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LIPSTICK STAINS
Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus sized! black fem oc (Lorelei)
Warning: None.
Summary: Terry finds himself fully immersed in a woman who frequently visits the coffee shop he helps his sister run. Sometimes it's the littlest things that can catch your attention and hold it hostage.
It was a small act of courtesy, the bare minimum really.
She came in, the scent of mango announced her arrival before the chiming of the doorbell. The fruity notes blended perfectly with the sugary spectrums that filled the café.
She always ordered her usual. A small slice of lemon cheesecake, a hazelnut cappuccino, and a glass of water.
Often, she would have a book in her hands while she ate. Sometimes she’d be too immersed with what was on her laptop screen to care about her food, she’d pack it to go after two or three bites.
Like her order, there was one thing that remained a constant at every visit. A vibrant cherry red lipstick stained her lips all the times she frequented the cafe. And every single time, she left a stain of her full lips on the white coffee cup.
Terry had gotten used to his staff having to wash lipstick stains off cups, it wasn’t really something they complained about, the dishes were getting washed whether the stains were there or not.
But she always asked for a serviette, that only if she didn't have a wet wipe to wipe the stain away. It was a small detail. Almost insignificant, but it brought a smile to Terry’s face when he first noticed this.
The first few times, he watched her do this in appreciation. She was making the job of her staff a little easier. Not that scrubbing at dishes was a complex task, but the thought was more than enough to have Terry thinking about her more than he should’ve. And after a while, he began disliking her thoughtfulness.
It was a selfish desire, a need more specifically. He suddenly wouldn't mind her leaving the lipstick stains as is. He would take over washing the dishes just to smear the creamy balm between his fingers.
It took a few more visits, until he had created a system where they wrote the names of customers on to go cups, solely to get her name. And the consonance of syllables blended together in a harmony that rang into his ears as smooth as her voice. Lorelei, that was her name.
And Terry couldn't help but wonder if she would stain his heart like she does his cups.
A/N: Would you guys want to read this? I want to try writing fluff and cater to plus sized readers so that my work is more inclusive. Now I'll add that I'm not plus sized myself, but I wanna learn to properly represent people who are so that they can feel included in my works. While I'm writing this, I will be reading works from authors who write solely/especially for plus sized readers/oc's, and also ask for advice. Proper research goes a really long way.
Taglist: @blyffe @peachbutterfly-blog @browngirldominion @blackmoonchilee @megamindsecretlair @mogul93 @earthchica @nayaesworld @cdotmvkspaz @zillasvilla @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @onherereading
P Y R O
Pairing: Terry Richmond × Black OC (Ayesha) Mafia fic
Warnings: Minors DNI!! Threatening, break-ins, arson, violence, guns, knives, kidnap and hostage, Mentions of murder/attempted murdee, crime, Mentions of blood, use of the n-word, knife-play, creampie, unprotected sex, oral (f-receiving) smut...lots of it. Short enemies-to-lovers(?)
Summary: Terry Richmond tries to get revenge on the family that is said to kill his cousin Mike. After the first two failed attempts, Terry sought to finally succeed at the next attempt. After all, third time's the charm, right?
A/n: Please read the warnings!!!
The first time Terry Richmond broke into Ayesha’s home, he nearly burned it to the ground with her in it. The big-eared pyromaniac purposefully poured a trail of gasoline from the living room to Ayesha's bedroom and lit it all up with some matches.
She managed to leave through her bedroom window just in time to call the fire department. And they arrived just in time to salvage the majority of her important belongings, sadly, the same could not be said for the home. Renovations would've cost too much time for her and it wasn't considered safe anymore. That day, Terry Richmond did not only create a fire on the land that Ayesha owned but also sparked a flicker of rage within her.
The next best thing would be an apartment, Ayesha's social relations did not make going to the cops an option (even though most were in her pocket). Having a cartel leader of a father had its perks, unfortunately that came with a risk to her safety.
Despite the discretion that apartments offered, she believed that there was enough security that limited the possibility of unwarranted visits.
Until Terrence Richmond broke into her home for the second time. His dullard self didn't think to wait long enough until Ayesha’s defenses were lowered just enough for him to attack.
Her paranoia urged her to treat a knife like a secret lover as it laid comfortably in her bed just underneath the pillow, enclosed tightly in her hand. The second time Terrence Richmond broke into Ayesha’s home, he left with two stab wounds, one on his abdomen, the other on his leg.
That was also the day she got close enough to look him in the face, and at just the right moment, with just the right amount of light, Ayesha swore life looked back at you when her eyes met his, despite the deep mug that dug into his face. Earthy pools of green, blue and touches of brown are all she caught a quick glimpse of. That was the day Ayesha questioned a little too often, just who the fuck was disturbing her peace.
Weeks passed since Terry's second attempt, and while that should have settled Ayesha's heart, she knew better than to believe she was out of the man's radar.
That much was figured out at Terry’s third attempt, when he again, assumed that Ayesha would be sleeping away on her bed for long enough before he took her with a silencer.
But Ayesha was ten steps ahead, and with her obvious luck, Terry had run out of his. Ayesha had been preparing for her parents’ charity gala for the new year that night, yet her attention was grabbed at the soft sound of beeping from her phone. Seemed like the man who wanted her dead had triggered her sensors.
Ayesha had just enough time to turn off her bedroom light and hide in her closet before Terry stealthily walked into her room with a gun pointed straight ahead, Ayesha couldn't help but marvel at his skill, for a man so big he was soft on his feet.
She couldn't help but wish she had left the light on so she could spot the confusion in his eyes when he noticed the empty bed in the middle of her bedroom. She didn't dwell on that long enough though, she instead took that moment to pounce on him.
Gun pointed to the back of his head, Ayesha quickly cocked it back and took it off safety before going straight to giving orders. “Put the gun on safety and throw it on the bed.”
Terry followed instruction, obviously in a vulnerable position, he didn't dare do something that could jeopardize his life. “Leave your hands in the air too.”
Ayesha reached her fingertips beneath the wool of his black balaclava, pulling it off his head. In hurried steps, she walked around Terry, leaving enough distance between them so she could have enough time to shoot if he attacked.
“Shirt off.” Another instruction she gave, which Terry also obliged to, couldn't help but to smile slightly because what was her game plan?
The patch on his stomach confirmed that he was, indeed, the person who had been trying to kill her. The red stain in the middle of the gauze let her know that he didn't bother waiting to heal before attempting this third attack.
“Pants.” Ayesha pointed to his legs with her gun. Terry tilted his head with a vicious mug on his face, one that would've had her thighs clenched together if he wasn't trying to kill her. It didn't take good lighting for Ayesha to know the man was something dangerous in the looks department, his size did more than enough.
When she noticed his reluctance at following her instructions, Ayesha sighed. She ordered him to put his hands behind his head before walking closer. With her gun pointed right under his chin, she looked right into his soul-snatching eyes. “You try anythin’ funny, I'ma make a new chandelier with your brains. My trigger finger always happy, so don't test that.”
Her other hand busied itself with patting his waist down to check for weapons before it began unbuckling his belt. Terry couldn't help but smile down at her, her eye contact was heavy and persistent. “Tryna get blood all on your white ceiling?” Terry asked, boldly playful.
“I don't mind it, red's my favourite colour.” Ayesha smiled sarcastically before pulling his belt out the loops of his pants. Then she unbuttoned the pants, undid the zipper before the sound of fabric hit the floor.
Another gauze on his leg, at the exact spot she stabbed. Yeah this was definitely him.
She ordered him to grab her vanity chair and pull it into her closet before he sat. With only the closet light on now, Ayesha got a perfect view of his face. It was a struggle to tie him up while trying to ensure he doesn't attack her. Although Terry had many opportunities to attack her with the chances of success, he didn't attempt to, he only kept a cocky smile on his face like he knew something she didn't.
Terry could account for the comment about red being her favourite colour. Her lips were painted in cherry red lipstick that looked delectable against her brown skin. Dressed in a, once again, deep red bustier dress that had sleeves draping off her shoulder, exposing just the right amount of cleavage.
She tied some rope from her closet around the whole length of his body until Terry winced from the burning friction of the rope on his skin. “You into bondage?” he asked, the corner of his lips lifting in provocation.
“Only if you like it too.” Ayesha responded with a fake smile, pistol still pointing at his forehead. “Enough chitchat, nigga. Who the fuck are you, and what you want?”
Terry only shrugged, smile still yet to fall from his face. Ayesha tried not to let his nonchalance worry her, just who was she dealing with and was this a dance she wanted to partake in.
