"So this is your idea of the ideal Valentine’s date. A no-holds-barred fight against a dragon."
This bloody battlefield is anything but romantic. Choking smoke curls as it rises from charred stone. Littered bullet casings glint in the moonlight like confetti. The overpowering scent of gunpowder thickens the once crisp night air.
"You know what they say: Love is war."
None of this is romantic by far, not in the least, but you've been waiting and yearning for this fight, damn near begging ol' Sylus to oblige you. After all, why have flowery cuteness when there's guts and glory to be won? You want blood and more blood.
Sylus grins, his glowing red eyes flickering to the newest gash on your thigh.
"You've got quite the collection of scratches, kitten. Maybe you should dodge a little faster."
"Dodge this."
He vanishes in the split-second it takes the bullet to reach him, reappearing a foot to the right.
"Not quite."
"You're one to talk. You may not die, but you sure can bleed." You've already hit his shoulder in a previous strike while aiming for his head. His blood is mixed into the dirt. As for you, you're so high on adrenaline that you don't even feel the gashes or burns on your body. You touch the beading blood on your thigh and taste the iron, watching red hot heat flare in his focused gaze.
"Tis a scratch."
"Then come at me," he adjusts his stance.
You lunge first, flipping onto a crumbling boulder before springing with a precisely-aimed killshot. Sylus dodges yet again, but you're already rebounding off a tree and landing a solid kick to his injured shoulder.
"Eat this!"
You've begun to map and time his vanishing, increasing your accuracy, but his grin only widens.
"Now we're getting somewhere," he looms, tall and menacing, his horns casting eerie shadows against moonlit ruins. The massive ruby embedded in his chest pulses like it's got its own heartbeat, and his tail flicks lazily, sending dust spiraling and mixing into the surrounding smoke.
You twirl your guns, lips curving in an impish smirk. "I’ve always wanted to slay me a dragon."
Sylus tilts his head, amused.
“I’ve always wanted to collect a rare aethercore, but I'll settle for a wiley kitten.”
You brace yourself. Without warning, he's launched his attack, claws flexing as he darts fast enough to take down a lesser fighter in seconds. You duck, weaving under his grasp, and aim for the blood-red gem in his chest. Your bullet ricochets, making Sylus arch a judgmental brow.
"I handed that shot to you. How on earth did you miss? Try again."
"Like this?" You blow a shot through his abs. "Villians should learn not to monologue."
His gaze rakes over your defensive stance like a predator gaging prey.
“Impressive... for a human.”
You dust yourself off.
“I suppose one of us is getting our wish tonight,” you tease with a quick cooling blow across the smoking barrel of your gun.
"Enough talk. Finish the job."
He charges one more, and the battle rages, an exhilarating blur of near-misses, acrobatics, and clashing force. Evol gainst evol, claw against gun. Sylus is relentless—so aggressive that you wonder if he's really trying to kill you. You can't lose much more blood, but he's not stopping. No breaks, no pauses, no warnings. You're out of breath, and the adrenaline is wearing off, letting in the pain and fatigue.
"Tired?"
Stubbornly, you huff, reloading. “Please, I can dance circles around you all night. It don't matter to me.”
"Say that again, but try not to pant this time."
With a hard grunt, you strike first and tumble out of the way of his counter. You empty your clip, then fight your way near, so close you can hardly believe it. You strike him with your short blade in his neck while you have the chance.
“Cheap shot," he growls, teeth bared in anguish. He lets out a pained grunt and collapses onto his back with an exaggerated groan. His black and red wings flutter weakly before going still. His tail gives one last, pitiful twitch.
On unsteady legs with burning muscles and wounds, you tower over him and reload, your chest rising and falling with exhaustion.
“Did I… did I actually...”
Sylus moves, and the next thing you know, you're down with a hard, slamming thud--flipped onto your back. His weight cages you and your wrists are pinned above your head.
“Well, that was fun.”
Your breath hitches, in shock and in something else entirely.
Meanwhile, Sylus leans into your neck, his red eyes glinting with mischief.
“Why don’t we call it a draw?”
“Draw? You did say I could try.” In a last ditch effort, you strain to overturn him with your legs and a knee in his groin. You scoff when he grunts, twisting under him, but his grip is firm. “Oh, you smug-”
“My, my, kitten. You do like it rough.”
Your face heats. "This is not a romantic moment."
“Isn't it? It's Valentine’s Day. You've already slayed one dragon...”
The heat and pressure of his lips on your neck and his bulge against your stomach nearly make you forget the choking smoke and fire that surround you. You look from the battleground scene into Sylus’s warm contrasting gaze, and he chuckles, loosening his grip on you just enough to brush his fingers along your wrists.
"I'm not doing this here," you whisper playfully. "Sylus. We both need medical attention."
"Is that so? Then I have some ointment and bandages back at the base. I'll patch you up and take.. very.. good care of you."
With that, he's off of you, but he bends to lift you into his arms, carrying you a few feet until the two of you ascend over the smoke and into the crisp and fresh night air, cool and refreshing.
Sensing a faint pulse of warmth through his skin, you lean into his chest, fully trusting.
“Next time, I'll win.”
Sylus hums, the vibration reaching your cheek as he leans down just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath.
“Next time... I’ll at least pretend to be worried.”
Y’all remember when Wattpad authors and fans used to make edits for their stories and post them on YouTube? Those little fan trailers used to hit so hard. They made us feel the stories in a whole new way. So, I started thinking… why not do the same for Black fanfic on tumblr?
For years, Black fanfic writers have carried this community on their backs, The representation, the storytelling, the way these stories make us feel seen, it’s unmatched. They’ve given us everything, and so I thought this could be like a way to celebrate them in a new way!
Fan edits inspired by Black fanfic.
So I started by making an edit inspired by the Aaron Pierre fics y’all have been writing. (😩🔥) it’s not tied to one specific fic, but I wanted to bring that romantic, sexy, and cinematic energy we’ve been getting from these stories to life.
This is just the first of many.
So what do y’all think? What fics need an edit? Drop your recs, I wanna hear from you! Let’s make this a thing!
Happy Valentine's Day. A simple, wholesome (one-shot) fic.
Reader x Kelvin Harrison Jr
For the past ten minutes, you've debated putting up the giant, red, and silver glittering "Singles get 10% off" sign in your boutique window. On the one hand, it's nearly Valentine's Day, and Reverie--your royal slice of princess-core heaven in the French Quarter--is already drowning in enough lace to make a Bridgerton jealous. Maybe you shouldn't order anymore. On the other hand, what better way to boost sales than by targeting lonely hearts.
"Should I post the sale," you ask the curvy expresso brown mannequin in the window. Her back is to you, but she looks amazing in the baby pink Cinderella gown with the laced bustier top and puffed sleeves. It's a dress of your own creation. You constructed it for a young romance, imagining a prom or cotillion. Even now, you envision some teenage beauty locking eyes with it and knowing immediately that it's meant for her. You adore those moments.
The mannequin, however, says nothing.
"You're horrible at holding a conversation," you tease, deciding to hang your sign in the window. It's a cute sign, why not? If nothing else, it'll draw in the curious--cute couples passing by on their way to dinner at Antoine's. You grin, watching a woman whose eyes are stuck on the display dress as she passes by. She laughs gently at the ground when she realizes she's been caught. Yes, it's only a matter of time before lovebirds line these streets, stealing kisses and sharing beignets. You sigh, suddenly a little lonely as you flip the sign on the door to OPEN.
"It's fine, Manny," you console the quiet mannequin. "Who needs a real boyfriend when I've got five right here on my iPad. You lift it from under the counter of your register, logging onto Love and Deepspace to say hello to your fictional lovers. "Not to mention, Taehyung just released Reve. It's like he knows me. I think he needs me, I can be his Megan."
The sound of the front door chime ends that train of thought, and you slide the iPad back to its place, expecting to see one of your usual customers or a last-minute shopper searching for a unique date dress. Instead, you're met with the strange view of a well-dressed man in a fitted suit leaning against the doorframe with a red long-stem rose between his pearly white teeth. You recognize him as part of a local jazz band that you've seen in various venues. You've seen him on stage, making eye contact, but the two of you have yet to speak.
"Bonsior princesse," he drawls, his voice like warm whiskey. "Tell me," he snatches the rose from his mouth, dropping the accent, "What's a man gotta do to get the singles discount?"
"Oh," you chuckle now that you know he's there to buy. "You must be hoping to live out your prince fantasy, Unfortunately," you lean over the counter. "I only dress princesses."
"Mon cherie, you wound me," he teases as though he may faint.
"And you, sir, are being a menace in my doorway!"
He lets the door close and comes in like he's quoting a Shakespearean play. "I'm but a romantic in search of his fairytale ending. Might you have something in the back? Hmm," he croons, sitting on your counter. You look at him up and down, surprised he'd have the nerve.
"You, sweet prince, are a jazz-playing, silver-tongued devil in disguise looking for an audience."
"Lucky for me, I have the perfect critic," he smiles, handing you the rose. "What do you think? Be my Valentine?"
"Uh," you scoff. "Do you even know my name?"
"I ought to. It took me long enough to track you down. You leave the functions so fast that I do a double-take and see a cloud of dust where you were once standing, and you're hard to get ahold of. Thought I'd have to hire a detective."
You fold your lips at the trueness of his statements.
"Come on, one date. Totally innocent. Save me from the fate of loneliness in a sea of lovers."
"Fine, one date. Should I buy a dress?" You smirk.
"Unless you wanna be underdressed. I plan to be dressed to the nines."
"What color?"
"Red velvet."
"I can handle that," you nod, smiling. So, it's a date. When you woke up this morning, you never would've imagined that someone was searching for you to ask you out on the 14th.
After an afternoon of fitting and selling dresses, you borrow one of your favorite designs that you've altered for this day, a gorgeous red form-fitting mermaid gown with deep cleavage and red lace applique. You meet Kelvin in front of the twinkling lights of the Commander's Palace, finding him faced away in the well-tailored red velvet teddy tux he spoke of. There's a second rose between his teeth, but when you tap him, he's distracted by the sight of you, and it falls back into his hands.
His suddenly sultry eyes trail down the masterpiece that fits to your body with delicate red beading along the bodice.
"My eyes are up here," you tease. "You realize this is insane, right? You stalked me to ask me on a date, and I said yes."
He chuckles.
"Most guys invite you for coffee, not-" You gesture to the restaurant baby blue and white building. With a gentle hand on the back of your exposed shoulder, he guides you inside, whispering his response.
"Most guys are boring. I simply believe a proper date deserves a proper setting.”
The maitre d appears, greeting Kelvin like an old friend and in consistent Kelvin fashion, he has secured not only a table on Valentine’s Day, but a good one. As you're led through the grand dining room, there's a thrill of excitement mixed, of course, with mild suspicion.
It's truly something that one minute, you were entertaining your five imaginary boyfriends, then you were laughing at Kelvin's ridiculous flirting, now you're being seated for your Valentine's reservation at the Commander’s Palace, dressed immaculately across from a man who can also dress. What's the problem?
The two of you have ordered. The table is adorned with fresh roses and candlelight, casting a soft glow against the gold-trimmed walls. You smooth your lap with somewhat nervous fingers, shooting him a sideways glance.
"This is a hit, in case you were wondering. You've done well. So well, in fact, one has to wonder what exactly you're trying to pull.. dear prince," you whisper.
"I thought that would be obvious," he draws nearer. "You."
Your brows raise swiftly, a close-lipped smile spreading. There's that clever silver tongue.
"Just wooing you, mon cherie. No tricks."
Jazz music hums in the background, the notes floating in from a nearby trio, and for a second, you almost forget you're on a date until you remember yourself, seeing Kelvin's eyes, lit by candlelight as they examine you.
"You really like jazz," he observes. It isn't a question.
"I like this song. My mother used to hum it in the kitchen when I was little, twirling around in her house slippers, pretending she was in some grand ballroom." Kelvin couldn't have known that... Could he? You glance up at him suspiciously. "Did you somehow plan this?"
He presses a hand over his heart, clutching. "Princess, you wound me. Do you really think I bribed a poor saxophonist just to impress you?"
"Yes."
Kelvin clears his throat comedically with a subtle grin. "Then, I absolutely did. In asking around about a certain young lady," he glances at you, "I came across her mother, and she may have.. given me a few pointers."
"Ugh," you groan, shading your eyes with your hand. "Why... She and you are so extra."
He pulls her hand down, lacing his fingers through yours. "And yet, here you are still."
"Unfortunately," you sigh, watching him slide from his seat.
"Dance with me."
Slow dancing in the middle of the restaurant like a movie couple on Valentine’s Day is one more thing you could not have foreseen. Head against his shoulder, you sway musically from side to side under the smooth, honeyed sounds of the saxophone.
