautious when he spoke softly. “I don’t wanna say the wrong thing here…but I just wanna let you know that I’m here for you. I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about…and I know he wasn’t someone who made shit easy for you, but still. I know you cared about him. In your own way. And I’m sorry, Ivy.”

The apology, like the ones he belted as they stood outside, felt strangely two-pronged to Ivy. Maybe it was the repetition or maybe it was the remorse she still felt in his tone, something lingering in the bass of it like maybe…he felt the same as she did. Sorry that Angelo was dead and sorry that his death was the end to her headaches. That shudder tried to make its way through her again, Roman felt it for certain because he squeezed her to him a little tighter. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Ivy heard herself say, her eyes distant even as they fixated on her abandoned mug of tea, ice cold on her coffee table as Roman’s warmth did the job the little beverage was meant to do. “For not speaking to you after…after all that shit went down. You were just trying to defend me.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You were only tryin’ to protect your peace,” he reminded her before she felt the tips of his thick fingers beneath her chin to steer her gaze to his. Something a little heavier than remorse swirled in his brown eyes, perhaps more akin to disgrace, like he felt the weight of his actions last weekend nearly crush any goodwill he had built with her. Something she felt heavy in her chest as her heart thudded with his eyes on her like this, looking at her in that way of his that both made her feel his sincerity and his longing to make it right. Roman’s thumb brushed below her bottom lip, his lips already closer than they should be to hers as he searched her eyes to see if she’d accept his next words as the truth. “I need you to know I’ll never treat you like he did. I’ll never put you through anything like that again. Ever.”

His vow touched her lips with his hushed breath she felt on her cheeks, the scent of mint and his cologne filling her nostrils, filling her head with placid thoughts for the first time tonight. Like how hope was closer to her than she thought. Like how soft his lips were when they met hers. So close that their noses nudged together, his skin and even the hairs of his mustache soft as his mouth moved with hers, a delicate kiss that made a delicate smacking sound as Ivy instinctively leaned into him, chasing more of that warmth, her and Roman’s breathing just as delicate until it deepened with a hitch as she slid her hand up his chest, as his hand on her chin slid around to the back of her head, locking them in that delicate moment before a knock at her door erupted the contained silence of her living room.

They faltered back from each other, Ivy’s heart racing and the blissed look on Roman’s handsome face revealing that his was, too, but he composed himself first and quite quickly, a grave look brewing in his eyes as his brows furrowed. “Is that the cops again?”

“No, no…that’s gotta be Gem. She was on her way here,” Ivy replied, slipping off the couch to head to the door and hiding from him her own eyebrows knitting together at the uncomfortable yet thankfully fleeting feeling Roman’s reaction gave her. And when she swung the door open to let in her best friend, she expected the feeling to dissipate altogether as Gemini wrapped her up in a hug…but the embrace was just as fleeting when she spotted Roman on her couch some feet away.

“Oh…hey, Roman. Didn’t expect to see you here,” Gemini greeted him curtly but still plastered a pleasant grin on her face as he approached the women in Ivy’s foyer. Gemini’s eyes flashed to her with a wariness that only she could read and Ivy did her best not to roll her tired eyes because now was not the time for her friend to exercise her judgment of Roman who was only here to support her like she was. 

“He was just leaving...just came over to see how I was doing,” Ivy said after Roman waved two fingers at Gemini with a polite smile that seemed to unnerve Gemini more for some reason. Ivy looked to Roman with regret swimming in her eyes to essentially shoo him away, especially with his kiss still shimmering on her lips, but he seemed to understand as he nodded along to her suggestion, despite Gemini watching him like a hawk as he stepped towards the door. But he didn’t walk through it without turning back to put his arms around Ivy for one last hug…and one last delicate kiss that he planted on her forehead before glancing at Gemini and bidding them both a good night.

Roman was careful to keep the glance simmered, not a glare like it could have been as Gemini wasn’t so careful with how she glowered at him, but regardless, the message was sent. He was going to be a part of Ivy’s life now whether her best friend liked it or not.

Funerals weren’t occasions Ivy attended often, not with Zaia in tow who was bright and understood the dreary meaning behind such occasions. The atmosphere of them was too suffocating and grim and she hated to be engulfed by it in a church where the spirited gospel music tried to encourage a lighter feeling than the one twisted up and gnawing in her stomach. But Ivy hated even more that her little girl had to feel the same twisting and gnawing as she sat in her mama’s lap, her small, round face stained with tears that hadn’t stopped flowing since she had to sit her down and tell her that daddy was with the Lord, her small whimpers in her ear as she clutched a Kleenex that she had given to her but her baby didn’t use as much as she cried into the lapel of Ivy’s black, collared dress as she held her. 

It broke her heart into a million pieces all over again, reliving the news of Angelo’s death through Zaia as her daughter tried to process it the best she knew how: Clutching onto her mama for dear life and shielding her face from the new horror that confined her. Ivy would hold her for as long as she wanted, carrying her as they huddled into the black limo Angelo’s family sent to her home to pick them up for the services; carrying her as they filed inside the chapel and viewed the closed casket as Ivy learned from his cousins who would talk to her that his parents, who handled the funeral arrangements without her, decided it was the best decision since he didn’t look the same after the horrible accident; and carrying her into the church annex where the repast was taking place.

Just as Ivy despised funerals, she despised being surrounded by most Angelo’s family, their self-righteous scowls and downright shrewd stares upsetting her as they watched her sitting with her baby still on her lap when they found their own table with Gemini mercifully at her side…and Roman at the other. Angelo’s relatives, and especially his Christian and overbearing mother, were never too fond of her for not accepting him into her life with open arms—even though they were all aware of the bullshit he put her through time and time again. Instead, they always treated Ivy like the issue, like Angelo’s drinking problems, his struggle into sobriety, and now maybe even his death, was her fault because she didn’t love him unconditionally like they did. 