Just as she was about to continue her interrogation, her doorbell rang and echoed through the entire luxury apartment. With a pointed look, she tilted her head before putting her gun back on safety then slipped it between her breasts. “Well, looks like we gon’ have a sleepover today. I trust you'll behave?”
It was rhetorical, that much was obvious to Terry, but he couldn't help but turn it into banter. “Well you ain't been hospitable, so I can't make no promises.” He began with a smile as he watched her reach for a ball gag in a black box that sat isolated in the corner of her closet. “But then again, you got me tied up real good, can't say I'll be able to misbehave.”
Ayesha rolled her eyes before she tied the gag around him. “Can't be hospitable to unwarranted guests.” She murmured once the gag was secured. With a final look she backed up from the closet and offered a small smile. “Well, stay put. I'll be back before you know it.”
Ayesha closed her closet door behind her, she remembered to grab his gun on her bed with a towel and put it in her safe before leaving her apartment.
Out on the hallway, her driver waited patiently. “Sorry about that, Ray. Had to take care of a lil somethin’.”
“All good, miss, everything alright?” Ray asked with a pointed look, his dreads framing his face as he looked down at her.
“Just peachy, let's head out.”
Domén Nwa was an extravagant events hall. Owned and built by an influential black woman by the name of Dalan Moise, Freddy Stount couldn't have found a better venue to host his annual charity gala. Despite him being morally questionable, uplifting black owned businesses and black people in general had been his goals for many many years. He wore that badge proudly under the name Pro-Black.
“This looks so beautiful, My Love.” The voice of Ayesha's mother filled her ears as she walked closer to where her family stood. Picture perfect as others would see, but her family hid their wrong doing well, why else would her father be hosting this gala. Generous people were never suspects.
Anaya Stount, a woman who aged like fine wine and loved wholeheartedly. Ayesha never once wondered why her father worshipped the ground the woman walked on, the woman was deserving of many luxuries. She was the first woman that Freddy practiced his generosity on.
“It is, ain't it? Dalan did well.” Freddy responded as he looked around the hall filled with high-end people.
Classical music echoed through the hall as Ayesha reached her parents and greeted them both with tight hugs and cheek kisses. “Hey mommy. Dad, everything looks amazing.” Ayesha complimented the place as she looked around.
“It does, doesn't it? Ooh, there's Shay. That woman ain't bring back my Tupperware. I'll be right back, love.” Ayesha’s mom kissed her husband on the cheek before turning to her daughter. “We gon’ catch up later, Dolly. You look so pretty, baby.”
Ayesha and her father laughed at her mother, there's nothing that women held precious that her Tupperwares.
Freddy cleared his throat and turned to his daughter. “When were you gonna tell me your house was burned down?”
Ayesha sighed, not nearly as prepared for this conversation as she was before she came here. She knew it was only a matter of time before her dad found out about that. “I was gonna tell you today, dad.” She explained while she scratched the skin between her thumb and pointer finger.
“You were supposed to tell me the day it happened.” Freddy countered sternly. When the fire was broadcasted on the news, he identified Ayesha’s house straight away, and his worry peaked when she didn't answer his phone after a few tries.
“Well I made it out in time.” Ayesha smiled at people who were passing by, not wanting to seem suspicious to other guests from the tense conversation. “Besides, there's more that we need to talk about. After the party though. You know where Briana is? I need to talk to her.”
Freddy huffed at his daughter before telling her where her sister went. Ayesha followed his direction. Up the spiral stairs of the hall, Ayesha pattered her feet towards the smoking lounge.
The room smelled of weed, and Creed perfume. “Now you know daddy don't like you smokin’ that stuff.” Ayesha stated as she moved to stand a few feet away from the tall woman.
Briana Stount, a woman of grace and intention. Only rarely did she do something she did not want to. She always stood tall and poised, and the confidence of her footsteps clacking in heels always wavered the confidence of those around her.
“You of all people know I don’t really care what that man like or don’t like.” Briana countered after blowing out the smoke from her mouth. She turned around and smiled at her younger sister. “You look so pretty, Dolly.”
Ayesha cheesed at her sister and walked over to her to wrap her in a tight hug, not caring about the smell of weed anymore, she'd just drown herself in perfume again. “Thank you BriBri, you look the prettiest.”
Briana offered her gratitude for the compliment before they detached from their hug. Ayesha reached over for the blunt in her sister’s hand before ashing it out. “You and daddy still beefing? Thought y’all smashed that.”
Briana rolled her eyes before she shook her head. “Let’s not. Please and thanks.” Briana waved a dismissive hand before looking at her sister with a more stern look, “Let’s talk about the fact that somebody tried to kill you.”
Ayesha winced at the confrontation. “About that… I may or may have not caught and tied the nigga up in my closet.”
“Say what now? And he still alive?” Briana asked with a frown.
“Well, yes. We gotta find out why he tryna kill me, Bri. What if there’s a bounty on my head we don’t know about?”
“Ain't nobody stupid enough to mess with dad like that, this gotta be somethin’ personal. Have they said anything yet? Does dad know ‘bout this?” Briana began pacing, her fingers threading through the thick strands of her afro.
“No and no. Daddy is a kill now, ask never kind of man, I’m tryna get answers.” Ayesha countered before grabbing her phone in her purse. “Besides, I’ve got a surveillance system all over the apartment.”
“Even in your closet?” Briana frowned at Ayesha with a small smile.
“Yes, after the first attempt… I wanted to be safer.” Ayesha countered before opening her home security system, flicking through different rooms. “Now we can watch and make sure he’s-”
When her screen filled with an image of her closet, her heart sank to the floor. Right there where the chair was… where Terry was supposed to be, sat tangled red rope with no man in sight. She changed to check her bedroom’s camera, his clothes which she had left on her floor were nowhere in sight either, but what made her heart sink even lower was when she noticed her safe wide open, right where she locked his gun along with hers.
“Ayesha!” Briana shook her sister’s shoulder, shaking the woman out of her spiraling. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s not there… he was supposed to be right here. There on the chair… and he’s not. He took his gun.” Ayesha rambled on as she pointed at the screen where Terry was *supposed* to be. She was hyperventilating. If he knew the code to her safe that means he must know where she is now, where her family was.
“This is exactly why I don't want you wrapped up in Dad’s shit.” Briana cursed under her breath, “Okay, calm down. Let’s… let's get you outta here and get you somewhere safe, this will probably be the first place he comes to.”
Ayesha practises her breathing, long inhales and deep exhales to slow the pounding of her heart. Her hands trembled at her sides and for the first time, since Terry’s first break-in, she was actually scared. There was so much more to lose now, there was her entire family and their image at risk. Regardless, she nodded at her sister's words as the older woman ushered her out the empty room.
“You go find Dad or Ray, someone who’s got a gun on ‘em and stay there. I’ma get the car ready and text you to leave so we can get the fuck up out of here.” Briana urgently ordered once they've reached the hallway.
Ayesha nodded, the confidence she had when tying Terry up was now slightly cracked and shaky. Just who was this man? She watched as Briana hurried down the hallway before she disappeared out of sight. Ayesha took in another breath before she stalked down the empty hallway herself.
“You know, for somebody who claims to be into bondage. You are really bad at it.”
A baritone filled her ears, one that had Ayesha freeze in her steps. She turned behind her and there he stood. Tall, menacing with an abstract smile on his face. “It's okay though, there’s plenty of time to teach you.” Terry added, the top row of his teeth peaking out his lush upper lip.
“The fuck do you wa-” Ayesha began before she was interrupted by the sound of a cocking gun. One that looked too familiar, not because it was Terry’s gun… but because it was hers.
“Walk with me? Noticed a beautifully decorated balcony out there. Nice and private.”
The walk to the balcony wasn't long, but with every step, the hallways seemed to stretch longer and longer as Terry walked behind Ayesha with the gun pressed to her side.
He led her outside, hand gripped firmly at the back of her neck as her silk-pressed hair flew back with the gush of wind that hit her face.
The breeze should have helped cool her nerves, but her body burned as though the gun had already been shot and a bullet pierced skin.
Terry lowered his head, and he spoke a few words that rattled Ayesha's whole world.
“You gonna tell me everythin’ you know about Mike Simmons. Don't omit nothin’.”
Ayesha swallowed the lump in her throat before she straightened her posture, making sure to keep her breathing level. “How the fuck you know Mike?”
It was a messy question, one question that gave answers to many that weren't asked. Terry frowned at it because it seemed personal, too personal for a murderer.
“Don't get shit twisted, I'm the one askin’ the questions. Now,” Terry urged as he pressed the pistol deeper into her skin, causing Ayesha to wince slightly. “Answer me.”