His touch is light, the right mix of confidence and care, with both arms around your waist.
"How does it compare to K-pop?" He smiles into your ear. "I saw you in your BTS merch. I was surprised because it didn't come with lace or pearls. I surmised you must like them a lot."
"Let's just say if I weren't here, I'd be on a very cozy date with V's album and a bottle of pineapple strawberry Arbor Mist."
Kelvin feigns horror. "You mean to tell me you'd abandon all of this... for a bunch of perfectly choreographed, dangerously handsome Korean men?"
"Absolutey," you laugh.
"Cold. Ice cold... I don't think I want to let go."
"But you will," you smile, pulling back with your hands still around his torso. "Because... I'm hungry and our food is here."
"Touche."
Is this a terrible idea? You still wonder, considering how much you're enjoying this one date. There's temptation to want a second date and possibly a third. Between courses of turtle soup and pecan-crusted gulf fish, you answer various questions about yourself, your interests, and wonder what could top this for a first date. You twirl the gifted long stem red rose in your fingers, looking into his playful gaze.
"So," he says, resting his chin on his hand. "Are you totally in love with me yet, or should I order dessert first?"
Your chuckle beats your words. "You're so dramatic."
"And yet…," he teases, tickled by your rolling eyes. You focus on him.
"A man stands in my shop inviting me on a one-time Valentine’s date that gives me a chance to wear one of my favorite designs. I'm afraid you didn’t leave me much of a choice in accepting. Don't get cocky."
"Hm," he sips thoughtfully, the teasing lilt still in his voice, but gentler. "I'm afraid you've had many suitors and multiple choices." He takes your hand over the table. "You just keep making the right one."
"Hm," you sip, raising your glass in your free hand with a humored smirk. "Touche... and a crème brulee. I'll take that dessert."
"Coming right up."
You chuckle at the quickness. For all his dramatics, Kelvin is quite decent, and he's done something not many men take time for. He's seen and pursued you. Maybe... just maybe... that's enough to let him keep holding your hand. For now.
Alright y'all, when we left off, Jacob's sons had just killed and pillaged a whole city in the name of their sister's honor.
Jacob was worried the surrounding communities might target them so now they gotta find a place to move.
Chapter 35
God says to Jacob: I got a place. Remember when you were running because you thought your big brother, Esau, gonna murk you? I spoke to you in Bethel. Get back to Bethel, then build me an altar.
So Jacob tells his family and everyone under his roof: In MY house we worship the God that's been blessing ME to take care of Y'ALL so all your other gods gotta go RN! Like, NOW! ...Then get fresh and we'll head back to Bethel.
So everyone's like ok true.. they give up their idols, earrings, and trinkets, and they have a lil burial, deading the issue. No other gods, they 6 ft under.
Now they gotta get out of Sheckem and move through Canaan without being targeted by these neighborhoods.
God's like say less and terrifies the neighborhoods so they're too scared to try anything.
They finally reach Bethel. Jacob builds the altar. His mama's servant dies. (Many people say his mama herself has died around this time too)
God speaks to Jacob again: You still going by Jacob? I TOLD you when you fought the angel your name is ISREAL (Jacob was a conniving thief, Isreal was is a man God likes). Now get out there, be fruitful, and multiply. I'm tryna use your bloodline to make kings because I promised yo daddy and granddaddy.
Then his favorite wife, the only woman he really wanted, dies in childbirth. His oldest son sleeps with his sidepiece. His daddy dies of old age. He and Esau have to bury him.
This was the loss I was talking about. Okay maybe it wasn't A LOT but it hurt Jacob as the head of the house in charge of his sons. You can consider it all just life or you can consider some of it a reminder that God has His justice. No one's immune.
In the Old Testament, Jacob and his sons rode for Dinah who was raped while minding her business in the city.
Genesis 33
They'd just moved to a new city called Shechem--owned by a man named Hamor, and his extended family. Hamor has a son named Shechem. I don't know if the city was named after him or if he was named after the city. But Shechem is grown. He a whole leader out here moving recklessly.
So Jacob and his fifty-lem children end up moving in next door. They pay Hamor and Shechem for the land. They start building. Everything should be cool, right?
Wrong.
Dinah was Jacob's baby girl, the sister of the boys.
She was just trying to visit some other women in the city, get a little sisterhood going, mind her business, and here goes this creep, Shechem.
Ambushes her.. rapes her.
THIS NIGGA then has the NERVE to confess to her his love at first sight AFTER he RAPES her.
"You so pretty I couldn't help myself"
Then he tells his DADDY about it like a spoiled brat.
Get her for me. I want her permanently. I wanna marry her!
Shechem obviously hasn't been punched in the face enough times or told NO enough.
Genesis 34
Word gets back to Jacob. Babygirl was just raped in the city by the leader of the Hivites, Hamor's son--Sheckem.
Jacob's like HEARD.. He waits for his sons to get back. They got younger bones and he already got a bad hip from fighting an angel. Hamor and Shechem pop up at the same time tryna make a case for Shechem to take Dinah.
The boys find out what Shechem did to their sister. They're floored. They're seeing red, DISGUSTED and these men are unbelievably still in their house talking about marriage and merging families.
Shechem is desperate.
"Dinah is BAD. Name your price."
This man really thinks he's a love interest and main character. Like he didn't just-- ANYWAY!
Dinah's brothers say YEAH OK. You can marry our sister if you and the Hivites get circumsized ✂️ as is our tradition then we'll merge families and we'll all be TOGETHERRRR!!!!
Shechem's like BET.
The brothers are like..
So Shechem gets cut ✂️ and he makes all the men under him get cut ✂️. They're all on the injured list rn. Two of the brothers ride down and KILL all the men in town, including Hamor and Shechem.
They take their sister and bounce.
The other brothers swoop in and pillage, ransacking and taking everything, dragging away the wives and children.
Jacob's like "ARE Y'ALL YN'S STUPID? YOU WENT TOO FAR.. NOW WE'RE TARGETS TO THE OTHER COMMUNITIES. THEY COULD KILL US."
The bros are like "So we just supposed to stand by and not do nothing to them? That's not an option."
Chapter 35
So now of course the family gotta move again. God tells them go back to Bethel. It's a whole thing, they lose a lot of people on the trip. You could say it's payback for the innocent victims of the brothers, you could say it's just how life is, but RIDE DOWN THEY DID.
So, I saw on Tik Tok a woman said her Google Doc file was locked..... They are apparently locking files with sexual/explicit/mature content. Um.... WTF!
Can anyone else confirm this? I did Google it, and apparently, they can and will lock a file to "review" it. Like is that not a scary thought?
Now that winter had officially intensified, Terry was beginning to enjoy the amenities of the indoors, specifically heat and toilet paper. These things were nice, but they didn't near compare to the great outdoors. Terry still made a regular ritual of escaping his small suburban home to spend a quiet day or two deep in the wilderness.
Camping under the cover of stars at night was priceless. He pitched his tent on the edge of a snow-dusted clearing, his small campfire crackling and glowing orange in the crisp cold night as the forest creatures sang.
Terry was alone, but not lonely in the least. This was his peace. Holding a mug of hot cocoa, he sat relaxed and in silence, warm in his cozy layers, his heavy-duty coat, and boots. He'd almost dozed off when he heard an unfamiliar rush overhead as if something were falling.
"What the-"
His squinted hazel eyes grew to the size of saucers at the sight above.
*Whoosh*
*Rustle*
*Thud*
Terry flinched as a flying chariot blitzed the trees and landed in the middle of his clearing just a few yards away. Terry grabbed his flashlight and aimed it at the scene in question.
The heavy-looking sleigh, painted red with golden trim, sat tilted in the snow, one side embedded into the ground. The accompanying deer stood ahead of it, in two straight lines, sheepish and pawing at the snow under their hooves.
He trudged forward, his heavy boots crunching through the snow. There, at the front of the sleigh, was a young woman in red lingerie and a Santa hat. A woman unlike any Terry had ever seen.
He approached slowly, keeping his attention and his flashlight directly on her. She was half naked, alone, and doing stunts in the dead of winter.
"Miss.. Are you okay?" He called out twice, trying to mask his disbelief. She was whispering to herself. "Miss?"
The woman turned suddenly, her troubled expression transforming into a bright smile. "Oh, thank goodness! Here, help me get out. I could use a little assistance with getting my sleigh free." Her voice was aged like a woman far beyond her 20s, even beyond her 40s. The rhythm of it was pre-civil rights.
He focused on her eyes, but she didn't seem to be manic. Terry helped her out, still unsure if he was hallucinating. "Excuse me? What's going on here?"
"Exactly what it looks like, candycane." She sighed, placing her hands on her ample hips. "Ran out of gas." She gestured to the sleigh. "Would you believe Santa insists on using gumdrops and sweet wishes to fuel this old thing? And guess who forgot to refill the tank before he left me in charge of the Christmas deliveries tonight? All because he couldn't fit his new suit. I told him to lay off the rum raisin, but nooo! And you can't make the man try a thing on! That would be too helpful!"
Terry had nearly forgotten about Christmas. He frowned, confused, wondering if it was an elaborate prank. "You're telling me you're Mrs. Claus?" He asked, blinking.
"Did you expect Rudolph to drop off the kids' gifts? He doesn't have thumbs," she replied with a wink toward the deer, one of them with a nose glowing red. "And you are?"
A quick glance-over told Terry that she was stunning, curvaceous, and toned, with long black hair and rosy cheeks like a black Victoria's Secret angel, not Mrs. Claus.
"Terry Richmond," he said, extending his hand. "You don't look like Mrs. Claus."
"I assume you mean I look better than expected?"
"Yes," he said quickly.
She shook his hand firmly, her red velvet gloves soft and warm with a white trim. "Well, Terry. Is there any chance that you’ve got some fuel in your tent? Or at least a good idea of how I could find some?"
Terry scratched his chin, glancing back at his campsite. "No fuel, but I’ve got a campfire, a phone, and some tools. Maybe we can figure something out?"
Mrs. Claus grinned. "Oh, you’re resourceful, like a little elf. I like that. I have a few sweet wishes left in this pouch, but it’s not nearly enough to lift this hunk of Christmas coal from the ground."
She dropped the red velvet pouch in Terry's palm. It was weighted like it held ten dollars in change, but when he looked inside, it was empty except for what looked like glitter.
"We're so low on sweet wishes, the glow is more of a twinkle," she shook her head.
Terry was again confused... and distracted. He took off his coat to wrap it around her curvy fit body so they could both think, but she rejected it.
"Aren't you sweet, but I don't get cold. It's colder in the North Pole."
The North Pole, he thought, wondering if he'd hit his head and was knocked out cold somewhere in actuality.
"So, why are you out here in the middle of nowhere," she asked, adjusting her gloves and feeding Twizzlers to the deer.
Terry shrugged, getting to work on dislodging the sleigh. Strange or not, he was the only one around who could help her.
"Needed some peace and quiet," he strained, his voice weakening as his muscles bulged and his throat tightened. "The holidays can be a lot to deal with," he panted, putting his all into his mission.
She decided to help. Together, they continued to pull off and on for the next fifteen minutes.
Once the sleigh was dislodged from the snow, Terry offered his heater and some tinkering skills to warm the sleigh's fuel lines while Mrs. Claus continued to distract the reindeer with her endless supply of peppermint bark.
Mrs. Claus chuckled suddenly. "You wouldn't believe the drama at the North Pole. 'Kids want videogames, they don't want toys! They don't appreciate good craftsmanship anymore!' What do you expect? Them to stay the same for another millennium? Kids change! Simple is boring!"
"Not always. Some kids do appreciate the simpler things." He took a breath of the fresh air reminded of his own childhood. He was a simple child with simple pleasures. He liked to fish and even hunt with his cousins.
"Maybe you're right," Mrs. Claus smiled, admiring the innocence in his optimism. "We work all year for a single day. The workshop gets a little tense, especially when the elves hit the eggnog a little too hard, but honestly, it’s moments like these that make our jobs worth it. Meeting kind strangers, sharing stories-"
As the sleigh’s engine sputtered to life, Mrs. Claus clapped her hands. "Woohoo! Jolly Rancher! You did it, Terry!"
He grinned with a runny sniff, feeling an odd sense of accomplishment. "Glad I could help. Guess this means you're back on the job?"
"Not quite, I still don't have enough sweet wishes to actually fly. Would.. you.. happen to have any?"
"Wishes?"
"It would help," she urged. "Sweet wishes come from pure and child-like hearts."
Terry thought about it. "My heart's not that pure."
She chuckled, finding him endearing. "Why don't you give it a try?"
"Can I ask for a new bike and some boots?" He kicked his foot, entertaining her.