“We can leave whenever you’re ready. I think you going to the funeral to pay your respects was doing more than enough,” Gemini mumbled in Ivy’s ear after a reproving glance around the room, her hand covering her mouth. The annex was a bit noisy with the clattering of forks on plates, gloomy chitchat, and the like, but even her best friend knew she couldn’t be too sure about who was eavesdropping in on their conversation since it felt like all eyes were on them and who Ivy decided to bring as her support system. And it wasn’t like Gemini didn’t try to warn her, yet she didn’t fight her on it, either, because she wanted her friend to have all the support she could get during this time.

Ivy shrugged her shoulders, half to gently readjust Zaia’s chunky, black bow headband and keep her cozy as she had fallen asleep on her and half to Gemini’s proposal, looking at the barely touched plates of baked chicken, mac and cheese, and greens Gemini had made for her and Zaia. She was seriously contemplating it as she spotted Angelo’s mother, Gloria, who had been talking with the pastor who presented Angelo’s eulogy but was now starting to walk towards them, making her stomach twist again. She felt herself bristle because she was certain the woman had nothing consoling to say to her, not with Gemini already staring her down right back and with Roman, a random-to-her man at her son’s repast, not even his funeral, in his black, three piece suit, holding her hand on his lap beneath the table that wasn’t obvious unless she was intending to glare at it.

“You really have some nerve, you…you harlot,” Gloria hissed at Ivy, the slits of her eyes zeroing in on Ivy before they appraised the man next to her with disgust. “My son isn’t even in the ground before you bring another man around his child! God is ashamed of you!”

“Who do you think you’re talking like that in front of your grandbaby?!” Ivy hissed back, keeping her voice a bit more restrained than Gloria’s to avoid more eyes swarming their way but it was too late. And even then, her voice was drowned out by Roman’s who abruptly spoke at the same time as her, much to her surprise as the bass of it was commanding yet calm and made Gloria’s eyes snap to him. 

“You’re way out of line usin’ that language, ma’am,” Roman said, fingers flexing softly around Ivy’s when she tried to squeeze his and make him hush. Yet he had that grave look in his eyes that she recognized from last week when they were on her couch…a look that made Gloria’s mouth fall open slightly, with awe or fright or both as he continued, “This woman did all she could for your son and that includes bein’ an amazing mother to your grandchild. It’s not her fault what happened to him…and it’s not your concern how she chooses to cope with his tragic mishap.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Gemini hopped up then when Gloria looked like she was about to screech or swing as the older woman raised her hand too close to where Ivy sat before her best friend stood in between them. She glared at Gloria in her big, black and white church hat and chided her, “I suggest you lower your hand outta my friend’s face if you wanna keep it,” but she also turned to chide Ivy as she added, “Get up and let’s go. Now.”

It was like that suffocating and grim air got sucked right out of the room and into Ivy’s lungs as she gathered up her baby, her Gucci mini handle bag, and Roman who followed behind her with Gemini leading the way to the parking lot of the church, those eyes of his family and Gloria burning holes into their backs, leaving Ivy gasping with a fit of rage, despair, and frustration she couldn’t put into words. Gemini took Zaia off her hands to carefully lay her down in the backseat of her Mercedes-Benz before she took Ivy into her arms next.

“Let’s get you home, babe. Y’all are riding with me,” she said to her friend as Roman loomed behind them with his eyes on his black leather loafers before they shot up to meet her glare. That same, simmering, not-a-glare but not-a-kind-look in his eyes as Gemini all but held Ivy away from him.

“I’m parked on the other side of the church…I’ll see you later, if you want, Ivy,” Roman inserted his words as a soft coo, his hand on Ivy’s lower back as she shimmied free of Gemini’s hug to give him one, too, before they parted ways. Both of them being there for her meant the world to her, even if she knew Gemini wasn’t particularly pleased that Roman was allowed in her space on a day like today. 

But what her friend failed to realize, and what she would explain to her when they got back to her place, is that it wasn’t like Ivy was doing anything intentionally malicious, especially not like Gloria had insinuated. She still felt that ugly guilt, that bitter bile on her tongue because she felt solace in Roman, from his kiss, one that she didn’t let happen again since the first one for that very reason. Her attraction to the man, her hopeful feelings trying to spring up from the soil of grief that was sown against their will…she had a dozen feelings trying to overwhelm her without her input since Angelo died. Hell, since before he died.

The sadness, the relief, the hope, the comfort…she needed more of the comfort lest she spiral to a place where no one could find her. And if that comfort was a sin just because it happened to be in the arms of her new friend who was a beautiful and charming man, then God would just have to forgive her. Eventually, so would Gemini.

Yet after they both watched Roman pull away from the church in his black Maserati, the tinted windows of his car masking if he was looking at them as they looked after him zipping down the road, Gemini surely looked to Ivy with nothing vague about her worry as they sat at her kitchen island with the half-full bottle of wine she’d brought over the other day. It was only after they got Duchess to settle down with fresh food and water in her doggy bowls and got Zaia settled into her bed for a nap, Ivy silently thanking Jesus that her baby mostly slept through one of the worst days of their lives. 

“I appreciate you being here for me, but Gem…I don’t like that look on your face,” Ivy vocalized in a concerned utter. Gemini didn’t even try to fix it and instead let the slight wrinkles of her forehead deepen as she frowned at her friend. The lavender tips of her nails anxiously tapped against the bowl of her wine glass before she let out a sigh, and Ivy braced herself for what she had to say.