Ayesha stayed silent. Although Freddy Stount was her father, he was a crime boss before that. He put every single family member, even his wife, under oath. You live by the gun, you die by his.
“Oh you don't wanna talk?” Terry walked around her, her neck replaced by her jaw as he gripped it tightly, forcing her gaze to meet his. “It ain't just your life at risk, baby. What, you thought I'd just let your sister go?” he threatened with heavy breaths.
Ayesha's heart thumped faster than when she first got into trouble with Briana. They had snuck out for a party during their teenage years which recklessly led to Ayesha being lost on some rich kid's private road. Briana spent the entire night looking for her and they both spent the entire morning getting lectured by their parents when they got back.
However, that predicament did not compare to this, one of them was actually in danger now, a situation of life and death and at that moment, Ayesha could give any less of a fuck of any damn oath.
“What you want to know?” Ayesha asked in a shaky breath, making a mental note to tell a lie as close to the truth as possible just to throw him off.
“You tell me. You're the one that killed him.” Terry spoke lowly, his eyebrows only digging deeper dents into his forehead like the ones his fingers were digging into her jaw. Veins popped from his neck as he struggled at controlling his breathing.
Just muttering those words sent his mind into a frenzy. Mike was still young, still had a lot of life to live, only for it to be taken by power-greedy capitalist criminals.
Terry was so into his head that he didn't even notice the way Ayesha frowned. Except this time it wasn't in pain, or even fear, but it was in confusion. As if Terry spoke of something taboo.
“K-killed?” She stuttered as Terry's hand unknowingly moved from her jaw to her neck. Her hand was wrapped tightly around his wrist. She tried to speak but her airways were cut by the taller man's strong grip.
It wasn't until a few seconds after that Terry let go of her that Ayesha sputtered gasps and coughed out, forcing oxygen back into her lungs. He kept a vigilant grip on the gun however, pointing it at a breathless Ayesha, urging her to speak.
Once she caught her breath, she spoke words that shook Terry's core.
“Mike isn't dead.”
Mike worked for Freddy Stount. And while Freddy wouldn't call Mike his right hand man, the older man didn't trust anyone else like he trusted Mike.
Like Ayesha, Mike's affiliation with the cartel leader meant his own life was at risk. Hence someone tried to kill him and pin it on none other than Freddy Stount.
When Ayesha told Terry that Mike wasn't dead, he didn't want to believe it until he saw his cousin with his own eyes. And when he did, nothing he believed made sense anymore.
They held a funeral for him, everybody back home believed Mike was dead. Gunned down doing Lord knows what in the middle of the night. Only for him to be alive, breathing and on the run from whoever was trying to kill him. Trying to beat the race of death.
Ayesha claimed to be trying to figure out who tried to kill him. Other than Briana, her father and now Terry, no one else knew that Mike was still alive.
Terry demanded to be a part of the investigations, and while Mike didn't want Terry to have parts in this, Terry told him to shove it.
And that's how Ayesha now lived with the man that tried to kill her, right there in one of her guest bedrooms, with his hands cuffed to the headboard for her safety.
The first few weeks of them trying to ‘crack the case’ was filled with tension in the apartment. Briana had to stop Ayesha and Terry from actually killing each other with how much they argued.
If Ayesha didn't have a knife to his neck, then Terry had a gun to her head. Ayesha's apartment had become a new safety hazard.
So much that Briana once left them mid-argument, having had enough of the whole cat and mouse game they played while risking each other's lives.
And despite all that, Ayesha does not know how she ended up in this position.
Back against the wall as she hung on his shoulders with his head between her legs. Terry had her dress bunched up around her waist as he became acquainted with the taste of her arousal.
She had just come back from a friend's birthday party. All hell broke loose when she saw a dirty bowl in the sink and used that as an excuse to decompress all her frustrations onto Terry.
One moment she was screaming in his face, and the next Terry was eating her out like he hasn't eaten in months.
“Oh my God.” She gasped in breaths as her hands held onto his head as he shook it from side to side.
Terry had his eyes on her while he ate away. Some of her juices ran down his chin and got caught onto the hairs of his goatee.
Ayesha nodded down at him, muttering chants of praise in small whispers. “Yes yes yes yess.”
And Terry's tongue wanted to do nothing but comply with her need to cum. That and the face that he wanted her to rain on him, shower him with all she had to give or whether the fuck SWV said.
He suckled her sensitive bud of nerves into his mouth. Switching between languid and intentional flicks of his tongue and smooth suction of his hollowing cheeks.
Terry Richmond was a giver, and with that came him being a sloppy eater. But contradictory to that, he didn't dare leave a trail of arousal from Ayesha. He made sure to slurp up everything that leaked from Ayesha.
“Fuck. I'm gonna cum, Terry. I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum.” Ayesha warned in hurried moans as she tapped his arms.
Terry hummed against her pussy, his grip on her waist tightening just enough for Ayesha not to fall off as she rode out the waves of her orgasm.
Ayesha’s pussy squelched as her juices leaked out of her and Terry mashed his tongue against her sopping mound.
Ayesha threw her head back as she chanted how much she adored his tongue, how great he was treating her. So on and so forth.
Terry landed soft kisses on her pussy and occasional licks that had Ayesha pushing his head back with a hiss. “Mm-mm. Can't.” Ayesha muttered.
Terry sent one last kiss before helping her off his shoulders. “Sweet ass pussy.” He grunted as he settled her onto the ground.
He looked down at Ayesha as she awkwardly looked around. “You good now?” He asked, still making sure that Ayesha was still backed up against the wall, forcing her to look up at him eventually. “Attitude gone?”
Ayesha couldn't help but look away after looking at him for too long. She slipped away from his proximity, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth. “I need to freshen up.” She murmured before disappearing into the hallway. “Wash your face, Terrence.”
After she cleaned herself up, showered and dressed in a nightgown, Ayesha was ready to retreat into her bed, call it a night and prepare herself for the dread she would feel the next day as the reality of what she let Terry do to her body crashed down on her.
Sat on her vanity chair, she did a portion of her skin care, too inebriated to do everything as she usually does.
Ayesha's calming thoughts were disrupted when her door clicked open and in walked Terry with his brooding and unavoidable presence. She sighed softly, put down her serum with a heavy huff as she looked at him through the mirror.
“Something wrong?” She asked with a raised brow.
Terry took slow, menacing steps towards her. Soft on his steps yet heavy in her mind, she couldn't shake him off even if she wanted to.
He had his bottom lip caught between his lips, shaking his head no at her question. “Mh mm.” He emphasized with a hum.
“Need something?” Another question, however, this time it was breathy because he was a few meters too close for Ayesha's resolve.
This time he nodded his head, the corners of his lush lips curved upwards. “Yes ma'am.”
“How can I be of assistance, Terrence?”
He was right behind her now. Bent his waist low enough where his nose grazed the skin of her neck as he kept his eyes on the mirror in front of them. “Could start with droppin’ the formality.”
“Can't do that.” Ayesha shuddered as she felt his breath on her neck. “Formal is the base of our-”
“Then follow with only speaking when asked a question.” Terry interrupted, landing a swift kiss on the hot skin between her shoulder and neck “Think you could do that?”
Ayesha frowned, she sobered up after her shower, but Terry's words were jumbled in her head, a long stream of disjointed letters that flowed too fast to create a sensible thought in her head. “W-what?”
“That's not an answer, Ayesha.” Terry urged, keeping his eyes on her through the mirror as his teeth nipped at the skin on her neck.
“Yes.” A simple answer that showed she understood, but it wasn't an answer that Terry was satisfied with. Ayesha could tell by how his lips detached from her. Her skin suddenly felt cold, and it froze when she noted the intensity of his stare.
“Yes, Sir.” She corrected.
That elicited a hum from Terry, his hands worked skillfully on her chest, massaging her full breasts, her nipples caught between his thumb and pointer. Terry occasionally applied pressure on the hardened peaks, earning a surprised gasp from Ayesha.
From her chest to her waist, then her thighs. Terry lifted her nightgown. Deep red sat beautifully on her skin, and he swore the colour had never looked better than it did when Ayesha wore it.
“This okay?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Want me to stop?”
“No, Sir.”
She had no panties on, because Terry’s fingers made contact with warm slick when he nudged his hand between her legs. Her thick thighs were perfect hand heaters.
“Mm, she was just hungry wasn't she?” He asked with a deep laugh, one that scratched Ayesha’s ears pefectly. “Got you screaming at everythin’ and everyone.”