"Either way, a sweet wish is a sweet wish, and it gets us airborne," she gestured to the reindeer with a warm smile.
"In that case, I wish I could get a camper, maybe some more long johns, an ergonomic backpack, and a telescope."
"Anything else?"
Terry hesitated playfully. "Safe travels for everyone visiting loved ones."
Mrs. Claus looked on him warmly, her red-gloved hand over her smooth, warm breast, where her heart rested. "I see now why you were always on the nice list."
Terry raised an eyebrow. "Always?"
She leaned in and kissed his cheek, smelling strongly of peppermint. "Merry Christmas, Terry Richmond," she said softly.
Before he could respond, she climbed into the sleigh, took the reins, and called on the reindeer one by one.
"On Dasher! On Dancer! On Prancer! On Vixen! On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner! On Blitzen!"
The sleigh lifted into the air, leaving a swirl of glittering clean snow.
Mrs. Claus laughed, a melodic sound that filled the night air as she vanished quickly into the distance. Terry had to pinch himself. He stood for a long moment, his cheek still tingling and minty where she had kissed him. He smiled in disbelief and turned back to his campfire, feeling like maybe, just maybe, he'd wake up soon.
He stayed up all night to the morning, wondering if he was crazy. After all, the tracks in the snow hadn't disappeared. He kept his eyes open, trecking on foot back to suburbia around 5:30 AM.
His hazel eyes bulged for maybe the third time when he saw the camper in his backyard. He rushed to examine it, finding it was exactly what he'd imagined, to the very detail. There was a note on thick cardstock that smelled heavily of sweet peppermint.
Omggg lol period we jus finished partying yesterday. Our matriarch turned 80 on the 26th so the whole week was crazy ! Woke up hungover asf this morning ! Social battery DEAD smh !
NO WAY ! I TOO love me some VIXEN ! Def in my top five. I feel like Vixen is the lil sassy one w the best antlers and the shiniest fur...
.summary. a continuation of the previous chapter. Terry makes a bold move on Nami and gives her some well earned softness.
.kinks. choking, collaring, implied oral, sexual intercourse, suggestive language. 3021 words
.warnings. minors do not engage, you are responsible for reading material that is age appropriate. this story is written for those 21+. this chapter is a bit shorter as it's a continuation.
“Give me that pussy,’ Terry growled.
The sound was deep in his throat. His already low voice was deeper, richer, hungrier. Nami could only moan as he stuffed her pussy with his dick. On her hands and knees, Terry’s hand pushed down on her shoulder and pulled up on her hips.
She wiggled her hips backwards, swallowing his thickness in inch by inch. It was a little past two in the afternoon and she was fucked out. How he was able to draw out pleasure from her made Nami cross her eyes. She focused on his hips, the way they pounded against hers, and how his balls slapped up against her clit. She was salivating herself, drool coating her chin and chest, wetting up the sheets.
"I know that shit feels good,' he cooed, his tongue lapping at the shell of her ear.
Two orgasms in and he was fucking her towards her third. He’d already filled her with his cum and was itching to do it again. She was a mess between her legs. A creamy white mess.
“Sir,’ she whined as his stopped moving.
“Mh?” He asks coolly, ‘whatchu’ need besides this dick, Nami? You shouldn’t be asking for anything else right now.”
Her lips puckered together as she whispered so breathlessly he barely heard it. “Okay.”
Terry had given her a little more vocal leeway. Her replies had to be respectful with no cursing. He’d let her little, okay, slip because he could feel her shaking in his hands. She was still sensitive from this morning and he knew it was pushing on uncomfortable. Terry brought her back from sub space a while ago and was keeping her engaged to avoid a second slip so soon.
“Can I share something,’ he says, his thrusts quickening as he pulled her up and threw his arm around her neck. His other landed on her belly, locking her in place while supporting her lower body before he rallied his strength and fucked into her.
Nami stared up at the ceiling. His bicep and forearm applied heavy pressure to her neck, the choking method felt like a boa constrictor. His arm was so thick. He applied just enough pressure for her to feel it while cutting off just enough air she soaked his dick from the pressure and he could feel it leaking on his thighs.
“There you go,’ he whispered, very close to her ear, ‘wet that dick up, pretty girl.”
He listened to her cries and screams. Egged on by her vocal offerings, Terry rubbed hand down between her legs, thumbing the sensitive clit that was swollen and needy.
“I can’t wait for you to touch me,’ he grunted. “Those soft pretty hands on me? I. Can't. Wait.” He punctuated his words with hip shattering thrusts.
“Please, please, please,’ she begged, voice thick with desire just for the simple act of touch.
“And that’s why I’m making you wait,’ he hissed. “I like hearing you beg.”
Nami was at his control, arched back into his vice grip as her pussy fluttered around his dick. “Because as soon as I do, I’m at your mercy,’ he admitted, ‘and baby, I just can’t have that.”
Terry leaned against the cart, his attention divided between the cart filling with Christmas ornaments, a Oreo Frappuccino he kept secretly sipping, and Nami, who was pacing the isle. He made the mistake of eating the last of her doughnut holes and when he slid his seat back in the car, egging on her on to suck his dick, she got out and walked towards the store, a pout on her lips. The last thing she needed was more sugar than her frappuccino and the doughnuts had been grabbed from a street vendor back at the market. Though he bought them, he denied wanting one, until his hand dove into the bag and pulled out the last one. It just so happened to be raspberry filled. Her favorite.
"Nami,' Terry called out, bumping her thigh with the cart.
"You ate my doughnut."
"I can go back to get you more,' he offered, again.
"No. I don't want them anymore."
"Then come drink this,' he said, holding up the cold confectionary drink.
Nami frowned. "It's melted and I don't want it anymore."
Terry let out a small laugh, his face twisting into a smile. "You're upset over the doughnut?"
She placed the pink ornaments back on the shelf and faced him.
"You said you didn't want any!" She replied, voice just above a whisper.
Nami grabbed the cold drink from him and wrapped her lips around the straw before taking a long sip. She yanked it out her mouth as her head began to chill.
"Do you want more?"
"You already asked me that."
"No, I said I would go back. I'm asking if you want more."
Nami walked around him with her cup, disappearing down another aisle as he tapped his fingers on the cart before following her.
It had been her idea to decorate a tree at his place since he didn't have one. She had her own, but the chance to get a new tree and ornaments took over. After Terry and her had showered and dress, she begged him to bring her out to find a tree. Though they were at her place, she wanted to put the tree at his. The cart was already filled with ornaments in green and silver. She had asked for his input and he was terrible at it. Picking out ornaments that didn't match in color. Left up to him, the tree would have been neon orange, black, and gold.
"You mad at me?"
He had stepped up behind her, his hand on her waist as she looked through the different color and shape of boxed lights. The drink in her hand chilled her palm. Blocked by his body, Terry slipped his hands down the front of her skirt.
"Sir,' she mumbled, 'someone can see."
He looked around at the semi busy store and shrugged. Pulling his hand back, he patted the side of her thigh.
"Then hurry up. I have something for you anyway."
It was a few things actually and he was glad she pushed him to put the tree up at his place. Everything he had for her would stay there unless he moved it. Nami watched him walk to another aisle before she followed behind him.
"Wait,' she tossed the drink in a trash and caught up to him at the stockings. "What do you have?"
She stood there with her hands behind her back. Looking up at him, Nami pursed her lips in question. He hadn't given anything away and she wasn't sure where they were in their relationship to buy him gifts. That must have shown on her face because he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Don't worry about it Nami,' he said.
Her shoulders dropped a little as the tension released. She would still get him something, but she at least had time and another opportunity to view his place to see what he might like or want without directly asking. Terry was a quiet man and his house looked like a page from a minimalist magazine. From what she saw of his room all his things wer put away, shoes lined up perfectly along the wall, no stray clothes, and even his fridge was organized. Everything had it's place, including her.
Nami, anticipating what his surprise were, found the lights she wanted and tossed enough in the cart to string around the 8-foot tree.
Nami made Terry move the tree around five times before it ended up back where it first started; by dining table right before the hardwood floors changed to tile. Her black tree skirt stood out against the frosted leave christmas tree. She hadn't paid attention but the tree also came with little red berries on some of the branches, giving it depth and character. While he found an extension cord, Name began placing the pink and white ornaments. When he came back, he knelt beside her and plugged in the extension cord for her. He kissed her bare leg and up her thigh before wrapping her arms around her waist.
"You are distracting me." She mumbled.
She clenched the ornament in her hands and looked down at him. He pushed up her shirt and kiss her belly, mouthed around her waist as his head disappeared under her shirt. The warm air sent chills over her body as Terry's tongue licked at her inner thighs.
"Finish the tree, baby,' he replied.
This was the first time she had spent a holiday with a man in almost four years. It was weird, considering their dynamic, and comforting. This past semester had been hell before Terry came into her life. The balance and structure helped her flourish. She didn't dread going to class. She was present and focused. She wiggled her toes and leaned forward, trying to put the balls on the branches, but he was taking up space.
"Sir,' she wiggled her legs, his forehead was resting on her stomach.
"Nah,' he says. His fingers pinch the back of her thighs and she yelps. "Try that again."
"Oh! Sorry, Daddy,' she relaxes in his hold. It was hard to tell of his changes when she couldn't see him.
Nami leaned forward again and was startled when Terry picked up her leg and hooked it on his shoulder. He held her tight so she kept her balance, but she hated she couldn't see his face. Nami twisted around, searching for other ornaments when her leg buckled. Terry's tongue had slipped out his mouth and pressed against her clit.
"How am I supposed to,' Nami whimpered.
Terry had started to lower her to the floor, the ornaments were out of reach at this point and her legs were pushed apart. She reached down and pulled up her shirt, his dark green eyes and focused on her. As handy as the no panty rule was, sometimes she wanted to throw them on. His mouth was lethal and she knew when he locked in on her like that she wasn't going out without at least two orgasms.
Terry tilted his head upwards and she followed his gaze. Rolling over, Nami crawled towards the decorations and let out a small 'oof' when Terry grabbed her ankle. She had one of the boxes in her hand and laughed as he dragged her and the box back towards him.
When he finally let her finish, he was watching her from the couch. She moved around the tree with ease, changing the spots where she had placed an ornament or flower. Terry watched Nami admire the tree when she was done. His apartment looked a little more festive and it wasn't a total eyesore among his cleaner aesthetic.
"Come sit."
She moved towards Terry as he sat up. He reached into the table and for a second Nami thought he was getting her cuffs. Instead he pulled out a black square box and placed it on her lap. She knew it was kink related, but what else could he have? The anal ring he given her earlier was replaced with a slightly larger one already.
Opening the box, she shut it just as quickly and then gave him a surprised look.
"I was not expecting this,' she says, opening the box to stare at the diamond tennis necklace. It was very simple, dainty, and perfect.
"Collaring is important. We'll be in spaces of like minded people and I want them to know you're spoken for. Permanently."
He took the box from her and had her kneel between his legs with her back to him. She moved her curls out of the way as he latched the necklace around her neck, officially making it her collar. She turned around and he admired it. The way it sat against her collarbones, how it sparkled just enough, and the goofy and apprehensive smile on his subs face.
"What's wrong?" He asks.
"Nothing wrong,' she says, 'I….its a bit overwhelming."
It was a representation of their relationship and her acceptance of it. Nami reached up to touch it while excusing herself to the guest bathroom. She looked in the mirror at her collar. She could feel his expectations now. The necklace was beautiful and light, but it was heavy with responsibility. After about ten minutes, Terry knocked on the bathroom door.
"Nami,' he said, 'are you okay?"
She looked away from her reflection and opened the bathroom door. "Yes. I just needed to process what this means."
"It means you're my only submissive. It means you trust me with your body. I get to call you mine."
Nami nodded, but he knew what the problem. She needed assurance. She needed to be told.
"You're my submissive in bed and when I need you to be otherwise. You're also my girl,' he saw the change in her eyes, the way the softened to him. "I'm going to take you out as much as I slut you out."
Nami next surprise made her overly excited to the point she bounced up and down when he told her. Now that he had been able to indulge in her the least he could do was really reward her for being so good. It made shivers slide down his spine, but the pleasure on the other end of it kept him hard from the moment he told her until now. In the guest room, her last surprise was in his, he told her to get comfortable. Her back was against the headboard and her legs were spread. Terry had crawled between them and kissed her gently before exhaling deeply. He could see the excitement in her eyes. He’d finally given her permission to touch him and she instantly had been over zealous. She was bubbling with excitement as he complied with her want. He turned his body, his back to her chest, and she adjusted herself some so that he was partially on the pillows beside them. Nami ran her nose along his neck and watched his hands begin to clench at his sides.