“I just…I don’t like this, bestie. You know I love you and all I want is to see you and Zaia be okay…but I’m feeling like something isn’t right. With Roman.”

“Gem, please…I think you’re overreacting.”

“Am I? Listen, I didn’t want to make you feel bad about inviting him to the repast because I understood why you did it…but him accepting the invitation after knowing you a whole two weeks? And then him talking to Angelo’s mom like that? That’s not his place at all.”

“Well, look how she started talking to me! He’s my friend and he was doing exactly what a friend does…stick up for me. It’s the same thing you did, too,” Ivy asserted and gestured to her before Gemini shook her head like she wasn’t trying to hear it.

“Difference is I can do that because I know you. He does not. And we don’t know him like that, either. Like…how can you trust a man who acts like that?”

“Like what?” Ivy folded her arms over her chest and tried not to feel offended because she wasn’t sure what Gemini was getting at exactly. 

“I told you something about his energy is off to me…and when you told me about that fight he got into Ange, it clicked. He acts all suave and charming but you told me he beat that man into a pulp almost in an instant. That’s an impulsive anger that men like him try to hide until it jumps out.” Gemini lowered her tone, then, perhaps to keep her niece upstairs from accidentally hearing what she knew was about to be out of pocket. “And who’s to say it jumped out again and that’s why Ange isn’t breathing now.”

“I’m not listening to this,” Ivy shot up from the barstool, her fingertips pressing into her temples as felt the pang of a dreaded headache try to pierce through behind her weary eyes because what the hell was that connection? It made no sense to Ivy other than her best friend being too caught up in conspiracies that she thought she could contrive another one with a man who had done nothing but try to protect Ivy. She swiveled back around to face her, straining to keep her voice even as she asked, “You know what, no. Answer me this. Why would you want Roman to be the reason Angelo is dead and not Angelo who hurt himself? His autopsy showed that he was definitely intoxicated, triple over the limit, when he decided to drive that night.”

“I don’t want that, Ivy! I’m just telling you to keep your eyes open, baby.” Gemini got up, too, and met her on the other side of the island to put her hands on her shoulders. Ivy knew she meant well, she always did, but her timing hardly felt appropriate when she knew Ivy craved comfort, not a damn conspiracy. But her friend’s brown eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses were on her like she was the only one who truly had them open to see what Ivy couldn’t—like Ivy was too blinded by grief or lust or some uneasy mingling of the two. Like she was the only one who could comfort Ivy the right way as she tried to mutter sweetly, “I’m not calling Roman a bad guy because he did stand up for you. But you can never be too sure where guys like him will point their anger next. We know this because of Angelo. So, just be mindful…okay, sis?”

As much as Ivy wanted to protest that she felt no such energy from Roman, none outside of those little bursts of passion when he wanted to defend her, she didn’t want to extend this lecture. She just wanted to crawl into bed, sleep, and wake up when this day was over. “Okay, sis,” Ivy repeated and let Gemini hug her as she put her arms around her friend, too. And with a promise to check on her later, Gemini left her to rest—but not without a promise to herself that she would dig a little deeper into Roman because it was obvious to her that her best friend would not bother. 

Because one thing for certain and two things for sure, Gemini wasn’t in the Neighborhood Watch for nothing. There were too many women missing or dead in their area lately and something about Roman smelled suspicious to her, the stench too close to her friend for her liking with his home right next door. And as Gemini got home and in front of her laptop in her office to bring up the resources she needed to investigate, like the police’s criminal history search and hopefully Roman’s social media, she swore it would have to be over her dead body for Ivy to be his, or whoever was behind these murders, next victim.

The dark sky would have felt like the morning before the sun if there weren’t stars still littered in the black expanse, Ivy’s eyes on them through her bedroom blinds slanted open, letting her know she didn’t sleep long enough for it to be the next day, the horrid day of Angelo’s funeral still present. She grabbed her phone on her nightstand, the time glaring bright as 11:11 p.m. on her screen before she winced and rubbed at her puffy eyes. 

Her first thought was to climb out of bed and check on Zaia until she remembered her daughter was right next to her, her baby crawling under the sheets to sleep beside her mama because she said she didn’t want to sleep alone. Ivy leaned over to kiss her head and kiss Duchess’s furry head, too, since she snuck her way in between them at some point during the night, before she eased up to stretch and fetch a glass of water for her throat that was a bit sore from the week’s worth of crying and emotion wearing on it. Yet just like that one night, the light glowing through her window from the street lights and her neighbor’s window caught her attention before she left her room. Yet unlike last time, Ivy yanked her eyes away before she could spot Roman appearing in her view or her appearing in his…

She padded down to her kitchen, plucked a glass from her cupboard to fill with water from her Brita filter pitcher in her fridge, and gulped a couple of cool, relieving sips as she entered her bedroom to see her phone lighting up by itself in the darkness with a phone call. Ivy expected it to be Gemini as she put her glass down and picked up her phone, but it was Roman’s name on the screen, having exchanged numbers a few days ago to keep in touch should she “want him for anything” as he put it. Yet when she answered, the soft yearning in his deep, slightly sleepy voice sent an unexpected yet pleasant, warm thrill through her as he said her name and stated what he wanted.

“I notice you’re still up…would you like to come over? I wanna see you.”

“I’d like to see you, too…but I have to stay put with Zaia. Wait, though…how did you know I was up? Are you…watching me?” Ivy spoke quietly, teasingly, because as clearly as she could see his bedroom light, surely he could have seen her kitchen light flick on and off when she was in there moments ago. 