His fingers rubbed slow, intentional circles on her hardened bud. Ayesha's hips bucked and she let out a broken whimper. More of her juices flowed out her already sopping pussy.
“Mhm, look at how she crying.” He slipped a single finger inside of her and began slow thrusts, curling his finger to find her spot. “It's okay, Daddy’s got you baby.”
Terry spoke to Ayesha’s pussy like it was an actual person, and it spoke back through the sound of squelching noises filling the room.
Ayesha threw her head back when he slipped in another finger and his speed quickened. With his free hand, he threw his fingers through her sweated-out silk press from her shower. “Keep your eyes on the mirror.” He ordered while Ayesha flooded his hands with her arousal.
Ayesha obeyed, looked at herself as her face contorted to an expression of pleasure. Brows drawn together and lips shaped into a small ‘o’. “Ooh shit shit shitttt.” She drew out as their eyes connected in the mirror.
“Pretty ain't you?” Terry teased, let out a soft laugh when Ayesha attempted at clenching her thighs together to deter his movements. “Mhm. Fucking pretty. The prettiest baby.”
They moved to her bed bench, right in front of her full body mirror. Ayesha was assured that Terry had a voyeurism kink, but she couldn't dwell on that thought with the way she was so full of his dick.
There he sat, legs spread with Ayesha sat between them. Her hands held onto his thighs as she rode him like her life depended on it. “Fuck. So big, so big, so big.” Ayesha whined as she struggled at focusing on the task at hand. Keeping her eyes on the mirror.
“I said sit on it, Ayesha. Sit on this dick.”
Terry wanted to fill her to the hilt. Which sounded impossible. He was already so deep, and the stretch was still taking some getting used to. She lifted herself off his lap to relieve herself of the heaviness of his dick.
But Terry wasn't taking that, his grip on her hips tightened as he helped her slowly impale herself on him. Her pussy tightened and she unwillingly threw her head back. “Fuck fuck fuckk. Wait.”
But Terry wasn't listening, especially not with the way she clenched around him. “Sidong pon it, all di way.” He coached, groaning when he felt her tighten even more around him. “Mek mi go in, Ayesha.”
“I can't-.”
“Yuh can.” Terry interrupted, as usual, before he sent kisses down the length of her back. His hips began bucking slowly, gathering her cream around its thickness, some of it connecting their bodies together every time she rose.
The way he spoke to her, accompanied by the accent and the way his tip kissed her cervix was more than enough to have her cumming. She couldn't muster up the
“I'm cumming. I'm cumming so much, oh my God.”
“Keep it comin’. That's it, pretty girl.” Terry coached her with practised ease, as if he has seen Ayesha in this position time and time again. Like watching himself rock up into her was a normalcy, like feeling her drown his dick was something she regularly did.
Ayesha clenched around him, her walls tightening enough that her pussy whispered at Terry, told him not to leave, to stay just where he was and continue delivering the precise and deliberate thrusts that helped her ride out her orgasm.
She spasmed, her thighs trembled as she tried to keep them closed. Ayesha gripped at Terry's muscular thighs as her head fell backwards, her hair flowing in Terry's face. Silk press now thoroughly sweated out by the roots.
She let out incoherent gibberish and let in heavy breaths to make sense of the way someone as random as Terry had managed to make her react this way to the way he touched. As if his dick siphoned something yet to be unleashed from her, along with the cum that dripped down both of their skin.
“Look at her. So pretty, creamin’ on this dick so good.” Terry grunted as he kept his eyes on where they connected.
Terry sent a much too audible smack to Ayesha's ass that had her recoiling from his touch. But she'd be lying if she said it didn't make her pussy leak with more need.
“Get your ass on the bed,” Terry began, lifting her off his dick, causing the both of them to wince slightly. “Gonna wear that ass out.”
And he couldn't have been more accurate. Terry held Ayesha up by her hair, his fingers threading tightly through the frizzing strands.
His eyes were stuck on her ass, watching waves ripple on the skin as his pelvis slapped against her supple flesh. Ayesha was thick… thick as fuck and Terry couldn't hide his admiration for her body.
But he had to focus, because Ayesha clearly didn't give a fuck about the knife Terry held to her neck with his other hand.
Turns out Ayesha hadn't stopped sleeping with the knife under her pillows after finding out Terry wasn't exactly an enemy. Terry found the knife under her pillows while he had her head pinned to the mattress as he plowed into her.
One thing led to another, and now the blade of the knife grazed the thin skin of her neck while he held her body up by her hair.
“Focus Ayesha. Keep your head up baby. Shittt, c'mon.” He moaned as he watched her throw her ass back on him, giving back the energy he gave a tenfold.
“I'm tryin’, I swear I- oh my fuckkk.” Ayesha cut herself off, tears streaming down her face as she let out quiet sobs. No dick should feel this good, fuck splitting her pussy open, Terry was damn near intruding her mind.
Would she be out of her mind if she told him she loved him? That didn't sound so bad with how fucked out she was, not with the way Terry's calculated thrusts made home in her soul. Put his initials on that shit and call it his. Had no value without his name on it.
“Try harder, do better Yesha. Or you want me to stop?” Terry slowed down his thrusts as he asked.
Ayesha immediately shook her head, waited until she could take in a heavy breath before splattering a bunch of senseless begging. “No please please please, I'ma do better.”
Terry smiled slyly at her mumbled moaning. He lifted the knife from her neck, replacing it with his hand. He pulled her up, had her back arching away from his torso, her head tilted backwards so they could make eye contact.
From her neck, the cold steel of the knife traveled down between the valley of her breasts while Terry kissed the side of her face, getting a whiff of the smell of her Jasmine perfume mixed with sweat.
“This dick feel good?” Terry whispered in her ear, his strokes so painfully slow Ayesha swore she could cry.
Ayesha nodded her head as best as she could. She kept her eyes on him, brows furrowed, jaw falling open with her lashes wet with fresh tears.
The sound of her squelching filled the room, which did little to settle the faucet between her legs.
Terry wasn't satisfied with her silent response. He clicked his tongue, angling his hips where he dug her out so perfectly it had Ayesha mewling. “Uh-uh, say Yes Terry.”
“Yes Terry.” Ayesha whined back immediately, would do anything if he kept fucking like he was now. Slow, long strokes that would have her cumming her claim on his dick. Signed, sealed and respectively hers.
“Mmh fuck yeah.” Terry moaned, and dropped his head on her shoulder, pace still slow and intense. “Now say Yes Daddy.”
“Yes Daddy, yes yes yess.”
“That’s what I'm fuckin’ talking ‘bout.” Terry kissed all the exposed skin his lips had the honor of meeting. “Now fuck Daddy back, put that ass to work.”
And Ayesha did as told, couldn't help but be such a good girl for him.
Terry threw the knife on the floor, reached his hand between Ayesha’s legs, his fingers finding her clit, covered in both of their mixed cum from their previous orgasms. He rolled perfect circles on the swollen ball while he sucked hickies on her sweat covered skin.
“You gon’ nut with Daddy?” His voice was the perfect scratch to her itch. Ayesha loved the way he talked her through everything. Nut after nut was filled with him whispering nothing but filth and praise into her ears. “Show his dick how much she love him?”
“Yes Daddy. Dick so fuckin’ good, so good. Fuck fuck fuck.” Ayesha stuttered, nails clawing at the skin of his thighs while his pace quickened.
The movement of his hips was very sloppy. He was close, but so was Ayesha. She was already dripping onto the sheets she was sure wouldn't be revived with a simple washing.
Terry saw white spots in his vision, his hand let go of Ayesha's neck. He watched her fall onto the bed, instantly gripping the sheets and sobbing into the mattress.
“Fuck I'm cumming.” Terry announced, both his hands gripping on Ayesha's hips, pulling her towards his dick as he fucked into her with precise intention, coaxing her realest put of her.
“Oh my God.” Ayesha gasped, her stomach twisted in a way she had never experienced before. She reached a hand behind her and attempted to push Terry away to deter his movement. “Fuck, hold on. I- shitt.”
Terry couldn't bother himself with listening, not with the way her pussy was milking him dry. He had his head thrown back, lower lip caught between his teeth as his brows furrowed. “Fuck yess, baby. Just like that.”
“Daddy's cumming.”
And Ayesha felt every single vein of his dick as he twitched inside of her. She felt the pulse of his thickness when he spilled inside her, painting her walls white with his nut and rutting his hips into her.
Ayesha squirted right around him too, her juices spraying around his pelvis and her ass. Their pleasures mixed inside Ayesha's hot mound while she sobbed into the sheets.