Her tongue flattened against his neck and he jerked to the side away from her.
“You playin’,” he hissed.
Her ten minutes of exploring his half naked body were winding down. Nami kissed his shoulder, her right hand rubbing down his chest and stomach. The muscles clenched and the tent in his sweat grew.
“Oh?” She whispered, her fingertips snaking beneath the waist of the sweats. “Can I touch?” She asked. “Pwease, Daddy?” Her nails made small circles on his lower abdomen and Terry stared up at the ceiling as he tried to pull control from thin air. He was shaking as pleasure coursed through his body and he knew if she touched him what would happen.
“Yeah, go ahead baby. Touch Daddy.”
Nami slipped her hand in his sweats and he watched then felt her dainty palm wrap around the base of his dick. Pre cum leaked from the top and her thumb swirling the mess down to the base of his dick on one long and slow stroke.
“Oh fuck,’ he groaned, sinking into her embrace.
Her other hand was on his neck and she wrapped her hand around it to apply some pressure. She didn't waste time pulling him free from his sweats. Instead, she stroked him and they both watched the way his body began to tremble each time her hand moved.
"Shit." He cursed, his foot planting on the bed.
Nami stopped her hand at that, her index finger tapping his neck. "Put that leg down,' she said, a little commanding essence in her sweet voice. Terry did as he was told, grinning, but softly moaning as she resumed playing with his dick because that's exactly what she was doing. Playing.
He could feel her breath on the side of his face. Her breaths were long and drawn out to match the slow stroke of her hand. Downwards, she breathed in. Upwards, she exhaled. Her hand around his throat tightened and he could feel the points of her stiletto shaped nails dig into his skin. The pinch of the acrylics made his eyes roll to the back of his head. He melted into her arms, his hands clenched the sheets and the moving tent in his sweats pulled deep guttural moans from his chest.
“You’re so big Daddy,’ she whispered, her tongue dancing around the shell of his ear. “So thick,” she mumbled in awe.
Her hand barely wrapped around him. Nami glanced at the timer and began to slow her strokes. As much as she was enjoying it, she didn't want to get caught up and have to stop. Terry sat up, slight confusion but then the timer went off and they both jumped at the shrill sound. Nami pulled her hands away and placed them in her lap. When Terry turned to look at her, she wore a large grin on her face. She was more than please with herself for making him feel the way he did.
She noticed his face was scrunched up and he hd turned so his boyd was face her. Between her legs, Terry grabbed her hand, pinning it above her head with his own. He took the other and tugged her down so he could rest between her legs. He added the other hand to his grasp, and she dropped her legs to the bed, creating more room for him. Terry's dick was hard pressed against her sex, heavy, and hard.
"You're getting some rules for touching tomorrow,' he says while tugging down his sweats.
"Oh,' Nami replies, already lifting her shirt towards her head. She couldn't hid her smile from finally wearing him down.
He stoped it at her hands and twists it to keep her hands bound. He could feel the heat from her sex and with one well practiced stroke, he was buried in her cunt for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.
I went through my tag list and removed blogs with no ages, lack of interaction, or the blog just looked empty. If you were removed and would like to be added back at least have your age in your blog.
Now that winter had officially intensified, Terry was beginning to enjoy the amenities of the indoors, specifically heat and toilet paper. These things were nice, but they didn't near compare to the great outdoors. Terry still made a regular ritual of escaping his small suburban home to spend a quiet day or two deep in the wilderness.
Camping under the cover of stars at night was priceless. He pitched his tent on the edge of a snow-dusted clearing, his small campfire crackling and glowing orange in the crisp cold night as the forest creatures sang.
Terry was alone, but not lonely in the least. This was his peace. Holding a mug of hot cocoa, he sat relaxed and in silence, warm in his cozy layers, his heavy-duty coat, and boots. He'd almost dozed off when he heard an unfamiliar rush overhead as if something were falling.
"What the-"
His squinted hazel eyes grew to the size of saucers at the sight above.
*Whoosh*
*Rustle*
*Thud*
Terry flinched as a flying chariot blitzed the trees and landed in the middle of his clearing just a few yards away. Terry grabbed his flashlight and aimed it at the scene in question.
The heavy-looking sleigh, painted red with golden trim, sat tilted in the snow, one side embedded into the ground. The accompanying deer stood ahead of it, in two straight lines, sheepish and pawing at the snow under their hooves.
He trudged forward, his heavy boots crunching through the snow. There, at the front of the sleigh, was a young woman in red lingerie and a Santa hat. A woman unlike any Terry had ever seen.
He approached slowly, keeping his attention and his flashlight directly on her. She was half naked, alone, and doing stunts in the dead of winter.
"Miss.. Are you okay?" He called out twice, trying to mask his disbelief. She was whispering to herself. "Miss?"
The woman turned suddenly, her troubled expression transforming into a bright smile. "Oh, thank goodness! Here, help me get out. I could use a little assistance with getting my sleigh free." Her voice was aged like a woman far beyond her 20s, even beyond her 40s. The rhythm of it was pre-civil rights.
He focused on her eyes, but she didn't seem to be manic. Terry helped her out, still unsure if he was hallucinating. "Excuse me? What's going on here?"
"Exactly what it looks like, candycane." She sighed, placing her hands on her ample hips. "Ran out of gas." She gestured to the sleigh. "Would you believe Santa insists on using gumdrops and sweet wishes to fuel this old thing? And guess who forgot to refill the tank before he left me in charge of the Christmas deliveries tonight? All because he couldn't fit his new suit. I told him to lay off the rum raisin, but nooo! And you can't make the man try a thing on! That would be too helpful!"
Terry had nearly forgotten about Christmas. He frowned, confused, wondering if it was an elaborate prank. "You're telling me you're Mrs. Claus?" He asked, blinking.
"Did you expect Rudolph to drop off the kids' gifts? He doesn't have thumbs," she replied with a wink toward the deer, one of them with a nose glowing red. "And you are?"
A quick glance-over told Terry that she was stunning, curvaceous, and toned, with long black hair and rosy cheeks like a black Victoria's Secret angel, not Mrs. Claus.
"Terry Richmond," he said, extending his hand. "You don't look like Mrs. Claus."
"I assume you mean I look better than expected?"
"Yes," he said quickly.
She shook his hand firmly, her red velvet gloves soft and warm with a white trim. "Well, Terry. Is there any chance that you’ve got some fuel in your tent? Or at least a good idea of how I could find some?"
Terry scratched his chin, glancing back at his campsite. "No fuel, but I’ve got a campfire, a phone, and some tools. Maybe we can figure something out?"
Mrs. Claus grinned. "Oh, you’re resourceful, like a little elf. I like that. I have a few sweet wishes left in this pouch, but it’s not nearly enough to lift this hunk of Christmas coal from the ground."
She dropped the red velvet pouch in Terry's palm. It was weighted like it held ten dollars in change, but when he looked inside, it was empty except for what looked like glitter.
"We're so low on sweet wishes, the glow is more of a twinkle," she shook her head.
Terry was again confused... and distracted. He took off his coat to wrap it around her curvy fit body so they could both think, but she rejected it.
"Aren't you sweet, but I don't get cold. It's colder in the North Pole."
The North Pole, he thought, wondering if he'd hit his head and was knocked out cold somewhere in actuality.
"So, why are you out here in the middle of nowhere," she asked, adjusting her gloves and feeding Twizzlers to the deer.
Terry shrugged, getting to work on dislodging the sleigh. Strange or not, he was the only one around who could help her.
"Needed some peace and quiet," he strained, his voice weakening as his muscles bulged and his throat tightened. "The holidays can be a lot to deal with," he panted, putting his all into his mission.
She decided to help. Together, they continued to pull off and on for the next fifteen minutes.
Once the sleigh was dislodged from the snow, Terry offered his heater and some tinkering skills to warm the sleigh's fuel lines while Mrs. Claus continued to distract the reindeer with her endless supply of peppermint bark.
Mrs. Claus chuckled suddenly. "You wouldn't believe the drama at the North Pole. 'Kids want videogames, they don't want toys! They don't appreciate good craftsmanship anymore!' What do you expect? Them to stay the same for another millennium? Kids change! Simple is boring!"
"Not always. Some kids do appreciate the simpler things." He took a breath of the fresh air reminded of his own childhood. He was a simple child with simple pleasures. He liked to fish and even hunt with his cousins.
"Maybe you're right," Mrs. Claus smiled, admiring the innocence in his optimism. "We work all year for a single day. The workshop gets a little tense, especially when the elves hit the eggnog a little too hard, but honestly, it’s moments like these that make our jobs worth it. Meeting kind strangers, sharing stories-"
As the sleigh’s engine sputtered to life, Mrs. Claus clapped her hands. "Woohoo! Jolly Rancher! You did it, Terry!"
He grinned with a runny sniff, feeling an odd sense of accomplishment. "Glad I could help. Guess this means you're back on the job?"
"Not quite, I still don't have enough sweet wishes to actually fly. Would.. you.. happen to have any?"
"Wishes?"
"It would help," she urged. "Sweet wishes come from pure and child-like hearts."
Terry thought about it. "My heart's not that pure."
She chuckled, finding him endearing. "Why don't you give it a try?"
"Can I ask for a new bike and some boots?" He kicked his foot, entertaining her.
"Either way, a sweet wish is a sweet wish, and it gets us airborne," she gestured to the reindeer with a warm smile.
"In that case, I wish I could get a camper, maybe some more long johns, an ergonomic backpack, and a telescope."
"Anything else?"
Terry hesitated playfully. "Safe travels for everyone visiting loved ones."
Mrs. Claus looked on him warmly, her red-gloved hand over her smooth, warm breast, where her heart rested. "I see now why you were always on the nice list."
Terry raised an eyebrow. "Always?"
She leaned in and kissed his cheek, smelling strongly of peppermint. "Merry Christmas, Terry Richmond," she said softly.
Before he could respond, she climbed into the sleigh, took the reins, and called on the reindeer one by one.
"On Dasher! On Dancer! On Prancer! On Vixen! On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner! On Blitzen!"
The sleigh lifted into the air, leaving a swirl of glittering clean snow.
Mrs. Claus laughed, a melodic sound that filled the night air as she vanished quickly into the distance. Terry had to pinch himself. He stood for a long moment, his cheek still tingling and minty where she had kissed him. He smiled in disbelief and turned back to his campfire, feeling like maybe, just maybe, he'd wake up soon.
He stayed up all night to the morning, wondering if he was crazy. After all, the tracks in the snow hadn't disappeared. He kept his eyes open, trecking on foot back to suburbia around 5:30 AM.
His hazel eyes bulged for maybe the third time when he saw the camper in his backyard. He rushed to examine it, finding it was exactly what he'd imagined, to the very detail. There was a note on thick cardstock that smelled heavily of sweet peppermint.
Now that winter had officially intensified, Terry was beginning to enjoy the amenities of the indoors, specifically heat and toilet paper. These things were nice, but they didn't near compare to the great outdoors. Terry still made a regular ritual of escaping his small suburban home to spend a quiet day or two deep in the wilderness.
Camping under the cover of stars at night was priceless. He pitched his tent on the edge of a snow-dusted clearing, his small campfire crackling and glowing orange in the crisp cold night as the forest creatures sang.
Terry was alone, but not lonely in the least. This was his peace. Holding a mug of hot cocoa, he sat relaxed and in silence, warm in his cozy layers, his heavy-duty coat, and boots. He'd almost dozed off when he heard an unfamiliar rush overhead as if something were falling.
"What the-"
His squinted hazel eyes grew to the size of saucers at the sight above.
*Whoosh*
*Rustle*
*Thud*
Terry flinched as a flying chariot blitzed the trees and landed in the middle of his clearing just a few yards away. Terry grabbed his flashlight and aimed it at the scene in question.
The heavy-looking sleigh, painted red with golden trim, sat tilted in the snow, one side embedded into the ground. The accompanying deer stood ahead of it, in two straight lines, sheepish and pawing at the snow under their hooves.
He trudged forward, his heavy boots crunching through the snow. There, at the front of the sleigh, was a young woman in red lingerie and a Santa hat. A woman unlike any Terry had ever seen.
He approached slowly, keeping his attention and his flashlight directly on her. She was half naked, alone, and doing stunts in the dead of winter.
"Miss.. Are you okay?" He called out twice, trying to mask his disbelief. She was whispering to herself. "Miss?"
The woman turned suddenly, her troubled expression transforming into a bright smile. "Oh, thank goodness! Here, help me get out. I could use a little assistance with getting my sleigh free." Her voice was aged like a woman far beyond her 20s, even beyond her 40s. The rhythm of it was pre-civil rights.
He focused on her eyes, but she didn't seem to be manic. Terry helped her out, still unsure if he was hallucinating. "Excuse me? What's going on here?"