“I saw your light on…and I know you see mine,” he said and she could hear his little chuckle on the line. It made her pipe up with a somewhat startled giggle because did that mean he saw her looking through his window the other day? “Come to your bedroom window. So you can watch me, too.”

“I…watch you do what?” Ivy mumbled in an excited hiss she wished she could contain better as she heard Zaia whimper in her sleep and hoped she didn’t perturb her. Yet as she approached her window once more, drawing up the blinds until nothing was blocking the hauntingly beautiful sight of Roman standing in his window, too, almost made an eep escape from her throat as he looked directly at her with a tantalizing grin on his handsome face. He was fully clothed this time, his hair pulled up into a slick bun with his pajamas consisting of a black tank top that showed off the bulging muscles of his shoulders tatted on one side, hugging his cut torso as it tucked into a pair of gray joggers low on his hips, one of his hands shoved into its pocket as he held his phone to his ear. 

“Nothin’ R-rated. Not like the last time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about...”

“Yeah, right.” They both laughed softly before he said in a hushed tone, “If you can’t come over, maybe we can spend time together like this. If you don’t mind.” Roman winked and Ivy blushed as they locked eyes across the short distance between their respective, dark yards and yet with his voice in her ear, his soothing breathing that was almost in sync with hers, she felt like they were just as close as they were the other day on her couch. 

“I don’t mind…maybe I’ll come over some time this week, too. If my crazy ass work schedule allows it. I have to be back to the hospital tomorrow.” Ivy sighed to herself as she saw Roman frown at her expense, thinking of how she was grateful for her job but not grateful that because of her position, she was rarely allowed time off, even for bereavement. Nurses deserve much better, she thought.

“Take a day off. You’re the boss there, right? God knows you need it as hard as I know you work.”

“I’m the assistant head nurse. Which basically means I do my job and every job the head nurse doesn’t wanna do, soo.”

She heard and witnessed Roman blow a raspberry through his lips and she smiled a bit, especially as he said, “Fuck that. Take yourself off the schedule for this Friday comin’ up.”

“What’s on Friday?” Ivy asked, coiling a few strands of her hair that fell from her bun around her finger. She felt coy to even ask because she had a good idea from how Roman was looking at her with that subtle yet heated glint in his eyes that she could see even from where she stood, could feel smoldering along her skin, too. It sent another heated thrill through her as he confirmed what she was thinking, what she wanted…what she needed.

“You and me. Dinner. I was thinkin’ The Mill on the River. Somethin’ to get your mind off things…escape somewhere as beautiful as you.”

The little, black, strapless dress that Ivy had pulled from her closet was leaving little to the imagination and little to warm her as the fall, evening breeze skirted her skin and shins laced in strappy black, open-toed heels, but at least she had her sage green, faux fur coat to help, as well as Roman’s arm around her waist as he walked with her on the wooden dock bordering the sparkling, black river under the moonlight and fire-lit torches. The bridge led them to the restaurant on the water where Ivy felt in awe to have never dined despite living in Hartford for three years—but it would only make sense because the last man in her life unfortunately never bothered to take her anywhere, and any and all of her free time she spent picking up shifts at the hospital or enjoying her daughter’s company while she was still young and enjoyed hers, too, Zaia calling Ivy her best friend.

Her little babygirl was her best friend, too, her adorable face one she loved to see each and every day, her precious laughs the reason she’d do anything to make her smile, her favorite Disney Princess dolls and video games why she pushed herself to work and provide a life that made her daughter want for nothing. Ivy felt especially indebted to maintaining the life her daughter deserved now that she was the only parent that could, which is why she wanted to feel guilty about using her PTO to take off this one day. She wanted to feel guilty in general, what with being away from Zaia and with Roman’s fingers gently digging into her hip as he held her close when they stood in the lobby of The Mill, the heat of him and in the fine dining room feeling good as they stood enclosed within rustic brick walls decorated with lantern lighting and pristine, white cloths on the tables. 

However, even Gemini had given her grace when she picked up Zaia and Duchess earlier that day, packing her niece, her overnight bag, and the puppy’s kennel into her Mercedes, Zaia’s favorite video games and Duchess’s favorite toys in tow to keep them busy at her house across town and potentially overnight should Ivy want to enjoy her evening with Roman that long. Ivy was shocked that her best friend cosigned the date night after the earful she gave her earlier in the week, but she knew it was likely because she knew deep down that Ivy deserved a night off, just as Roman had said. Ivy knew she deserved it, too…but that didn’t make the complex knot of feelings settling into her heart as she sat across from him during dessert any easier to deal with.

But something about the way he talked, the way the intelligence he possessed extended beyond his work in finance but into philosophy; the way he made her think about life and death; made her laugh to ease the heft of such a conversation; and made her tremble with the glint in his eyes as the lowlights of the room brought out the warmth in them, the chocolate brown of them, staring at her sweetly as he spooned his crème brûlée into his mouth as she dipped her spoon into hers. She felt that knot try to unwind more and more… 

Maybe the glass of Cabernet with her lobster pasta helped, too, as Ivy didn’t drink often because of Angelo. Yet the glass had to be doing its job as the brief thought of him didn’t cloud her mind as it did before, instead it moved along as Roman’s eyes moved from hers to her lips that she licked at when a bit of custard spilled there. He licked his, too, but there was nothing there as far as she could tell, just the plush pink of them as they smiled at her, looking more alluring than usual in his steel gray suit and black shirt beneath that formed to his muscles. And again…maybe that was because of the wine…or because of how he purred across the table to her in his captivating voice, “I don’t want this night to end after dessert…care to join me for a nightcap at my place?”

“A ‘nightcap?’” Ivy asked back, wiping at her mouth with her napkin as he nodded with a small sip of his water.