Their orgasms rode out as they both watched their breath. A pregnant silence fell in between them, Ayesha still clenching the sheets in her fingertips to ground herself.
Lrt out a soft wince followed by a whine when Terry slipped himself out of her, feeling overstimulated yet uncomfortably empty now.
It wasn't long until she melted into the lush sheets when she felt Terry's wet muscle in between her pussy lips. Slurping away at their mixed cum. “Oouu shit.” she hummed lowly, hand reaching under her to caress his head. The tips of her fingernails scratching against his scalp gently.
“Mhm. Pretty ass pussy.” Terry mumbled as he pulled away, licking his lips to catch the beautiful concoction of both their cum. His hand made a sharp contact with her pussy before flipping Ayesha over to lay on her stomach.
He fit his body between her thick thighs, planting short and deliberate kisses on her lips, hand cupping her jaw before he slid his tongue against hers. He sighed against her lips.
Ayesha hummed at the taste of them both landing sweetly on her tongue, their lips molded together as if it were one of reconciliation. It was sloppy and noisy, but importantly filled with a passion they were both too tired to defy.
After a few extra pecks, Terry lifted his head, pulling away slightly to catch some air. “You good?” Terry searches her eyes intently, eyes switching from eye to another.
Ayesha nodded her head with a small, serene smile. Her eyes low and her breathing still a little rapid.
Terry squeezed her hip in warning, his eyes cutting low into hers, coaxing Ayesha to fix her mistake. “What I say?” Terry began with a vicious frown that almost had Ayesha clenching her thighs with him between them. “Say Yes Terry.”
And immediately she knew where she went wrong without him having to say anything, still the correction made her chuckle lowly. “Yes, Terry.”
Terry hummed in approval, sending kisses along the length of her neck and massaging her thighs and waist. “I'm ready to get back up in there.” Terry’s words muffled against her sweaty skin. “Come sit on it again.”
Ayesha rolled her eyes, and shook her head at his damn near impossible request. It hadn't even gone past ten minutes and he already wanted to get back into it.
Ayesha didn't know how they got to this point, but she had a feeling this wouldn't be a one time thing. So much for trying to catch Mike's killer.
“No, I'm tired and sweaty and I need another bath.” Ayesha spoke, her fingers grazing the sides of his waist. Terry landed a few more kisses on her plump lips, not wanting to hear the rest of the sentence.
“Which is why I said sit, we not gonna do anything’ else.” Terry attempted to justify with a sly smile and a deep chuckle.
“I don't believe you.” Ayesha muttered, yet still she shimmied herself from under him, positioning his sticky tip at her entrance as she hovered over his sweat covered, chiseled body. Adonis-built motherfucker.
“I’m tryna fuck the attitude outta you.” Terry claimed, his brows sinking as Ayesha slid down on his dick. “Gahdamn, wet as fuck.”
“Mm shit.” Ayesha moaned, her hands landing on his chest to ground hold herself up. “You already did that.” she croaked at the stretch, “Fat fuckin’ dick. Oh my God.”
Terry hummed, watched her hover the few inches left. “Well this is the readjustment,” He stuttered before his hands naturally landed on her hips and ushered her further down his dick. “I said sit. No mek mi repeat miself.”
Ayesha was damn near sure that was his fourth attempt at killing her, except this time… he could actually succeed.
Taglist:
@blyffe @peachbutterfly-blog @browngirldominion @blackmoonchilee @megamindsecretlair @mogul93 @earthchica @nayaesworld @cdotmvkspaz @zillasvilla
A/n: this was fun and stressful to write, but we made it. Now I'm taking a break for real and trying to find inspo for Ruffian, and Something Seasonal.
Please comment and reblog, or send me asks about this or any other one of my fics. Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did, I enjoyed it too much.
The Flavours Series Presents:
Warnings: Mentions of sexual conduct. Cursing. Angst.
Summary: Unrequited love. Terry's an ass
She smelt the heat before she felt it. Hot, sticky and clinging to the air like a memory that didn't want to be buried.
She felt heavy too.
Streaks of bright beams bled through the seams of her curtains, daring the sunflower on her windowsill to follow it to the edge of the horizon. The birds began chirping to fucking early, and that's when Ronda confirmed that this would be on of those days.
A hushed mumble came from her closed bathroom door. Sounded rushed, words blending together in an uncomfortable urge.
He'd been doing that a lot lately, leaving her in a bed full of sweat soaked sheets and lies sealed with a ribbon of promise around her neck every time he whispered praise into her skin.
It was her, she was certain of it. It was always her.
Ronda knew what she was signing up for when she gave Terry her number the first time they met. He was too smooth. Blended in with mystery too seamlessly.
She knew she wasn't the only one, she also didn't think she had the power to tell him she wanted to be. Doesn't think she would be able to hear him telling her she wouldn't be.
The bathroom door clicked shut after a moment. Steam burst through the cracked open door, accompanied by the familiar scent of pine and aloe. He showered.
He was going to leave without saying a single word to her.
She plays dead. Not because she didn't want him to lie to her face, but because she knew that he wouldn't. He'd always been too honest, too real. Too brutal. Her inner thoughts told her it was a taste of her own medicine. She tells herself to go shove it.
Belt buckle clinking, articles of clothing rustling against his skin before his shadow cut a corner around her bed.
Her eyes shut quickly and she tries to even out her breathing. She feels him close, only because his natural scent cradles her. Not in safety but in warning.
A finger traces a cheek before she hears a deep rumble of laughter.
“You've never been a good actress.”
She heard the smirk in his tone. And against her better judgement, his amusement brought a more than willing smile to her face. “Shh, I'm asleep.”
“Never been a good liar either.” He added and pushed away a frizzy braid from her shoulder.
Ronda's eyes open fully and are met with an ocean of trouble. Turbulent and unsettling, but oddly calming. The smile danced on her face, stars in her eyes shining much brighter than any Nebula.
She hated feeling all this giddiness for someone who would never be fully hers. He didn't deserve it. But he did, sometimes. When he kissed her just right and did the bare minimum that he somehow made look spontaneous. Especially when he paid homage to her when he chants her name as her walls clenched tight around him every time he beds her.
Still she mutters ‘good morning’ with so much softness, it made it hard for him to believe that she didn't want to be there anymore. Under his spell.
“I'm about to dip. Work.” She recited the words in her head as he said them. Despite his bright personality, Terry lacked originality. She'd heard that excuse in that very cadence time and time again.
And like a bug to a flytrap, Ronda fell into it by reciting her favourite response to that. As if the response didn't break her heart a little more than the last. “No breakfast?” She felt pathetic.
He froze, almost unnoticeable, but she saw it. A breathy laugh fell from his lips to soften the blow. “You know I can't.”
But she didn't know. She didn't know why he couldn't indulge her at least once. Still, she mumbles okay and lifts herself from the cold bed.
But Terry noticed, the slight disappointment. How her eyes didn't meet his anymore. He let out a quiet sigh, as if he didn't want to rock the already shaky ground.
“Don't be like that, Ron.”
But she was already like that, a hard frown on her face as she tied her rope around her waist. The carpet floor suddenly felt like the edge of a cliff. “It's fine, Terry. Just…” She huffed out a breath, waited. “I'll call you.”
That's all she said before disappearing into the bathroom.
She took her time there, took even longer getting changed into an old shirt and shorts. Figured she'd spend the rest of the day spring cleaning.
Until she heard the soft hum of music playing in her living room. Funky bass filled the space from her turntable, and by the time she rounded the corner of her hallway, the sight before her shocked her more than anything.
A half empty cup of coffee seemed to be leaving a stain on her kitchen counter, steam still crowning it in warmth. The amazing world of Gumball played on the TV despite the music singing over it.
Terry was cooking. A shock. She didn't think he knew how to make anything other than oatmeal. Clearly a misconception because the smell of bacon and cheese had her stomach rumbling.
“What you know about Desert Eagle?” Ronda asked with a short laugh.
Terry, ever the Marine, knew of her presence before she spoke. His attention never reared from the pan in front of him, he smiled around the silver spoon in his mouth. “I'm hurt you don't remember.” She smells peanut butter. Didn't think he liked that either.
She frowned, head tilted as an uncertain laugh passed her lips. “Remember what?”
“Fucked you to sleep with that song in the background.” He answered casually, a proud smirk on his face. Like a kid who's successfully done something they know they weren't supposed to.
Her cheeks burned slightly from the tension, she forced an eye roll back but shook her head. Always so audacious. “You do that all the time.”
“Damn right.”
A beat of silence passes. Heart pounding in blissful confusion and satisfaction. He never stayed, not once. This was new territory, she wasn't sure how she felt. It was like getting answers you weren't sure you wanted or were ready for.