"Exactly what it looks like, candycane." She sighed, placing her hands on her ample hips. "Ran out of gas." She gestured to the sleigh. "Would you believe Santa insists on using gumdrops and sweet wishes to fuel this old thing? And guess who forgot to refill the tank before he left me in charge of the Christmas deliveries tonight? All because he couldn't fit his new suit. I told him to lay off the rum raisin, but nooo! And you can't make the man try a thing on! That would be too helpful!"
Terry had nearly forgotten about Christmas. He frowned, confused, wondering if it was an elaborate prank. "You're telling me you're Mrs. Claus?" He asked, blinking.
"Did you expect Rudolph to drop off the kids' gifts? He doesn't have thumbs," she replied with a wink toward the deer, one of them with a nose glowing red. "And you are?"
A quick glance-over told Terry that she was stunning, curvaceous, and toned, with long black hair and rosy cheeks like a black Victoria's Secret angel, not Mrs. Claus.
"Terry Richmond," he said, extending his hand. "You don't look like Mrs. Claus."
"I assume you mean I look better than expected?"
"Yes," he said quickly.
She shook his hand firmly, her red velvet gloves soft and warm with a white trim. "Well, Terry. Is there any chance that you’ve got some fuel in your tent? Or at least a good idea of how I could find some?"
Terry scratched his chin, glancing back at his campsite. "No fuel, but I’ve got a campfire, a phone, and some tools. Maybe we can figure something out?"
Mrs. Claus grinned. "Oh, you’re resourceful, like a little elf. I like that. I have a few sweet wishes left in this pouch, but it’s not nearly enough to lift this hunk of Christmas coal from the ground."
She dropped the red velvet pouch in Terry's palm. It was weighted like it held ten dollars in change, but when he looked inside, it was empty except for what looked like glitter.
"We're so low on sweet wishes, the glow is more of a twinkle," she shook her head.
Terry was again confused... and distracted. He took off his coat to wrap it around her curvy fit body so they could both think, but she rejected it.
"Aren't you sweet, but I don't get cold. It's colder in the North Pole."
The North Pole, he thought, wondering if he'd hit his head and was knocked out cold somewhere in actuality.
"So, why are you out here in the middle of nowhere," she asked, adjusting her gloves and feeding Twizzlers to the deer.
Terry shrugged, getting to work on dislodging the sleigh. Strange or not, he was the only one around who could help her.
"Needed some peace and quiet," he strained, his voice weakening as his muscles bulged and his throat tightened. "The holidays can be a lot to deal with," he panted, putting his all into his mission.
She decided to help. Together, they continued to pull off and on for the next fifteen minutes.
Once the sleigh was dislodged from the snow, Terry offered his heater and some tinkering skills to warm the sleigh's fuel lines while Mrs. Claus continued to distract the reindeer with her endless supply of peppermint bark.
Mrs. Claus chuckled suddenly. "You wouldn't believe the drama at the North Pole. 'Kids want videogames, they don't want toys! They don't appreciate good craftsmanship anymore!' What do you expect? Them to stay the same for another millennium? Kids change! Simple is boring!"
"Not always. Some kids do appreciate the simpler things." He took a breath of the fresh air reminded of his own childhood. He was a simple child with simple pleasures. He liked to fish and even hunt with his cousins.
"Maybe you're right," Mrs. Claus smiled, admiring the innocence in his optimism. "We work all year for a single day. The workshop gets a little tense, especially when the elves hit the eggnog a little too hard, but honestly, it’s moments like these that make our jobs worth it. Meeting kind strangers, sharing stories-"
As the sleigh’s engine sputtered to life, Mrs. Claus clapped her hands. "Woohoo! Jolly Rancher! You did it, Terry!"
He grinned with a runny sniff, feeling an odd sense of accomplishment. "Glad I could help. Guess this means you're back on the job?"
"Not quite, I still don't have enough sweet wishes to actually fly. Would.. you.. happen to have any?"
"Wishes?"
"It would help," she urged. "Sweet wishes come from pure and child-like hearts."
Terry thought about it. "My heart's not that pure."
She chuckled, finding him endearing. "Why don't you give it a try?"
"Can I ask for a new bike and some boots?" He kicked his foot, entertaining her.
"Either way, a sweet wish is a sweet wish, and it gets us airborne," she gestured to the reindeer with a warm smile.
"In that case, I wish I could get a camper, maybe some more long johns, an ergonomic backpack, and a telescope."
"Anything else?"
Terry hesitated playfully. "Safe travels for everyone visiting loved ones."
Mrs. Claus looked on him warmly, her red-gloved hand over her smooth, warm breast, where her heart rested. "I see now why you were always on the nice list."
Terry raised an eyebrow. "Always?"
She leaned in and kissed his cheek, smelling strongly of peppermint. "Merry Christmas, Terry Richmond," she said softly.
Before he could respond, she climbed into the sleigh, took the reins, and called on the reindeer one by one.
"On Dasher! On Dancer! On Prancer! On Vixen! On Comet! On Cupid! On Donner! On Blitzen!"
The sleigh lifted into the air, leaving a swirl of glittering clean snow.
Mrs. Claus laughed, a melodic sound that filled the night air as she vanished quickly into the distance. Terry had to pinch himself. He stood for a long moment, his cheek still tingling and minty where she had kissed him. He smiled in disbelief and turned back to his campfire, feeling like maybe, just maybe, he'd wake up soon.
He stayed up all night to the morning, wondering if he was crazy. After all, the tracks in the snow hadn't disappeared. He kept his eyes open, trecking on foot back to suburbia around 5:30 AM.
His hazel eyes bulged for maybe the third time when he saw the camper in his backyard. He rushed to examine it, finding it was exactly what he'd imagined, to the very detail. There was a note on thick cardstock that smelled heavily of sweet peppermint.
Summary: You suddenly receive letters that re open the wounds of grief. But they turn out for the better.
Warnings: ANGST, FLUFF, FLASHBACK
The call you hadn’t expected to receive came through your cell phone one hot, summer day in Charlotte. It changed the trajectory of your life from then on. A horrifying scream pierced the air, causing your mother to drop her coffee mug while sitting out in the yard, the ceramic glass shattering against cobblestone. When she’d found you in the kitchen, you were in the fetal position, body trembling as you wailed. She rushed to your aid, down on her knees with frantic eyes and a continuous chant of ‘what happened’ spilling from her lips.
“TERRY! HE’S GONE!”
The words didn’t seem real. When the tears came, hot and endless, you ached from the pain entering your world without the decency to knock first. Your mother’s words couldn’t be heard over your despair.
You cried as if your brain was being shredded from the inside. Emotional pain flowed out of your every pore. From your mouth came a cry so raw that even the eyes of your mother’s were suddenly wet with tears. You grabbed onto your mother, your violent shaking almost causing her to to fall flat and from your eyes came a thicker flow of tears the more you begin to understand.
Not Terry. It didn’t make sense for him to die. He was strong, the pinnacle of a man who in your eyes was unstoppable. No. This was a nightmare. You had to wake up from the nightmare. On that kitchen floor you questioned God. Your mother’s cries didn’t help calm you down. The whole world had vanished for you, now there was only pain enough to break you, pain enough to change you beyond recognition.
“No, no, no, no—”
Mike and Terry were killed in Shelby Springs, Louisiana. You refused to hear the details. Terry had a thing for saving his cousin from whatever he’d get himself involved in. You developed resentment against Mike and how he called on Terry to come to the rescue because he knew that he wouldn’t say no. Something in your gut told you that this time, he really shouldn’t leave.
Dried tears made your face feel tight and your eyes were blurry. Your chest burned and a nauseating sensation settled into your belly. You had your head in your mother’s lap on the sofa as the sun set. Across from you were your aunties and cousins, all silent and attempting to comfort you with soothing rubs and kisses to your forehead.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N…”
“Everything will be okay…”
“I can’t believe this…”
“I wish this never happened to you.”
You’d forgotten what it felt like to speak.
Going back to your shared apartment would only reopen the fresh wounds.
His pictures.
His smell.
His clothes.
His side of the bed.
What’s worse is his parents wanted you to join them in traveling to Shelby Springs to bring his body back home. You were his fiancé. As terrified as you were, you knew it was the right thing to do. Your mother joined you on the journey and her support gave you the strength to walk into that morgue and see him. It was cold and eerie. The silence unnerving. As you enter with his parents, your eyes fall to a stainless steel table with a body covered in a sheet.
Your knees buckle and you stop suddenly, too weak and afraid to carry on. Everything was happening so fast. You’d gotten the call about Terry two days ago, and now you were here barely standing in a room for corpses. Your mother had her arms wrapped around you as you take slow steps towards the table. Heart hammering in your chest, you watch as the sheet lowered to reveal his face.
You’d lost the ability to stand.
He’d suffered. Haunting images of his battered face and chest littered with bullet holes frightened and angered you. Nothing can prepare you for something like this. He didn’t look like himself. Death changed him in ways you weren’t prepared to see.
Pale. Bruised. Lifeless. Still.
It was something you couldn’t even force yourself to see even during his funeral. And neither could his parents. After what felt like hours, you all were on your way back home with Terry, making arrangements for him to be cremated. After all, it was Terry’s wish. Intrusive thoughts flooded your mind the days leading to his memorial service.
Clearly, he suffered, but what was his last words? What was the last thing on his mind? Did he think of you? What had he eaten that morning?
The morning of his memorial service a few days later, you sat within your bedroom, burying your nose in his clothes and sniffing his cologne. You wanted his belongings, but it was evidence back in Shelby Springs. They were building a case on the corupt police there and if found guilty, a multi–million dollar paycheck would be given. For Mike and Terry. The teardrop diamond engagement ring on your finger twinkled in the sun as you sat surrounded by family and friends.
Behind your black shades, your puffy eyes stared at a photo of Michael and Terry. All smiles and laughter. Terry’s deep voice and adorable smile flooded your mind and it shook you to the core. His big arms circling your waist made you wrap your arms around yourself to mimick that feeling. The smell of his beard whenever you’d nuzzle your face against his neck.
His urn sat on a podium and when you’d gotten up to deliver a speech, you touched it. You’d pressed your lips against it. Taking a deep breath, you opened a folded piece of notebook paper to read from, but soon, you found that you couldn’t speak without your voice quivering. The distant sound of sniffles and encouragement was static noise.
Fuck this.
Your fingers began ripping the paper into shreds. Fuck a proper speech. Your person was stripped of life at the tender age of thirty two. He was a good man.
You part your lips to speak, “Terry Richmond is the love of my life…and I don’t know how I’m gonna live without him. This all feels like I’m being punished. How could god take someone like him away from me?”
You spoke those words truthfully. Yes, you were questioning God. Why him? Why Terry? Why not the ones who did this to him? Why not ANYONE who’s ever wronged him? Why did his cousin call him to help? Why did Terry go instead of staying with you?
Fuck the many stages of grief. You were filled with rage and sadness so powerful. There was no way you’d come to accept this. While others moved on, you would have a constant reminder that your soulmate was stripped from your life. A part of you wanted to join him. Wherever he was.
That’s how you felt for a long while, but as time progressed, because that’s what happens with life, Terry’s absence didn’t hurt as much. Of course, during special occasions it would trigger the grief, but you’d taken the time to speak to a therapist and talk about how his death affected you. That was a year ago.
Everything is recycled, or so that is what you see with your eyes. The atoms of one thing become those of another. The energy from one place becomes energy in another. So while you have no idea where he is, or what God asked him to become next, you’re looking forward to being with him again and you feel his love so strongly in the ether. So, call it reincarnation or recycling, you’re okay with whatever. Terry’s still somewhere, and that's what matters to you.
——
“Morning!”
You walked with a pep in your step towards your mailbox after your Pilates class. Something you’d always wanted to do but never had the courage to before. It’s expensive, but you loved it. Opening the mailbox, you don’t have much but credit card bills and junk mail. As you grab your mail, you notice a thick, distressed, stationary envelope fall to the floor within the lobby of your apartment building.
Your eyes follow the envelope facing downward. You crouch down to pick it up, the pain in your legs from Pilates causing you to groan. Once you were up, you lock your mailbox and head towards your elevators. On the ride up, you think about what you’d like to prepare for dinner. Maybe steak would be nice since you hadn’t eaten it in a while.
The doors slide open and you were out of the elevator and approaching your door. As you pushed it open, you were welcomed by your orange and white cat. The new decor courtesy of your cousin who is an interior designer gave an impression of something straight out of a catalog.
A promotion.
New Apartment.
New Car.
You were starting over. It felt good to do that. You still lived in Charlotte, but letting go of the things that triggered your grief was the best way for you to move forward.