“An after-dinner drink. Something sweet, like placin’ the cherry on top of a lovely evening,” Roman responded. The idea lingered in her thoughts for a moment as Ivy realized it’d be the first time she’d step foot in his home…finally seeing more of the man who was both getting closer to her heart but still a mystery to it because that was one thing Gemini had right. She didn’t know Roman as well as she could…but she’d like to...

“Yeah, that sounds nice…just one drink,” Ivy stated. “I don’t wanna be out too late and abandon Gem with my babies.”

“Of course,” Roman agreed. And once he paid for their dinner, escorted her to his Maserati, drove them back to their quiet, lush cul-de-sac where the lights of their neighbors were off in the still of the night, Ivy followed him up to his wraparound porch and inside his house where he flipped on his lights to illuminate the space of his home that opened up to sleek wooden floors and a crystal chandelier as hung just above his staircase off to the right. 

Yet after he took her coat and purse to hang on the hook by his door, he led her to the left into a room where there was a glass dining table with marble legs, a design matching the coffee table she remembered the young movers hauling into his place the day she met him. Roman strolled to the glass bar behind it as he grabbed two crystal whiskey glasses and lifted a well-aged Glengoyne scotch from the many bottles on the shelf, Ivy taking a couple tentative steps behind him as she tried not to gawk at the fine taste he had for décor, like the colorful paintings on his walls of mock Jackson Pollock’s—or maybe they were originals considering his income—and the lavish, sterling silver picture frames on the opposite wall near the window.

Ivy couldn’t help but stare at the woman in those pictures, her deep brown skin the same shade as hers, her wavy hair dark and falling down her back like hers did now as she wore it down tonight, and her small waist and wide curves reminding her of her own as Roman had his arm around them in each photo, his chin on her shoulder or forehead pressed to hers, their engagement pictures from the look of them...and from the look of them, Roman seemed to have a type of a woman he preferred…Ivy found it intriguing.

“She’s gorgeous,” Ivy observed aloud in a soft voice before she looked over her shoulder at Roman coming closer with her drink in his hand. She took it from him with a small sip, the bittersweet cherry flavor warming her chest before she added, “I think it’s nice that you honor her memory like this.”

“She was…and thank you. We can, um, sit in the living room if this makes you uncomfortable,” Roman said almost sheepishly as he stood next to her with his drink hovering near his lips as he waited for her response. 

“No, it’s fine. I’d like to know more about her…if you’re okay with talking about her,” Ivy said and he pulled out a chair at the dining room table for her and sat down facing her, his eyes flitting to his photos again before they landed on Ivy with what looked like gentle relief. 

“Elesha was…an angel. Kind to everyone she met and I mean everyone…even people who didn’t deserve it,” Roman said with a small shake of his head and a smile, making Ivy smile, too. “I think that’s one of the reasons it’s so…difficult…proccessin’ how someone so kind, so full of light like that could be taken away by somethin’ so mean and foul. Liver disease. She didn’t survive the surgery to replace the organ.” Roman’s features became wrought with that grief she knew he was still holding on to, grief she knew all too well herself. 

“She sounds like she was incredible. She didn’t deserve that. Neither did you,” Ivy expressed, her mouth feeling raw with a twinge of fear that she was speaking out of turn. But Roman nodded with a sniffle, tossing back the rest of his scotch like he needed it to singe his throat of the pain welling in it. 

“It’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. Even the move here…I didn’t want to leave our house. I lived alone for about a year. But it’s like…we built that house together, you know? Planned to raise a family together in that house. But without her there…I just couldn’t be there without her.”

She slowly placed her hand on top of his when he rested it on his knee, hoping it would lull him as it did before…but when his eyes looked wet with tears she could tell he was trying not to let fall, she pulled him into a hug with her arms around his neck. Roman nuzzled his nose to her neck as he hugged her back and she felt his warm breath there as he sniffled again when Ivy let her fingers swirl on his back in his suit jacket, drawing those little circles he did on her that felt good, calming, praying it would have the same effect on him. 

And when Roman grasped her closer in the hug, nearly pulling her into his lap as he murmured, “Thank you, Ivy,” she knew he meant it and appreciated her like she appreciated him. Like friends who appreciated each other. Friends who pressed their lips to her neck with those delicate kisses she’d been thinking of but didn’t dare ask for or allow herself to want because it all felt like the wrong timing…but his mouth felt right as it trailed those soft kisses gingerly up her throat, along her jaw, and, at last, on her lips for a tender moment before that gaze of his was on hers, intense and heated as they parted, as he confessed under his breath, “Sorry…I’ve just been wantin’ to do that again. Is that wrong?”

“No…s’okay. I did, too,” Ivy breathed back, the air in her getting stolen by the feel of his fingertips slightly digging into the small of her back, by how she wanted to feel them inch onto her hips and maybe her thighs…

“Yeah?” Roman breathed, too, before he rested his forehead on hers, feeling her quiver under his touch as he traced the seams of her dress down her left hip. “I got the feelin’ there was a line we drew after the last time…a line I didn’t wanna cross with everything that’s happened. But…”

His fingers caressed lower now, finding the bare skin of her thigh where it met the hem of her dress. It was like he could read her mind as Ivy watched him watch her eyelids flutter when he teased a finger towards the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. “But?” she tried not to whimper.

“But…if you want this…I want it, too, beautiful,” Roman whispered before he retracted his hand from her thigh to slip around her throat, the surprise of his sudden yet agile grip forcing that whimper she tried to swallow to tumble out. He inhaled it with another kiss that felt as deep as the curiosity still coiled in her belly, spreading to her core like delicious sin to yearn for someone she shouldn’t yearn for right now. But he tasted just as delicious as his tongue curled on hers, sweet like scotch, as well as his words tasting tempting and sweet as he uttered in a growl, “What do you want, Ivy?”