“Work?” She asked, with a little too much sass, like she was waiting on him to reveal an agenda.
“Can wait.” That was his only response.
It didn't satisfy her. His vagueness never did. He always thought he could say nothing and it would mean everything. It used to, Ronda wasn't too sure about that anymore.
Her eyes rolled, not subtle. But definitely in the void.
“Didn't seem like it moments ago.”
He ignored her, plated their food and had them sit side by side on the island. He contemplated starting conversation, but the way her glass of juice hit the marble-top sent out warning signals for him.
“You don't need to stay, I'll do the dishes.” There wasn't any sarcasm in her tone, but you could hear the slight wit.
“You kicking me out?”
“Can't do that if you ain't wanna stay to begin with.”
Terry huffed and ran a hand and stood up to take both their plates. “I don't even want to do this with you right now.” He mumbled, steps hurting over to the sink to wash the plates.
“Don't fucking do that.” Ronda crossed her arms and followed his silhouette. “Don't make me the unreasonable one.”
“But you are being unreasonable. You asked me to stay for breakfast and when I stay you tellin’ me to leave. We're too old for mind games.” Terry panicked, dishes abandoned once Ronda took his full attention.
“You're one to talk, mind games are all you play.” She chimed with a laugh that sounded more like a stab than a melody.
“When have I ever played mind games?”
“Who's Kaya?” She asked suddenly. She didn't have that right to know. They weren't together. Would barely say their friends. She wasn't his and he wasn't hers.
Ronda hasn't wished to swallow words more than she did in that moment. It dug too deep into the reality of her feelings. She wanted them buried for longer.
Terry froze, not for long. Masked his shock with confusion. “What? How do you know who that is?”
“That's what you're gonna ask me? Seriously?” Her eyes slightly widened and her chest heaved. “Actually forget it. I got stuff to do, can you leave?”
“Nah. Fuck that. How you know that name, Ronda?” Terry stressed with his arms crossed, hands clenched and head beginning a rhythmic thudding he usually got when all he wanted to do was reach for a glass of whiskey. A forgotten habit he fought tooth and nail to rid himself of.
“You answer her calls after putting me to sleep, you think I don't hear you but I do. That's how I know her.” She blurted in a hiss. It was cutting, as sharp as a double-ended knife.
“And you ain't think to ask me who she is? Without all that damn accusation.”
“I'm asking right now and you still ain't answer my question.” She didn't want the answer. Preferred when suspicions remained just that. Didn't need the confirmation, that she held no value in his life. That she was that disposable.
The tension between them absorbed the summer heat. A rope tied around her neck. Reasoning tugging on the end, tightening the knot around her neck. Words clogged and thoughts jumbled.
Bricks piled in his limbs. Body heavy, mind burdened. He fought the urge to give a sly remark. Put more effort into lifting his legs and grabbing his phone off the island.
He only turned to face her once he reached the door. His mouth opened his mouth to say something, anything that would fill out the cracks that spread beneath them. Futile, because the only words he seemed to come up with were “Come lock up.” Before walking out of her apartment, and indefinitely, out of her life.
The rope loosened, only slightly for her to let out a staggered breath. Aloe and regret spread through the air like the questions that were left unanswered. Floating around her in self-pity and shame.
She shouldn't have asked about her. Maybe then he'd still be here, laughing and selling her the pretty lies he usually sealed with a kiss.
This emptiness she felt wasn't worth it. It felt like an incomplete harmony, incapable of grounding her from a bitter realisation she refused to acknowledge every time he smiled at her for too long.
She was in love with him.
And that burned her more than the realisation that he wasn't in love with her.
Taglist: @blyffe @peachbutterfly-blog @browngirldominion @blackmoonchilee @megamindsecretlair @mogul93 @nayaesworld @cdotmvkspaz @zillasvilla @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @onherereading @theogbadbitch @writingsbytee
A/n: My love for angst has doubled.
Also disclaimer, I've noticed that the chocolate part of the series has been deleted mysteriously. Honestly, I'm not mad at that because I was unhappy with how that story went, so this is a way I can do it justice. So I will be rewriting it once I get an idea for it!
The Flavours Series presents:
Ft. Terry Richmond x black!oc (Vanessa)
Warnings: Suggestive language.
Summary: In which Terry finds love in vanilla beans.
Terrence Richmond had always been a sucker for all things sweet, smooth and persistent. This was why anything vanilla flavoured instantly became a favourite.
Especially why he didn't take too long to turn Vanessa Mwangi into his forever woman. Into Vanessa Mwamgi-Richmond
She was everything vanilla. Tender with a firm grip that kept a hold on you for so long, yet you never seem to mind. Quite frankly, he loved the silent flavour more when it danced across her supple skin and sang tantalizing notes into his ear everytime he breathed the air around her.
He would tell you that everyone would testify to his statement. Stand firm in his belief that his wife is that most gracious woman to walk this ridden earth. A shame for her, but a blessing for all he would add shortly after.
Terry loved her with such an unshakeable force since middle school together, loved her even more in highschool. He didn't think it was possible to love her anymore, thought he had already called his heart- theirs. Signed, sealed and stolen.
Until she fell pregnant, she was still only his girlfriend when they'd found out, and so young. Barely even 23 and still had a year of college ahead of her. The announcement threw them off the loop, but that didn't deter Terry.
He knew right then that he had to marry this woman, not just because she was pregnant. Hell if it were up to him they would've been married since before that, yet he promised to respect her wishes of getting a degree first.
But he also promised to respect her wishes to give Vanessa his last name before their baby, and so he did just that. Quickly organised a small, comfortable wedding as the stresses of university and work washed by them.
The wedding did happen. Barely, as Vanessa had nearly cancelled the whole ceremony at so many occasions with the idea to quickly elope. ‘Only wanted his last name, the diamond and the wedding could wait.’ she would quote.
Labour came earlier than expected because apparently, fraternal twins can get a little crowded and impatient.
Abelle and Asha were the best things that ever happened to the couple.
And now, happier than ever. Yet another baby on the way, Terry hears, smells and tastes vanilla notes at every corner of the house. Especially when he hears her voice.
“Bad ass kids, they just broke the fire hydrant. Dancing around the street like they have lost their minds.” Vanessa Fussed as she waddled into the kitchen and straight for the fridge.
Terry sat on the counter, a glass of ice water in his hands as he watched with a evident curl of his lips. A soft, glistening sheen of sweat stuck to him like second skin. “It's hot, let ‘em have it.”
“Whatever, you're always speaking for them. I can't bend down, can you get the ice pops in there.” She pointed to the lower drawers of the fridge. Heavy panting from the struggling she was doing just moments ago.
Terry happily obliged, hopped off the counter eagerly. “You had three already, V. That can't be good for my baby.”
Vanessa rolled her eyes, hands planted on her hips before she took the large plastic of ice popsicles she made the night prior. “Well tell your big-headed baby to get out. Rent is passed due. I'm doing squats to kick her out. Tonight.” She said, pressing down the t's.
“And these aren't for me. Give these two to Tower and Terror up there. They have an attitude with me. I'm gonna give these to the neighbourhood kids. It's hot as hell today, I can feel it in the crack of my ass.” Vanessa just continued on fussing, sliding two popsicles to Terry to give to their children.
“My baby's head is not big. She's just gonna be smart like her daddy. Give me a kiss before you go.” He puckered his lips as he grabbed the cold treats for the twins upstairs.
Vanessa smiled brightly and leaned in to leave one peck followed by a generous amount of more. Her hand held his jaw, what was once an innocent kiss turned into a sloppy mess of tongues dancing.
Terry hummed, one hand on her hip as his body moved naturally to cage her back against the counter. He squeezed her supple flesh when he felt her suck onto his lower lip, teeth not-so-softly nipping at the skin.
“That's what got you walking around pregnant.” He mumbled against her lips and Vanessa smiled against his.
She left a few more pecks before pulling away slightly. “Please, as if you're any good at pulling out.” She turned around and grabbed the plastic bag of slowly melting popsicles off the counter before swinging her free hand to smack Terry's butt. “Go help my kids cool down.”
With a small frown, Terry shook his head. The corners of his lips curving downwards. “Vanessa, stop doing that, seriously. That's the fourth time this week. We have this conversation every other day.” His voice filtered off as she waddled out the door.
“Come get popsicles you guys. Yolanda! Get off that damn fence, cause if that dog bite you, you'll be crying.”
She ignored her husband's fussing and tended to the soaking children playing under the hot summer sun.