You’d kicked off your running shoes and sat the mail down on the living room table to go through. As you flipped through, the envelope caught your eye. Fancy penmanship covered the front and as your eyes scanned, your body became rigid. Your heart sank to your stomach.
From: Terry
To: My Beautiful Fiance’
You blink twice to see if this was real and what you were actually reading.
How is this possible?
As you sat on your sofa, your eyes began to flood with tears. Was someone pulling a sick joke or did Terry actually write you a letter? So many questions and a lot of confusion. You could feel your tears trickling down your cheeks and over your lips the more you stared at the envelope.
So much for getting better. The fear you felt at that moment alone in your apartment is what stopped you from opening the letter. You place it down on the coffee table and wrap your arms around you. Your cat nudged you against your leg and as you look down, her yellow eyes stared back with a softness that helped to calm you.
Terry had gifted you this cat for your birthday a year ago.
Shortly before he’d left for Shelby Springs.
She nudged you again and you felt it was her way of telling you to open the envelope. With one shaky hand, you grab the envelope from the coffee table and use your almond-shaped finger nail to open it. Inside is a folded piece of paper. You retrieve it and open it slowly, heart racing. Black ink and cursive.
Hey, baby.
Surprise. I know this probably feels a little bit morbid... But I just hate the idea that I'm not gonna be there to see you freak out over turning 30. I mean, it kills me not to be there. Heh-heh. That's funny. Okay. No, it's not. You're gonna be so impressed. I have a plan, baby. Can you believe it? I've written you letters. Letters that will be coming to you all sorts of ways. I waited till your birthday. I figured you weren't stepping out of the house for a while. Letter number one will be arriving tomorrow. Now, you gotta do what I say, okay? Don't try to figure out how the letters are coming. It's too brilliant and it'll ruin my plan. Just go along with me on this. Because the thing is, I just can't say goodbye yet. So for starters. I want you to get dolled up, and just go out and celebrate tonight. Go out with your girls. I hereby free you from a party with your family, especially your mom. I’m Sorry, I couldn’t be there, baby. I’m a need you to get a little crazy. So have a slice of cake, put on my favorite dress and get out of the apartment. Y/N, make a plan. For me, okay? And know that wherever I am, I'm missing you. Happy birthday.
P.S
I love you.
You wept silently, your tears blotching the paper. You shut your eyes tight and allow yourself to cry with a bounce of your shoulders and an aching feeling of sorrow. As you read the letter, you could hear his deep vibrato. You pictured him sitting somewhere on a hammock writing to you. Surrounded by the wild and reminded of how it was his peace. 
Bringing the paper to your nose, you smell the parchment and try your best to catch his scent. It only smelled of paper with its lignin aroma. Sniffling, you wipe away snot and tears before placing the paper on the coffee table, carefully folding it. Your birthday was indeed tomorrow and you had only planned to have dinner with your mom at her place. Just the two of you.
Your friends had suggested going out for drinks, but the thought of partying and being surrounded by so many people overstimulated you in the worst way. You couldn’t bring yourself to go out and enjoy life and what it has to offer when your forever person is six feet under. Trying your best to shake those thoughts from your mind, you meditate. Calming your breath and releasing the tension from your muscles. This was something you’d never stop doing.
Opening your eyes, you blink to adjust to the blurry view. Too emotional, you finally stand from the sofa because you were unable to read the letter again. After taking a long shower, you start on dinner with a vinyl record playing. While flipping your steak, the sensation of strong hands trapping your waist caused a shiver to slither down your spine. You drop the spatula and touch where you’d felt it, body seizing up in fear. Sharp breaths escaped your mouth.
Your mind was most definitely playing tricks on you. Terry loved to creep up behind you while you were cooking to touch on you and kiss you neck. He’d whisper in your ear because he knew that his voice drove you crazy no matter ther octave. That ghostly sensation triggered nostalgic memories of what it felt to be wrapped up within the embrace of Terry Richmond.
“SHIT—”
You rush to the stove to check on your steak. The hot grease popped your arm painfully, causing you to groan. You finish your steak and plate it with your broccolini and mashed potatoes. Some wine sounded great. You open your drink cabinet and soon realize how high up the wine is. On your tip toes, you reach up, struggling to grab a bottle of red wine. Fingertips touching the cork, you strain, one knee on the counter now.
“Nah…whatchu doing, baby?”
Terry plucked the bottle from the top shelf with ease because of his towering height compared to yours. You give him a dirty look, snatching the wine from his hand. Terry gave you a lazy smirk with low eyes. He looked oh so delectable in his white T-shirt and bootcut jeans.
“That’s how you do me when I come to the rescue, munchkin?”
“I could have gotten it, T,” you roll your eyes.
“When I’m around you know I get everything in the high places, Y/N. Fix your face,” Terry pecks your forehead, “C’mon so we can eat this good steak. I’m tryna see you model that new lingerie.”
Terry backed away with a bite of his bottom lip and a wink. Instantly, your frustration melted away and you couldn’t fight the urge to smile…
Blinking, you bring your attention back to the present. Of course, you have a step stool in the pantry. You retrieve it and place it on the floor. Stepping up, you succeed in grabbing a bottle of red wine. You scan the label before sitting it on the kitchen counter to pour yourself a heaping glass. Sitting on the bar stool, you eat your food and try your best to forget that sudden recollection.
It was so hard to forget. Everything about him was so hard to put away forever. Goosebumps on your skin, vivid memories of how he’d undressed you, talked you through it, admired you, professed how much he’d loved you. Over and over. You take a sip of your wine, fingers trembling around the stem.
That letter triggered everything.
——
The morning of your birthday was uneventful. You woke up later than you’d expected, phone buzzing on its wireless charger with texts wishing you happy birthday. Wiping the crust from your eyes, you roll over onto your belly, snatching up your phone. Friends and family flooded your inbox and created social media posts.
You’re thirty.
You’d think it would feel so odd saying that. Honestly, it didn’t feel any different. Sitting up in bed now, you reply to everyone before climbing out of bed. After your usual morning routine, you make yourself a quick breakfast before heading to your mom’s house. You planned to cook dinner with her and catch up.
The drive over took about forty minutes. You spotted your mother grabbing mail from the mailbox in her robe and slippers. She waved to you happily while standing on the porch. You pull behind her SUV and put the car in park. Stepping out, you give your mother a big, toothy grin before rushing over to embrace her.
“My baby! Happy Birthday!”
You squeeze her tightly, the smell of her scented lotion comforting you.
“I’m glad you’re here. I still have some hot breakfast on the stove.”
“Mama, I ate already.” You reply with a smile.
“You may get hungry again, come on.”
You enter your childhood home to the smell of grits, biscuits, bacon, and eggs. Suddenly, your stomach starts rumbling. Maybe you’ll have a small plate.
“I just had to run out and check the mail—”
You paused your curiosity at the cake your mother baked you when a gasp could be heard. You turn and spot your mother with a hand over her mouth and eyes wide.
“Mama, what is it?”
“Wha–there’s a letter here–from Terry—”
You rush over, taking it from your mother’s hands. She tried to snatch it back but you had your back turned.
“Y/N—”
Hey, Mama.
It’s Terry. Make sure my baby has a good time. Make sure you do everything you wanna do, whenever you wanna do it. And make sure my baby does things. I want you to take her to all the places she’d wanted to go. And be sure to give her a big kiss for me. She’s my special girl.
Love you.
“What does it say?”
Your mother lingered behind you with caution. You read the words a final time before turning, holding out the paper for her. She gripped the edge carefully and it slipped from your grasp. You could feel your knees getting weak, so you flop down into a dining chair. Your mother read the words allowed, her voice trembling.
“I wonder who sent this?” Sniffling, your mother turned the paper over, “it’s been a year.”
“I got a letter in the mail yesterday.” You revealed.
Your mother took a seat across from you. She placed the letter on the table, pressing out the folded line to make it straighter.
“It’s his handwriting for sure,” Your mother stroked the penmanship, “This is so eerie…”
“He’d planned this. Maybe he had a feeling that his days were numbered when he’d left for Louisiana…”
You stand, pacing back and forth. Your mother folded her hands against the table as she watched you.
“Even so, why would he leave? Why would he leave if he had a feeling—”
“Maybe he didn’t.” Your mother said.
“No, the way he worded these letters…it’s as if he’s speaking like he knew he was going to die—”
Your mother put up a hand, “Okay, that’s enough—”
“It’s never going to be enough! It’s never going to be the same!”
You feel your eyes welling up with tears. You release a shuddering breath and try your best to calm your nerves.
“It’s your special day, baby. Please don’t get yourself worked up. Terry wouldn’t want that.”
It didn’t matter what he’d want anyway. He’s gone.
“I need a second.”
You turn on your heels, making your way towards your old bedroom. Inside, you shut the door and settle into your old bed. Kicking off your shoes, you gather the sheets over your body and hide yourself from view. Tears rolled over your nose as you stare at the floral patterns stitched into your comforter.
Your mother is right, this is supposed to be your special day. You’re supposed to be happy and celebrating. Not crying and sad. Not that it wasn’t okay to be sad, but Terry wrote two letters expressing how he’d wanted you to enjoy turning thirty and make the most of it.
Uncovering yourself, you slip from the bed and walk over to your dresser. Opening the top, right drawer, you retrieve a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. Your emergency stash…
“Come on..”
You opened your bedroom door, darkness awaiting you ahead. Distant chatter and laughter from your relatives became muffled when your boyfriend, Terry slipped in behind you before shutting the door. You stumble your way towards the lamp on your end table, flicking it on and igniting the room with a low ambiance. Terry stood with his back pressed against the door, a wrinkled white dress shirt on with black slacks. You had on a navy blue summer dress.
Everyone gathered at your mom’s place after a funeral service for your great aunt May. You didn’t like the woman much. She’d always been hard on you and favored your cousins. Terry walked around your room, eyeing old photographs from your high school days. The sound of your drawer opening caught his attention and he made his way over toward you. With a finger pressed to your lips, you pull out a bottle of tequila that you’d snagged from your parents liquor cabinet.
You were of age to drink, but after being around your family, you needed to sneak a little something. Terry chuckled and shook his head before accepting a shot glass that you’d gotten from a trip to Canun. You pour some in each one before clinking glasses, some of the tequila spilling over the rim and causing both of you to laugh.
You knock back the drink and while your face scrunched at the taste, Terry simple smiled at you.
“Burns, doesn’t it?” He whispered.
“Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I don’t really like this one.”
“Don’t let me find out you can’t handle alcohol.”
“Shut up.”
Terry approached you. Your smile wavered, eyes blinking up at him slowly. The smell of his cologne lingered in your nose. He eyed you down before taking the bottle from your hand.
“I think we should get outta here before your mama comes looking for us,” Terry said.
“Afraid to be alone with me in my room, TJ?” You tease.
Terry chuckled, bringing his face closer to yours.
“I’m afraid of what I might do to you if I stay in here any longer. We both know how loud you can get…”
Standing in your room with that shot glass from Cancun in your hand, you recall that night. You hadn’t washed the glass afterwards, just put it away. You fill it and toast to being thirty before drinking it down in one motion. You were reminded of how bad it tasted but it was worth it.
You put it away before fixing yourself back up to join your mother. She was in the kitchen prepping for dinner when you walked out. She’d heard your footsteps and paused cleaning the collards to look at you.
“I’m sorry for lashing out on you.” You apologized.
Your mother gave you a small smile, “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re better.”
You walk into her arms and she wrapped them around you.
“It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to cry.”
“I know,” you shut your eyes, “We had so many plans for my birthday.”
“I know,” your mother held your face as she looked at you, “And you can keep that memory and enjoy yourself. Surround yourself with the people that love you. Go out and have a good time tonight. Shake some tail and get drunk!”
You laugh and roll your eyes.
You can almost feel the hangover in the morning.
——
“HE DON’T WANNA BE SAVED DON’T SAVE HIM! THAT IS NOT MY NIGGA DON’T CLAIM HIM!”
You rap to the lyrics, the trap beat driving you to shake ass and get low. Birthday sash over your body like a pageant girl and birthday crown on your head, you make the most of your thirtieth birthday at the lounge with your girls as they hype you up.
“GO Y/N! GO Y/N! GO Y/N!”
You felt sexy in your red dress with a plunging neckline that hugged your curves. Strappy stilettos dawned your pretty feet and you’d done a full makeup look. You felt good and looked good, turning heads and drawing attention. Another shot made its way into your hand and you drank it down as your girls cheered you on.
“Woah woah, birthday girl!” Your girlfriend, Candace had to help you because you would have face planted the table covered in drinks, “Take a seat, Princess!”
“I’m too hype to sit! This music is fire!” You drunkenly shout.