“You. I…want you,” she replied through his kisses, his mouth consuming hers with a hunger yet a sophisticated deft that gave her just enough to desire more. It was almost like it was on purpose, like he was testing if she meant it, testing his grip on her throat with a little squeeze that made her let out a pitiful moan. 

Pitiful because the comfort she craved felt snug with his hand on her, felt hot like his kisses, felt aching like his voice when he grunted back as he suckled the tip of her tongue…it was comfort like this she couldn’t give to herself, couldn’t get from the last man in her life…

“What do you want from me, darling?” Roman’s strong hands fell to her waist, hoisting her up until she sat on the table before him. He remained seated in his chair as he slowly spread her thighs open, just enough that the black lace of her thong peeked at him from beneath her dress, his palms slowly massaging up her inner thighs with wide thumbs nearing the heat that called to him, telling him exactly what Ivy wanted. She gasped with another whimper when she watched Roman’s head fit between her legs, his lips just as delicate on her skin as they were on her upper body, all of her body trembling in his hands when his eyes drifted up to hers as he demanded after each kiss, “Tell…me…I’m listening.”

Ivy couldn’t remember the last time a man asked her what she wanted and waited with patience for her to respond, let alone make her this damn wet with just his kisses and words as she felt the cling of her thong to her pussy before Roman’s lips dipped there for a kiss over the damp fabric. “I want you to make me feel good,” Ivy moaned the honest truth. She’d gone too long with the bare minimum, the good enough, or the almost there. Years of putting another man before herself because she thought it would make her a better mom but it only made her a bitter woman. She wanted—no, needed more. 

And Roman seemed to understand as his lips grazed at her thong and his thumbs hooked at the strings, moaning back, “Lay back then, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

She let herself settle onto her elbows, her mind trying to slosh with a fervid, fuzzy warmth from the nightcap and from Roman as he rolled her thong down her legs, past her heels, and onto his floor before he placed her thighs on his shoulders. The silk of his dark hair swept off his face into his signature bun still felt soft on her skin, as did his beard as he wet it with a kiss that swiftly grew messy from his mouth savoring how she drooled on his tongue that was in no rush to push and flit and thrust and lick and explore the soft folds of her pussy. Ivy wanted to feel ashamed of how her airy moans echoed in the silence of his vast home, but he gave her no reprieve to feel anything but good, so good she couldn’t bother to choke the sound with her hand over her mouth as that hand came down to fondle the back of his head, keep him where his tongue finally curved around the shape of her clit, slow flicks of it widened to make her feel him all over it.

“Taste so fuckin’ good. I knew you would…sweet girl like you,” Roman groaned to her pussy, biting his lip as he looked at her before a mischievous smirk appeared on them. “I think that’s my third or fifth compliment…and you still owe me two.”

“Mmm, fuck,” Ivy bleated instead when he swept his tongue over the pearl of her clit, but he pulled back once more with a cute shake of his head.

“Talk to me nice, baby. Tell me how good I’m eatin’ this pussy,” he commanded, the bass of his voice rolling through her as he held her still in his hands to keep that pussy in his face as he wagged the tip of his tongue along her sweet spot.

“Oh, god…I-I like what you’re doing with your tongue…just like that,” Ivy hissed, her heart pounding in her ears from the rush of sweet blood in her veins as he kept flickering his tongue from side to side.

“One more,” Roman urged her with a sloppy, audible kiss to her pussy that made Ivy want to crawl up the table but his grip on her was tight. She was about to lose her grip on reality as he made her feel unreal…

“You’re gonna make me cum already…Jesus, yesss,” Ivy panted, that heat ever-present between them spiking with the buck of her hips as Roman studied her squirming on the length of his tongue. The look in his handsome, hooded eyes was confident and lethal, like he didn’t need words to tell her to cum for him, letting the ripple of his skilled tongue on her spot and a thick finger carefully nudging inside of her until she clenched around it as he found her other spot do the talking for him. Ivy talked enough for the both of them, anyway, as the heat in her core licked at her like supple flames until she dripped on what had to be the expensive wood finish of his dining room table, fluttering in his mouth as she tried not to shout his name and shouted to heaven how he made her feel. Which felt better than good, better than healing—it felt divine. 

“I—I can’t take anymore. Please,” Ivy whined as her trembling hands in his hair that had been keeping him close tried to push him back. But she felt Roman’s cool breath scatter along her wet warmth with a devious chuckle, his mouth still suckled to her clit before he pulled away with a small slurp for a few seconds.

And only a few seconds when Roman licked at his lips, glossy with her wet, and stroked his finger in her, pulsing until she could only see his knuckle and cried out from the tingle of over-stimulation that tried to make her eyes see the back of her head as he reminded her, “You said you wanted me to make you feel good, right? Well…I’m just gettin’ started,” and brought his mouth back to her.

. . .

The Boy Next Door: Chapter Three

Thanks for reading and thanks again to this anon for the story idea. Your replies and reblogs would be much appreciated if you enjoyed!

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Roman said

😭😭😭

[anglaised]

does this at you

[thetattedstoner]

[msbigredmachine]

Cheat Meal (Roman Reigns)

The OTC is hungry for a whole lot more than just good food.

Pairing: Roman Reigns/Black fem OC

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Based off Roman's TikTok where he complains about his diet😂

Enjoy!

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

gif by @romanreigns

He shoves the last tiny piece of broccoli in his mouth and dumps the plate in the sink with a resigned sigh. The ‘breakfast’ will barely register inside his stomach but it’s the price he must pay to be in the shape he’s currently in, the best he’s ever been in. Even if it makes him miserable and slightly cranky until it’s time for his next bland meal in another couple of hours. 