Majority of their day was spent like this. Vanessa lounging on the chair by her porch, rubbing on her swollen belly.
Terry helped the twins finish the week's homework before allowing them out to play with their friends in the boisterous streets.
And soon, it was just them, two wine glasses filled with grape juice because Vanessa missed drinking wine. So now, she was stuck with just the illusion.
Her legs stretched over Terry’s lap, who occasionally fed his wife some salty popcorn as they watched a cheesy lifetime movie, per his reluctance.
However, the movie was long abandoned, humming comfortably in the background of the couple's chatter.
The kids were asleep earlier than usual. Thanks to the energy they burnt earlier on that day. Which left Terry under Vanessa's undivided attention.
As much as he loved their children, and he really did. Would die for them. Nobody could have prepared him for how much harder it would be to have Vanessa to herself, as his wife and not the mother of his children. Cause Lord knew that was a 25/8 job, no day offs.
If one kid wasn't crying because they fell, the other was throwing a tantrum because they didn't get their way. Sometimes they would sneak into bed trying to be close to their mother, forcing Terry to cling on the edge of the bed to keep from falling.
Times like this were more than appreciated. Just her, and him. His vanilla bean.
“Terry, get your hands off my feet. How are they so cold in this heat?” Vanessa kicked at his hands with a giggle while wiggling her toes.
“I'm tryna warm them up but you won't let me.” He retorted. The bowl of popcorn, also abandoned as a prop on the round, wooden coffee table before he carefully lifted her leg to place a kiss on her calf. A few short hairs tickling his lips.
“Sir, please. Not on my sofa.” She laughed and shook her head as his kisses travelled up her legs. “Mr. Richmond, I'm serious.”
“I'm serious too. We've done worse on this sofa, girl.” His voice, soft muffles against her skin which did everything to entice him. “C’mon, give your man some sugar.”
It was always so smooth. Cocoa butter, vanilla and a hint of peach from her body care products. She had the whole house smelling like a bakery after every morning and night shower.
“You literally got some sugar this morning. I'm surprised your baby ain't pop out.” Vanessa's voice muffled out by a wide smile. He was now seated diagonally between her legs, one over his lap while the over behind his back as his hand rose up underneath the long skirt she wore.
“She knew I got some business to take care of. Ain't that right baby? Tell your mama you ain't no cock-blocker.” He kissed her stomach.
“Don't talk like that in front of her.” Vanessa playfully scolded and pinched his neck softly.
She watched Terry roll his eyes before tilting his head to the side, pressing his ear against her stomach and breath out.
Her hands instinctively rested on the back of his neck, caressing him lovingly. Vanessa ran the tip of her nails up and down the length of his back.
With her head rested on the backrest of the sofa, her eyes fluttered closed. Deep humming filled her ears, causing a small smile to stretch across her face.
She joined in when she recognized the melody of Forever Mine by the O'Jays. The very off tune harmony had Terry laughing and lifted his head only slightly so his chin propped on her belly.
He simply watched her hum the slow song off-key with her eyes closed.
“Vanessa noticed he stopped humming along and opened one eye to take a peak. “You judging my humming?” She asked and perked one brow.
Terry shook his head, eyes blown out in adoration. He shook his head silently. Hands out from her thighs, and now rubbing on the sides of her stomach.
“Then why you looking at me like that?” She whispered, top of row of teeth shining through her smile.
“I can't look at my wife?” Terry grinned.
Vanessa rolled her eyes, though a constant smile remained on her face. She swore her cheeks would always hurt when around this man. “Always got something smart to say.”
“You know what they say bout them birds and their feathers.” He quipped then winced when Vanessa pinched his neck. “You need to learn to keep those hands to yourself.”
“Then stop being so smart.” Vanessa argued, her words spilling through giggles.
“Can't do that. My head ain't big for no reason. I can't turn it off.” Terry dramatically sighed with a shrug.
He looked over at her as she laughed, trying to keep quiet so they wouldn't wake up the kids. Thin walls.
His smile softened, gaze locked intently while his eyes traced every imperfect perfections on her face. Dark moles spotting across her face, downturned eyes. Full, round face with lips that often took the shape of a love spell every time she said his name.
“I love you.” He told her randomly, biting through the playful energy with something a little more wholesome. “I'm so so in love with you.”
Vanessa blushed, as she always did. Cheesing like a fucking Cheshire cat. Her heart began thudding in her chest. Terry never failed to make her nervous. More than 5 years they've been together but she still feels like a highschooler with a teenage crush around him.
Nobody how old they got, their love remained the same. Young and so full of life. “Love you too, baby. With my heart and soul.” She responded breathily.
Terry smiled at her, still proud to see that he was able to get his woman to blush like this. He lived to make her happy and would stop at nothing to make sure he was the reason for her smiling every single day.
“You are my heart and soul. Till death, Vanilla bean. Matter fact, fuck that. I'ma haunt your ass when I die. Gonna keep the toilet seat up, the cutlery drawers open, the jar of juice on the counter. All that.” He joked while his eyes fluttered open and closed.
Vanessa nodded her head with a knowing smirk. “Already knowing. That's exactly why your kids are so bad. Get it from you. I found grey hairs on my head the other day. Cause of the three of y'all.” She rolled her eyes at the reminder. She remembered crying for nearly a whole hour after finding a single strand of grey hair after combing her hair. She didn't stop until Terry told her he'd always wanted to kiss a silver fox.
Terry opened his mouth to give a witty response, but they were interrupted by the sound of crying coming from upstairs.
Vanessa whistled and shook her head when she heard their daughter walk down the hallway and the stairs and stood with her blanket in her hand. Their son followed soon after, his father's deep mug on his face as he looked at his twin sister.
Terry groaned and looked over at them. “Y’all were supposed to be sleep. Doesn't look like you've been sleeping.”
“Daddy, Abelle broke my doll.” Asha, the daughter, was quick to point at her brother who shook his head.
“She broke my car first. Mama kept telling her to play with her own toys.” Abelle retorted and pointed right back at his sister.
“We're supposed to share the toys, dummy.” Asha’s tears were long forgotten as a frown planted on her face.
“Girls don't play with cars, dummy.”
Vanessa sighed before patting Terry and getting up. She held the bottom of her stomach and looked at the two children. “C’mon you two, it's late. Let's get you back in bed.”
But Asha wasn't trying to hear all that.
“Hold on mama, this is serious.” She lifted her hand towards her mom and in a split of a second a loud and chaotic argument broke between the 7 year olds.
Terry had his hand over his mouth. Holding back his laugh as his head went back and forth between the two. “Now that attitude, she gets from you. Hope my other baby girl is sweeter than y’all.”
“Shut up, T. I'm sweet.” Vanessa frowned and softly hit his shoulder.
“You take Asha, cause I ain't dealing with all that. I'm taking Abelle. Can't have one peaceful moment in this house. It's always something. Can't get some love or anything. Abelle, come on.” Vanessa stressed as she pulled Abelle up the stairs all while arguing with his sister.
Terry pulled Asha away to her bedroom while Vanessa took Abelle to his.
So much for some alone time with his wife. But honestly, Terry wouldn't have it any other way.
A/n: Hey.... lol
Okay, I know I said this, and I said that. But to be fair, it was a very stressful time, okay? The spiral was valid...😭😅
I was just being dramatic... I had my little breakdown and stuff. We're back now.
I should've known I couldn't stay away from my baby for too long.
Taglist: @blyffe @peachbutterfly-blog @browngirldominion @blackmoonchilee @megamindsecretlair @mogul93 @nayaesworld @cdotmvkspaz @zillasvilla @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @onherereading @transparentphantomface
Get It Together.
Warnings: Depictions of postpartum depression. Angsty Angst. Not proofread, excuse any mistakes.
It was different. Everything about their routine was different. She felt a gradual clogging in her throat every morning as the window-cracking screams filled her ears from the break of night till dawn.
It wasn't like they said in the magazines, or the websites or the classes. They described It as something beautiful. A change you accept so naturally… wholly. But as she looked into the mirror, her heart clenched in sorrow and guilty despise when she didn't feel the urge to pick her wailing newborn into her arms.
They had a term for it. Postpartum depression. But Rhea didn't like the idea of what she's feeling being a mere… diagnosis. How could something so devastating have a term that justified it?
She looked into the mirror, utterly disgusted in herself.
Not because of the dark rings that wedded her eyes. Or the paling of her rich skin, despite it being a hotter season. It wasn't the subtle hollowing of her cheeks or the scabbing of her lips.
It was the soft voice that always seemed to justify her failure, just as easy as her condition did.