“And too pretty and valuable to end up in the ER!” Another friend by the name of Marsha yelled over the music.
You wave them off but sit anyway. A bottle of water was thrust into your hands and you accept it, drinking down half.
It felt good to get out and have a good time. Two years is a long time. Being surrounded by loyal friends warmed your heart. The drunkenness was going to make you cry but you refused to ruin your makeup. They’d been there to protect and support you through it all. You look at each one of them, a big smile on your face.
“What is it?!” A friend named Nancy asked.
“I JUST LOVE YOU GUYSSSSSS!!!!”
You open your arms with a pout of your lip and they all get up to hug you.
“I needed this!” You dab your eyes with a napkin, careful not to ruin your eye makeup, “After everything with Terry, I didn’t know what it felt like to have fun and let loose.”
“IM GLAD YOU DECIDED TO STEP OUT! TERRY WOULDV’E WANTED THAT!”
Curious, you lean into Marsha to speak to her closely.
“Did you ever…receive a letter from Terry?”
Marsha’s eyes grew wide. Your other girls came in close to see what was going on.
“You did, didn’t you?” You asked.
“…I—yes. We all did. We…we didn’t want to tell you because we didn’t want trigger anything—”
“Please don’t be upset!” Nancy begged, “We didn’t want to make you sad.”
Candace sat in silence staring at you.
“I’m not upset! It’s okay!”
“You sure?” Candace questioned, grabbing your hands.
“Totally! What did it say?”
They each shared a look.
“It sad something along the lines of making sure we look after you and that he wants you to make the most of your birthday and life and have fun and not worry about him. He said that he loved us and appreciated us for always being there for you.” Marsha revealed.
Candace and Nancy nodded their heads in agreement.
“Wow,” you give your friends a drunken smile, “He wrote you guys too. I miss him so much…”
Marsha strokes your back while Nancy fanned your face to cool you down. You release a meditating breath before laughing.
“Terry always had a trick up his sleeve! How he managed to pull this all off is amazing to me!”
When they realized you weren’t sad, they joined in on the laughter.
“He was always a man on a mission! You remember how he got you, right?” Candace said.
“Had that man showing up to your job with flowers! Took you on fifty first dates like your favorite movie!” Nancy recalled.
“He knew what he wanted and he didn’t hesitate! That’s a man right there! God created only one Terry Richmond for a reason! That shit can’t be replicated!”
“I know that’s right!” Marsha shouted.
“Let’s toast to Terry and his forever love for our girl!”
With new shots, you all raise a glass and look towards the ceiling before tapping it against the table and drinking it down.
The rest of the night went by in a blur. You were dropped off to your apartment and tucked in. Your alarm went off, waking you up with a raging headache and a dry mouth. Your makeup stained your pillow and the smell of bacon wafted your nose. You sit up abruptly, looking around with crusty eyes.
“TERRY?!”
Your loud voice alerted whoever was in your apartment and several footsteps could be heard outside your door. Marsha, Candace, and Nancy came in wearing t-shirts and panties with spatulas in their hands.
“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Candace asked with a worried look.
“I…”
You look around, swallowing spit with difficulty.
“What’s wrong?” Candace placed a hand on your knee.
“I must of been having a nightmare.”
You scratch your head and plaster on a smile.
“I’m okay. I smell bacon!”
Candace stood up to let you out of bed. You skip towards your bathroom to brush your teeth.
“We’ll be out in the kitchen, Y/N!”
“Okay!”
The door shut behind them and you stare at your reflection, the running water filling your ears. You were used to waking up to the smell of bacon whenever Terry cooked you breakfast. You brush your teeth and clean your face, putting your hair up into a bun before exiting your room.
As you make your way into the living room, your eyes light up when you notice a large bouquet of red roses dusted with glitter. Your friends enter the living room, filling you in on the surprise being left at your door. You admire and smell the roses before retrieving a card that was attached to the vase.
Taking a seat, you open it, staring down at a pretty birthday card. Opening the card, two plane tickets fall out and there are written words on the inside.
Dear Y/N,
You know I had to get you red roses! Remember how we always talked about visiting Jamaica? Well, here’s two tickets. I have family there and I want you to stay with them and make the most of a good time. Take your mother with you. I know that would make you happy. When you get there, you’ll be able to visit all my favorite places. Happy Birthday my special angel.
P.S,
I Love You.
You were so drawn into the card that you hadn’t realized your friends were reading too. They wiped away tears and admired your pretty roses. You smiled, the tickets in your lap. They each hug you tight, causing you to cry. For once, they were tears of joy. You couldn’t wait to surprise your mother with the ticket. She’d always wanted to go to Jamaica.
——
Soft white sand beneath your toes.
Turquoise water stretching out for miles.
Palm trees swaying from the warm breeze.
Red, green, and yellow dress wrapped around your body snugly.
Your faux locs brushed across your back, the hair charms tickling your skin. You turn to pick up your coconut, bringing the straw to your lips and sucking down the delicious water.
The smell of ackee and saltfish wafted your nose. The spices traveling from the open patio doors that led into the compound. Bob Marley serenaded you as you sway in your spot.
Terry had cousins in Montego Bay that welcomed your mother and you with open arms. An entire compound surrounded by the beach. They cooked tasty Caribbean dishes everyday and you got a good tan whenever you could. There were jeeps on the compound and your mother and you would drive out to town to shop and do tourist activities.
Being surrounded by Terry’s relatives brought out a comfort you hadn’t felt in a while. You’d see his parents from time to time, spoke with them everyday, but his mother brought out a sadness in you that you tried to avoid. In Jamaica, you were filled with laughter. They showed you photos of Terry in his youth. Big ears, goofy smile, deep tan, and a surfboard in his hands.
You had a letter waiting for you.
This is where I sat thinking about you after the very first time we met. You didn't look real to me at first. I never saw so many colors on one girl before... But you looked like you belonged out there, all right. You and all your colors. Do you remember the first thing you ever said to me? ("I'm lost.") Oh, you didn't look lost, not to me. At first, the no-talking thing didn't last. Before long, I couldn't get you to shut up. But you were so cute, trying to impress me with all your grand plans. I had no idea what you were talking about... I didn't have a clue, actually. I loved you right then and there. Life had changed as I knew it. And now it's changed again, love. See, I don't worry about you remembering me... It's that girl on the road you keep forgetting. "My business is to create. It doesn't even matter what you do." You told me that, remember?
P.S.
So go home. Go find it. Find that thing that makes you like nobody else. You’re unique.
“Y/N! You hungry?”
You turn, shielding your eyes from the sun rays. Your mother stood on the patio with a drink in her hand. Your stomach rumbled as you pushed yourself up from the sand, brushing the grains from your dress. You jog over, trying to avoid your feet from reacting to the hot sand. Slipping on your sandals, you climb and take a seat on a patio chair. The table was covered with all the foods you’d grown to love on your trip. You help yourself to a few pieces of plantain first.
Around your neck is one of Terry’s necklaces from his child hood. A handcrafted, wooden, beaded necklace with the colors of the Jamaican flag. Your mother sat next to you and made your plate for you. Terry’s great aunt, uncle, and cousins joined you. This was your last day in Jamaica and tonight there would be a farewell ceremony.
“Dig in!” Terry’s Aunt Chandice said. She had carob skin that glistened like onyx stone in the sun with thick locs that almost touched her ankles. His uncle Sean reminded you of Terry with his green eyes and striking features. He too had long locs that he wore in a bun.
His cousins were older than you but only by a few years. Two boys and a girl. Chris, Tarone, and Raeni.
You learned that the two boys and Terry used to compete in surf competitions. Raeni was into music and dance. During your trip she’d taught you how to move your hips and she even dragged you to a club or two where you let loose with her friends.
“You’ll come back, yeah?” Aunt Chandice asked while they cleared the table.
“Of course!”
You loved it there. You didn’t want to leave.
After lunch, you took a long nap and afterwards you went for a swim. The hours ticked on and soon it was ceremony time. All of you dressed in all white as you stood on the beach, torches lit beneath the sunset. You brought out a small tightly sealed canister filled with some of Terry’s ashes. Handing it over to Uncle Sean, you stand back and watch them have their own traditional memorial ceremony to honor Terry.
Fresh tears cascaded down your cheeks while Aunt Chandice, Raeni, and your mom comforted you. Uncle Sean soon asked you to step forward with the others, each of you taking turns to pour his ashes into the sea. A piece of Terry sprinkled in places that he’d loved. You danced and laughed, twirling around and picturing Terry’s soul watching you from the clouds with a proud smile.
After many cups of rum, you retreat to your room, falling in bed and staring out at the moon. Sleep overcame you and as you drifted off, you dreamed of being in a boat, slowly floating under the moon. Strong arms circled you and the smell of sea spray tickled your nose. You open your eyes and look up, a pair of eyes that reminded you of the Caribbean Sea staring back at you.
“Terry Richmond.” You whisper.
“Y/N.” 
He’s shirtless with white linen pants on.
“What do you love most about Jamaica?”
“It’s a part of you…it’s a home away from home.”
Terry hummed, stroking your arm.
“Are you happy?”
Terry peered down at you. He sat up on his elbow, hovering above you, the moonlight creating a glow that surrounded him. You reach up to stroke his sculpted cheek.
“I am. More now that I know you’re okay.”
“It’s not easy,” Your eyes shine with tears, “I’m going to miss you forever.”
“I know, it’s okay,” Terry gave you a reassuring smile, “I’ll always miss you.”
Terry closed the distance between you two and his soft lips that tasted of mangoes and saltwater molded into yours perfectly. You stroke his broad back with your fingertips, electricity sparking your heart. The kiss went from patient to fervent, Terry’s hands in your hair, stroking the pattering of your butterfly locs. His tongue flicked yours and he sucked on your lips hungrily.
“Baby, baby,” Terry spoke against your lips, forehead against yours, “I have to go…I love you.”
“No…don’t leave me…”
You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him more. Terry grunted into your mouth. You stroke his tanned skin, squeezing his muscles and molding your hands against his body to feel as much of him as you could before it was too late.
It was already too late. But this felt so real.
It felt as if you were grabbing air.
“Terry…no…please.”
“I love you, Y/N…”
Shooting up from the bed, you feel around, trying to grab a hold of something. Anything. You look around, the reality of where you were settling over you like a weighted blanket. You clutch your chest, sweaty skin beneath your palm. With your other hand, you touch your lips. Shutting your eyes, you see the last images of Terry before they faded away.
It was him. It had to be him.
He visited you in your dreams. He’s happy. He’s in heaven. You smile as tears roll down your cheeks.
Acceptance.
——
Dear Y/N,
I don't know how much time I’ll have left with you in this world. I don't mean literally, I mean you're out buying ice cream and you'll be home soon. But I have a feeling this is the last letter, because there is only one thing left to tell you. It isn't to go down memory lane or make you buy a lamp, you can take care of yourself without any help from me. It's to tell you how much you move me, how you changed me. You made me a man, by loving me Y/N. And for that, I am eternally grateful... Literally. If you can promise me anything, promise me that whenever you're sad, or unsure, or you lose complete faith, that you'll try to see yourself through my eyes. Thank you for the honor of being my fiancé. I'm a man with no regrets. How lucky am I. You made my life, baby. But I'm just one chapter in yours. There'll be more. I promise. So here it comes, the big one. Don't be afraid to fall in love again. Watch out for that signal, when life as you know it ends.
P.S.
I will always love you.
All of his letters.
You sat on your living room floor with a glass of wine on his birthday. This letter you hadn’t opened months prior, wanting to save it for his special day. He would have been thrity–three. You stare at a framed photo of Terry in his MCMAP attire surrounded by recruits with a big smile and a sweaty face. You’d cut your hair and got a couple tattoos honoring him. One of which was on your butt. That made you giggle. Maybe you would fall in love again someday. Maybe not.
There’s only one Terry Richmond.
Grabbing a pen, you open a notebook and start writing your own letter. It was more so for closure. When you think of Terry now, you smile and reminisce on what it felt like to be with him. You cherish the memories and created new ones.
Dear Terry,
you said you wanted me to fall in love again... And maybe one day I will, but there are all kinds of love out there. This is my one and only life... And it's a great and terrible and short and endless thing... And none of us come out of it alive. I don't have a plan except that it's time my mom laughed again. She's never seen the world. She's never seen The Botanical Garden, so I'm taking her there to where we started. Maybe now she'll understand. I don't know how you did it, but you brought me back from the dead. I'll write to you again soon.
Summary: Your neighbor, Kelvin, invites you to the fair. After a night of fun you end up in his apartment.
Warnings: Short, Smut, Humor, Neighbors.
Part One.
Why does having a crush put you in a state of mental hell?