Retreating to his bed at the back of the bus, Roman checks the time as he waits patiently for his wife to return from the diner across the road so they can head on to their next destination. They’re already running behind schedule with a near two-hour drive still to go. More excruciatingly, he’ll have to deal with the smell of greasy, albeit delicious food that he can’t even look at, let alone eat.

Minutes later, the sound of her perennially cheery voice floats through the air, followed by the driver thanking her for her generosity, having bought him his own breakfast. As the bus restarts its journey, the bedroom door slides open, and Roman does a double take. The yoga pants and tank top he swore he saw her exit the bus in has been replaced with one of his old t-shirts. Nothing else. The outline of her nipples betray her lack of brassiere and that fat, juicy ass of hers jiggles with every step she takes as she places a tray full of food on the dressing table, the small bedroom instantly filling with the aroma of a hearty breakfast. 

“Sorry babe, I had to wait a little bit for my milkshake,” Elise explains, piling pancakes onto a porcelain plate. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Baby, this is not how you were dressed when you left,” he points out, soaking her in as he sits up against the headboard. 

Elise giggles and settles down on the edge of the bed next to him. One glance at the contents of her plate - buttermilk pancakes smothered in butter and honey, a couple of sausage links and two thick strips of bacon - has Roman salivating. “That diet is really fucking with your head, babe,” she jokes, as he rolls his eyes. “I’ve changed into something comfier. All the better to eat my comfort food with.”

“Why you ain’t eating in the kitchen, then? You just gotta fucking tempt me, huh?” He’s not sure which one he’s talking about anymore; the food or her appearance. She looks good enough to eat every time, but she looks amazing either dressed down or in next to nothing. Like now.

Of course, nothing at all is his absolute favorite.

“Cuz I wanna share it with you. Sorry but I don’t have your discipline. Just a day on that dry ass, rabbit food ass diet of yours would fuck me up,” Elise gripes. “And don’t get me wrong. I’m so proud of you and what you’ve done with your body. You look carved from damn marble. But you’ve lost hella weight and it’s making your big ears stick out. I kinda miss my thick neck Daddy. There was more of him to climb.”

“You still climb me with zero problems. And I can’t eat this stuff. You know that,” he laments.

“You say that while you eye-fuck my bacon.” She picks up her fork, cuts into a pancake and daintily takes a bite before moaning in delight. The warm fluffiness of the pancake, the rich, sweet honey, the smoothness of the butter, all come together in her mouth, textures and flavors melding together as she chews and swallows. "Mmm, this is soooo good," she gushes.

Roman grits his teeth and growls sullenly, “I hate your ass right now.” 

“You’re making me feel bad.” Carefully balancing the plate in her grasp, she shifts around and straddles him, and he hisses at the way her ample backside seats flush on his crotch. Sure enough, she has no underwear on. “Daddy, have breakfast with me. You need to eat more. A couple of bites won’t hurt.”

Roman sighs heavily, smoothing his hands along her thick thighs that complement the rest of her thick body. “You know damn well that I can’t say no to you when you call me Daddy.” It’s not a lie either. Three kids in three years and a closet full of Birkins, Louboutins and many other luxuries are proof of this.

Elise muses over her plate and selects one of the large strawberries topping the pancakes. “Let’s start with something sweet.” She offers it to him, seeing him relax upon realizing it’s something relatively healthy.

“Eat,” she instructs.

Roman opens his mouth obediently, closing his eyes as the juice bursts on his tongue, some of it dribbling down his bearded chin. Elise grins as he moans in satisfaction, and she makes him eat the rest, his full lips streaked red from the fruit. Cheekily, she places her own lips on his, tasting the flavor for herself, and smiles triumphantly as he makes a surprised sound but deepens the kiss anyway, cupping the back of her neck to hold her against him.

“Oh, it’s like that?” he asks when she pulls away, light panting punctuating the air between them. His eyes sparkle with lust. “Thought you were only feeding me.”

“I’m multitasking.” Kissing him again, she stabs the fork into another piece of pancake, dipping it in honey and feeding it to him. She loves to do this. It’s her favorite form of intimacy. Her love language, if you will. Taking care of him, pampering him. Her gestures never fail to stir his heart, as well as other parts of his anatomy. “My sweet baby. Feel better? You’re not hungry anymore?” she teases him several bites after.

“Nope. Not for pancakes anyway,” he says. The words are cryptic and shrouded in mystery, that’s until his hand slips between her thighs. At her sharp, indrawn breath, he smiles darkly, flattening his palm so that he firmly cups her sex. “There’s another…delicacy…I wanna feast on.” 

Her husband is insatiable for her. Always has been, and she loves it. Feeling desired and wanted by such a beautiful, high-value man like him does wonders for her self-esteem and their marriage. But after one passionate, bed-rocking round earlier this morning and little food fueling him, she would think his energy is depleted. “Baby, you should rest,” she tries to reason, but he’s adjusting her already, forcing her to put her food away on the nightstand.

“I’ll rest after you come in my mouth,” is his curt, yet loaded answer. And just like that, her resolve is reduced to ashes.

He scoots his big self down the bed until she is seated on his face. Elise barely has time to collect herself when his calloused hands scrape her thighs and clutch her hips to hold her in place. Her body jerks as his tongue finds her folds in record time, lapping greedily. Heat instantly washes over her with a wave of nerves and lust as he works her with that unmatched skill that brings her to surrender. In mere seconds, she is lost in the pleasure, her pussy dripping from a mix of her juices and his saliva, all of it slurped up by his talented tongue.

"Fuck, Roman…” she moans, squirming on his face, her body ablaze. He’s so damn good at this shit, it’s damn near unfair. It feels like her whole pussy is in his mouth as he licks and sucks to his heart's desire. He tightens his arms around her thighs, his massive hands prying her open for further onslaught. The warmth of his breath, the prickle of his beard, his moans against her sensitive flesh has her mind spinning, prompting her to rock her hips in rhythm with his circling tongue, grabbing her breasts through her t-shirt for added stimulation. Her entire being hums with anticipation as her orgasm builds and builds. “Ro, I'm...I…oh fuck, Daddy,” she gasps, unable to string a simple sentence together in the state of bliss she’s in.

But of course, her husband knows exactly what she wants. What she needs. To give it to her, he works harder, incorporating his nose and chin, gliding them back and forth along her wetness, buoyed by the quiver of her thighs as he sends her over the edge. The explosion of her body is of seismic proportions, and Elise slaps her hand over her mouth to muffle her scream, bucking, writhing, whining as pleasure consumes her whole.

She’s still reeling as Roman carefully lifts her off his face and drags her back down. His mouth captures hers with a dizzying urgency, exchanging the sweet tanginess of her arousal. They lick and suck hungrily on each other’s tongues, his hand reaching up to curl around her throat making her pussy spasm with need, so much so that her essence begins to smear the center of his gray sweatpants. Roman looks down at her mess with a proud, arrogant smile, and he lifts his hips just enough to pull the stained pants down his legs and kick them off. He strokes his dick, long, thick and hard, for a few seconds before guiding it inside her.

“Get this dick, baby, c'mon,” he orders, his low, gruff command sending yet another tremble through Elise that he both hears and feels as her breath catches. They moan together as she sinks lower onto him, balancing herself with her hands on his bare, muscular chest. Her hips roll back and forth, grinding on him, keeping him pinned to the sheets while she chases down their collective pleasure. 

He fucking loves it when she’s on top. It allows him a holistic view of the body he's been obsessed with since the day they first met. His big hands roam her front, relieving her of her t-shirt so he can properly idolize her breasts, so plump and pillow-soft as he massages them, gleeful at the way her nipples harden from his touch. He then travels south to grab her ass, enjoying the round, supple cheeks flexing against his palms as she rides him. He grips each one possessively and proceeds to lift her up and down on him, bouncing her on his throbbing erection. 

“Fuuuuck...”

“Nah, you can take it. And not too loud now, we don’t need the driver hearin’ us again, hmm?” Roman taunts, squeezing her left cheek and spanking it hard, earning a yelp from her. His eyes are blown as he studies the expressions on her beautiful face. “My fine ass, sexy ass wife. Climb me like only you can, baby,” he encourages her with soft moans of his own.

Falling forwards, Elise tucks her face into her man’s neck, her breathy kisses warming his skin as she manages to maintain the pace he’s set for her. He’s so deep inside her, nearing her cervix it feels like, the sweet sensations amplified by their chests pressed together, his large hands caressing her with so much love and care and reverence while talking her through it with his deep, husky voice and dirty words. Years together and their lovemaking is still as earth-shattering as their first time, and she appreciates it more than he’ll ever know.

Roman kisses every part of her his mouth can reach, reveling in her increasing moans as he angles his hips, keeping his dick buried in the ocean of her cunt. “Leese, you feel so fuckin’ good…” he groans on her shoulder, licking the butterfly tattoo etched on her skin, “Damn, baby, I could stay inside you like this all day…”

Elise tries to agree with him, but her jaw drops when he bucks up into her without warning, his hands planted on her ass holding her down to take every inch of him. The depth, the intensity and precision of his strokes render her speechless. Her eyes roll back as his lips find her nipples, suckling the swells of her heavy breasts, the wet smacking sounds of his hungry mouth and her gushy pussy sounding around the bedroom. The shit is so good that neither wants it to end, more than content to just remain on the bus and fuck all morning long.

"Daddy," she whines, her fingers sliding over the back of his hair, tangling in the long, soft locks as she locks hazy gazes with him. His brows are furrowed, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth; telltale signs that he’s close, just like she is. "Oh baby, I'm gonna come again..." she whimpers.

"Yeah? Is my girl about to nut?" Roman asks, grasping her chin and brushing their lips together. "Gimme that nut, beautiful. Soak Daddy’s dick with your wet ass pussy," he goads her with another kiss, another smack of her backside. Her pupils are dark and dilated with desire, reflecting the passion he’s feeling. He wraps his huge arms around her middle, and pushing up on his heels, he accelerates, fucking her faster, digging deeper, until her moans dissolve to broken, breathless cries as she trembles on top of him. Her walls milk his dick greedily and trigger his own release. Roman’s groans and curses fill the room, his body shuddering as he empties his load, filling her to the brim. 

With a soft whine, Elise melts on her husband’s heaving body, both parties spent but immensely sated. An eternity passes before either move, Elise reaching over Roman’s prone frame to grab a piece of bacon and pop it into his mouth.

“Good?” she asks, watching him chew on it.

Roman sighs contentedly and rests his head on the pillow. “Mm-hmm. That's another couple added minutes on the treadmill though.”

Elise giggles and snuggles up against her action figure of a husband. “You’ll be fine. And you’re perfect to me already, by the way,” she assures him.

THE END

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

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[msbigredmachine]

Sami, I love you, but this is correct.

[stuart-townsend]

[louisbxne]

VAMPIRE IN BROOKLYN (1995) Dir. Wes Craven

[thebelchers]

[saltyoaktree]

don't want to write I want to think very hard about my fic until it emerges from my head fully formed like athena