It happens too easily and too often because your crush is across the hall from you.
And his name is Kelvin.
A handsome man with a bright, magnetic smile and a sense of humor. You moved in two months prior to meeting Kelvin. He was the first to greet you, reaching out his hand to shake yours while you were on your way into work.
“I’m Kelvin, welcome to the neighborhood. Don’t be a stranger. I promise I don’t bite. If you need anything like…sugar, spaghetti, you name it, I got it for you!”
You couldn’t help but giggle at him.
Funny thing is, you did end up needing sugar. You were currently making a batch of edible chocolate chip cookies for a friend. You confused the sugar bag for flour and there was no way you were going back out to the market after dealing with all that traffic and road rage. Slipping on your Stitch slippers, you head out into the hall and across to Kelvin’s door.
Raising a fist, you suddenly become aware of how naked you feel. Cookie Monster boy shorts on. A barely there tank top. A chill swept across your chest, causing your nipples to harden. Turning, you shuffle back towards your apartment, but the sound of a door knob twisting caught your ear from behind.
“I’ll catch you when you get back from your trip, Kel!”
“Got a lot of work to do within the next month with press and all—”
Silence. You do a slow and dramatic turn, meeting the stunned faces of Kelvin and a friend of his you didn’t recognize. Kelvin had a lot of friends. It was hard to keep up with names and faces. Kelvin stood within his entryway with a velour, emerald green durag over his head, a white tank top, and black ball shorts. The friend, a tall, lanky black boy sporting a grey hoodie and matching joggers didn’t hold back as his eyes swept over your frame.
“Y/N? Girl, where you think you goin’ dressed like that?” Kelvin questioned with a fold of his arms and an arched brow. The corner of his beautiful lips twitched, fighting the urge to laugh.
“So this Y/N? Dayum—”
Kelvin slapped his friend against the shoulder. They both share a look, communicating with their eyes. Y/N twisted her lips before a smile broke out across her pretty face. So…Kelvin talked about you to his friends?
Interesting. Definitely noted.
“My bad, love, I’m Roy. Nice to meet you.”
Roy held out his hand in greeting. You shake his hand before quickly releasing it. Your eyes linger on Kelvin’s face as the awkward silence stretched on. Roy cleared his throat, causing you to blink away from Kelvin’s hypnotic brown orbs.
“Nice to finally meet you. Be safe, bro.”
They bumped fists and Roy turned to leave.
“You didn’t answer my question, punk.”
You’d finally found your voice. You shove a foot towards Kelvin’s direction and he swatted it away.
“I ain’t no punk. And I was coming over to ask for some sugar. I got an edible order to make.” You finally reply.
Kelvin leaned against his doorway with a smirk and low eyes, “And none for me? What type of shit…”
“You got thirty dollars?” You quipped.
“I do. How fast can you make me some fruity pebbles?”
“As fast as that money is in my hand, Kelvin. Now, come on! I need sugar!”
You stomp in place like a spoiled brat. Kelvin’s eyes did a quick sweep of your shapely thighs and the peek of midriff that teased him.
“Take a picture! It’ll last longer!”
Kelvin gave you a skeptical look, “You wanted me to see you like this, huh? You ain’t slick.”
Kelvin took a few steps back, holding his apartment door open for you to enter. You give him a look and he inclined his head for you to come in. You’d never been inside of his apartment. He’d been in yours a few times to help you bring groceries in. As you walk forward, the smell of sativa titillated your nose. With a hint of hazelnut cream.
“Brown or white?”
You focus on his back. The dip in his back in particular. You could see muscle definition in his arms and upper back. You knew he’d been going harder in the gym with his personal trainer lately from his ig stories. Preparing for a role possibly. Whatever the case, you were pleased.
Huh?” You finally reply.
Kelvin looked over his shoulder at you with elevated brows.
“Brown or white sugar?”
“White.”
Kelvin snorted a laugh, “And here I thought I daydream too much.”
Kelvin opened his walk–in pantry. He reappeared two seconds later with a big storage container filled with sugar. He found a zip–lock and filled it generously with enough sugar to last you some time.
“You didn’t need to give me that much, Kel,” you accept the bag, holding it against your chest to conceal your nipples.
“I’m just tryna look out for you, girl. Plus, I want my fruity pebbles and my coochie—I mean cookies!”
Kelvin threw a hand over his mouth and you both burst into a fit of laughter. Kelvin doubled over with a hand against his stomach and you flew your body over his kitchen counter. Tears ran down your cheeks, and Kelvin’s boisterous smile and open mouth laugh didn’t help to contain your cackling.
“I had too much weed! Oh shit! Whew!” Kelvin used his thumb to swipe away tears, “Coochie sound good though I ain’t gon lie to you!”
“You make me sick! I’m leaving!”
You turn to leave but Kelvin grabbed you by the waist. You look back at him and couldn’t help but to laugh again. His touch against your skin sent signals to your nerves and your body did a jolt that you couldn’t control. He smelled amazing and his glassy skin looked delectable. Beyond his lashes you could tell from the whites of his eyes that he’d smoked some good shit.
“Who said you could leave me alone? Remember what I said happened the last time I smoked silver haze?” Kelvin whispered against your ear.
“I don’t remember nor do I give a fuck!”
You screech when Kelvin tried to tickle you. Your squirming became too much so he released you.
“I got a couple blunts left if you wanna chill with me?”
Kelvin tucked his chin and wagged his brows at you. You narrow your eyes at him.
“I have to get this order finished. If you want, come help me out and we can smoke.”
Kelvin tapped his chin in thought. Too long for your patience.
“It’s either a yes or a no, Kelvin!” You shout with a smile.
“Aight, I’ll come over. Let me grab my chips first.”
Kelvin opened his pantry again and you waited for him while walked back towards the door. Your curious eyes scanned his eclectically stylish apartment until your eyes came upon a painting.
“Honey Dripping. That’s the name of it.”
You jump slightly from being startled. Kelvin was amused with your response, eyes twinkling with mischief. You turn your attention back to the painting.
“Why this one in particular?” You question.
“It’s beautiful. It shows appreciation to the female anatomy. And I love coochie…or did you forget the slip of my tongue back in the kitchen?”
The playful edge to his voice sparked a horniness within you. Kelvin took his place next to you while munching on Lay’s chips. He chewed and admired the painting with wondrous enthusiasm.
“Anyway, you ready to head out? Them Cookie Monster shorts had enough fun for one night, ma.”
You shove him jokingly before leading the way out of his apartment. Kelvin grabbed his keys and slipped on some crocs along the way. Still, the painting and his words remained on your mind.
——
You allow Kelvin to add the chocolate chips before mixing the thick batter. The sound of Tyler The Creator playing from your Bluetooth had the two of you grooving. Kelvin cut some parchment to line the cookie sheet while you took a break to puff on a blunt. French inhaling the smoke, you pass it to Kelvin who accepted the blunt between his thumb and pointer finger, toting it before expertly blowing the smoke away from you.
You open the oven and Kelvin slipped the tray inside.
“See what team work can do?” Kelvin brushed his hands.
“Maybe asking you for sugar was the right thing to do after all.”
You wink at him while gathering your dishes to clean. Kelvin perched himself next to you with a towel to dry.
“Got any plans tomorrow?” Kelvin asked after placing a clean mixing bowl in the dish rack.
“No. Why?” You glance at him with bright eyes.
“There’s a fair…heard about it?”
“I did. Was gonna buy two tickets but that didn’t work out.”
Kelvin pouted his bottom lip with curiosity, “What happened?”
“…long story,” you huffed, “Shortened version? This dude I met on Hinge, found out he was seeing my friend.”
“OUCH. That’s fucked up,” Kelvin accepted a whisk, “Happy you dodged that bullet and here I am to save the day!”
You laugh, “Mr. Harrison, are you asking me on a date?”
You jutted your hip out and gave Kelvin a flirty look with a little smile. He licked his lips before chuckling. His eyes danced across your face and that look was doing things to you.
“I guess I am, huh?” Kelvin nibbled on his bottom lip, “Well? Can I take you to the fair, Y/N?”
You played it cool by giving him a nod in acceptance and a coy smile. On the inside, you were doing flips and cheers. After months of the back and forth, he made the first move. As he should. You’d dropped hints plenty of times. This didn’t mean anything yet. It could be a simple friend date. A date with Kelvin of any kind was enough for you.
“Then it’s a date. I’ll pick you up at three?”
“Three is good.”
You both finish up and head to your living room to smoke and watch a little TV. Kelvin made himself comfortable on the floor while you laid on your side on the sofa. Head propped up against your arm, you put on a random Marvel movie. Kelvin brought his knees up and draped his arms over it. You tap his shoulder with your acrylic french tip and he cut his eyes at you before accepting the blunt to keep the rotation flowing.
“You like roller coasters?” Kelvin asked.
“I do.”
“How about drop towers?”
“Nah,” you take the blunt, “Had a bad experience on one before.”
“You got stuck?” Kelvin turned his body fully, giving you a shocked look with his mouth hanging open.
“I did! Happened when I was eleven. Six flags. The ride started up out of nowhere and that drop almost made me see heaven. No more.”
Kelvin threw his head back and laughed. The fabric of his durag stroked your knee and it caused goosebumps to appear on your arms.
“I hate anything that spins. Shit makes me sick.” Kelvin revealed with a look of disgust.
“Let me guess, made you vomit?”
“Yeah! I hate feeling dizzy. That over and over again spinning drives me nuts!”
Bet, remind me to put you on the cyclone for torture when you piss me off.” You replied jokingly.
Kelvin sat up on his knees to face you.
“That’s if you can even force me to do it. Look at all this,” Kelvin flexed, showing off muscles and lifted his shirt to give you a glance at his abs, “Too strong!”
“Kelvin, we’re the same height. And last time I checked, your friend Aaron got you beat in that department—HEY!”
Kelvin had snatched your slippers off and started tickling your feet. You writhed on the sofa, kicking a squealing, trying to fight him off.
“OKAY! okayokayokay! I’m sorry!” You were blinded by tears and your laughter couldn’t be contained, “KELVIN! YOU WIN! OKAY!”
“That’s not what I want to hear, Y/N.”
Kelvin grabbed you by the ankles, your body tumbling to the throw rug. Kelvin climbed over you to hold your wrists above your head. You move your head to get your braids from your eyes and focus on Kelvin’s face. Your chest rose and fell with deep breaths and he blinked down at you with a condescending smile.
“Where’s the blunt?!”
“On the tray. Don’t try to deflect. What was that about Aaron?!”
“I was only kidding!” You replied.
“Mhm. Don’t let me find out you’ve been checking him out, punk.”
You liked this side of Kelvin. The way he had you trapped beneath him and the glint in his eyes with that sexy smirk had you a wet mess. You wanted to see how far he’d go.
“Can I share something with you, Kel?”
He tilted his head, gold chain dangling in your face, “Yeah? What’s that.”
“Well,” you look heavenward, “I always wondered what it’ll be like to…have Aaron do arm curls while using me as weights—STOP!”
“Keep it up! I can do this all night!” Kelvin said between laughter.
The timer beeped on the oven, alerting you that the cookies were ready. Kelvin sucked his teeth before releasing you. He helped you up from the floor, but suddenly he lifted you up and tossed you over his shoulder. You wiggle your feet while he carried you towards the kitchen.
“Put me down before you drop me!”
Kelvin sat you down on the counter and grabbed the oven mitts. He took the cookies out and sat them on top of the stove. The smell of the freshly baked treat wafted your nose and made your mouth water.
“Why must you act up, Y/N? See, I would punish you…but you ain’t ready for that.”
You fold your leg over the other and tilt your head.
“What exactly is a punishment from Mr. Harrison entail?”
“You ain’t ready for that, Y/N.”
Kelvin removed the mitts.
“I’m a head out. I gotta get up early to train and take care of some other shit before I come scoop you for the fair…”
You were too late at hiding your disappointment. Kelvin worried his brows and pouted his lip.
“Awww I’ll miss your annoying ass too.” Kelvin walked up to you and gave you a kiss to the cheek, “Get some sleep. I want you energized for the fair tomorrow. We got a lot of shenanigans to get into, ma!”
Kelvin snatched up his keys and slipped on his crocs. You were still stuck on the kiss that tingled your cheek. His lips were indeed soft like a Tempur-pedic mattress. Probably tasted good to. His mouth had to taste good.
“Come walk me to the door.”
You hop down from the counter and follow Kelvin. He opened the door, pausing with his head against it and giving you a dreamy look that had you giggling.
“See you tomorrow, Y/N. Take your ass to bed.” Kelvin grabbed your hand and kissed it like a gentleman.
“Dream about me like I know you will.”
He licked his lips slowly, hazy eyes falling to your lips.
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