He was always so understanding, so caring. And even then, she couldn't help but feel envy.
He fell into fatherhood so easily. It was like a switch naturally turned for him. Like the mode was always there but never tapped into it.
Why was she so different?
She'd read that pamphlet enough times to recite it word for word without taking a peak. Changing family roles, marital strife, or a family history of mental illness.
Those were some of the reasons listed on why mothers have a harder time falling into motherhood than most.
The thudding in her head intensified, her hands shook against the counter despite her strong grip. She felt herself slipping into a whirlpool of tumbling emotions. Undefined and wrong.
A hand reached. Warm against hers growing cold. Brought her back to her daunting reality, lifting her eyes to meet his earthy ones. Concern dripping from them as vastly as her nightly tears that drowned her pillows in sorrow.
“I've been calling you.” Terry broke that shell of anxiety easily, his frown still yet to fall from his face. He was holding their baby boy in his arms, soothing him back to sleep. “You don't hear him crying?”
Rhea rubbed her eyes and shook her head. “Fuck, im sorry. I was… in my head. He okay?” She asked and walked closer to try and take the baby from his arms, but she flinched backwards when Terry took a step back.
Her mouth dried, her hands clenching into small fists. She felt her body curl into itself at the small rejection. He was starting to loathe her.
“Nah, it's good. I just got him back to sleep.” He mumbled, eyes focused intently on her. “You good?”
Rhea gave a small, uncertain smile. Her head moving to nod but she felt herself choke out a small sob before she could stop herself. Her body aching from sleepless nights, head banging harder as the words chanted louder in her head.
Not even three months as a mother, and you're already shit at it.
On tear fell, then another and another. And before she knew it. A river fell down her cheeks, flooding to floor beneath her, rising at such a rapid speed, she felt like she was waist deep in an unforgiving sea. It wrapped around her neck, tightening its grip. She choked on her own breath.
She hadn't even noticed that Terry went to put the baby back in the bassinet. He was back, his arms free before taking her into his arms as they both fell on the floor together.
Rhea clawed at her own skin, scratching away to try and get this bad feeling off of her. Her sobs intensifying yet they fell into deaf ears. She couldn't hear herself, see herself. Feel herself mutter the words into existence. “I- I’m bad mother.” She choked out as she looked her husband in his eyes. “I need help, T.”
She thought she saw a flicker of disappointment, or was anger? Hatred? She couldn't point a finger on what it was that she saw or what she thinks she did.
Lights flickered in her eyes as she moved to push him away.
He didn't budge, instead his hand held the back of her head, holding it to his chest as he swayed their bodies from one side to the other. Soft affirmations comes into her ear.
She gave out, the fatigue burning red embers of hopelessness as she fell into his body.
Terry didn't say anything, just held her as a few tears well into his eyes. He had to be strong, for all three of them. Otherwise everything will crumble right below his feet with nothing to hold onto.
Rhea’s breathing levelled out, her crying soothing into short sniffles and hiccups. Her face felt hot, and for the first time, she finally felt the fatigue overtake her consciousness as she fell limp in her lover's arms.
Terry kissed her cheek. He didn't bother to wipe his tears. He stepped into his role of a husband and carried Rhea back to bed. Next to her side was their baby's bassinet. He laid there asleep and unknowing of the turmoil that filled their home.
Terry envied that kind of peace. But there was no time for that. No time for pity or dwelling in sorrows. His wife asked for help and he would so anything to get her to a place where she's happy.
So Terry stepped out of the room with the nanny cam. In the kitchen, an unattended glass of wine sat on the counter. A sink full of baby bottles that had yet to be washed and a breast pump sitting, isolated and halfway filled with milk.
Terry leaned against the counter. Thumbs digging into his eyes before running his hand over his recently brush cut hair.
His hand reached into the pocket of his jeans for his phone. The contact was already on speed dial from the numerous times they've called. It rang, four times in total before a soft click echoed into his ear.
“Mr. Richmond?” Her soft voice spoke into his ear, urging a soft sigh to fall from his lips.
“Yes, Mrs. Godfrey. Sorry for the late call.” He grumbled into the phone scratching his growing stubble.
“It's never an issue with you. What can I do to help?”
The question caused his brows to furrow. Because he'd been asking himself the same question time and time again. Yet he always failed to come up with an answer that he needed. That his wife and son needed.
Inner turmoil churned in his mind. His resolve was hanging by a thread, and he didn't know how much more he could take. There was a crack in his normally ‘put together’ self. His whole life now filled with uncertainty.
His thoughts ran and rambled at such a rapid pace, he did not even hear Dr. Godfrey call out his name. Shaking him out of his thoughts.
“Is everything alright, Terry? Troy and Rhea?” Her voice filled the space this time. Omnipresent in the house, and it threatened to have him spilling out unattended feelings.
So he steps out of his head and into the real world, where problems couldn't be left to linger.
“No. No, we not alright.” He finally admitted, not only for himself, but for his baby boy who needed his parents to get their shit together. “I think Rhea's ready for therapy.” He spoke the second part quietly.
“How soon do you think you can have us?”
A/N: I've decided I'm not going to pressure myself to write fics. So, I will be putting all updates to a pause for a bit because I am experiencing burnout. Instead, I'll be posting any short stories/oneshots that come to mind until I get my motivations back up. I've never written angst before so here you go.
Likes and reblogs are appreciated. Comments encourages💋
Taglist:
@withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @onherereading @transparentphantomface
@blyffe @peachbutterfly-blog @browngirldominion @blackmoonchilee @megamindsecretlair @mogul93 @nayaesworld @cdotmvkspaz @zillasvilla
Episode 5. Season 1
Red strings
I put a spell on you,
because you're mine
You better stop the things you do
I ain't lyin', no, I ain't lyin'
Warnings: MDNI!! Infidelity, profanity, adult themes, everybody ain't shit.
Summary: When butterflies in their stomach start feeling a little too much like red strings tugging on their souls.
Previously, on Something Seasonal
Airports gave him headaches. If it wasn't the shrill, annoying, robotic voice that spoke through the intercoms then it was definitely the sound of rolling suitcases, loud chatter and laughter, pointless screaming and how overcrowded the airport got that made Terry less eager to fetch his wife.
But he missed her, and that was more than enough of a reason to be excited for her return from Singapore.
It was early into the day, around 10 pm Friday, and Terry had skipped his weekly cardio session at the gym. Naturally, he woke up much earlier and played around with his phone before he cleaned around the house and prepared himself to fetch Amber.
Except Amber was around an hour late, and with the way the woman loved being punctual, being late seemed so out of character.
Terry reached for his phone in his pocket, speed dialling Amber’s number. The phone rang for a while before going straight to voicemail. Terry frowned, looking around to see if he could catch sight of her or perhaps a whiff of her signature lavender perfume.
Terry sent a short voicemail, asking her where she was. While he kept calm, his lips twitched into a frown, foot tapping mindlessly on the tiled floors. He still had to prepare for work once he made it back home, but now, his perfectly planned out schedule was being messed up.
He called again, only for his phone to buzz shortly, with a pop-up notification appearing on his screen. A few messages from Amber. Letters stringed together to form words that had him mugging his phone, fingers clenching tightly around the small device.
Pretty Baby
T, I’m so sorry baby.
Boss said I have to stay a few extra days.
It was last minute, I’ll make it up to you when I’m back.
Terry clenched his jaw, didn't stay in the messaging app long enough to question Amber, didn't keep his phone in his hand long enough to leave innumerable voicemails that would surely drive Amber, and her boss, wild.
Instead, he put his phone back in his pockets and left the buzzing airport with a bouquet of baby breaths in his hand. He'd have to cancel the reservation to Amber's favourite steak place as well.
It wasn't until he got into his car that he felt the tension in his jaw lessen. The same couldn't be said about the heavy pounding of his head.
Amber had been constantly postponing her flight back home. According to Terry's knowledge, she was supposed to be back home five days ago. In their home, sleeping in their bed.
After a few breaths, the headache only subsided slightly. Then his phone was on his ear again.
“Hey, you free today?”
She expected a diner, the gym, hell, even a park, since he loved taking walks so much.
Yet when they pulled over to a kept suburban home, panic set into Syrae’s heart. “Terrence Richmond, where the hell are we?” She questioned with a frown, looking over at him sitting in the driver's seat.
“Still think it ain't fair how you know my full name and I don't know yours.” Terry joked, turned off the ignition before turning to face Syrae with a smile that didn't fully reach his eyes.
He's been off since she got into the car.
“Shouldn't be so careless with your wallet.” Syrae countered with a small smile of her own, turned her gaze away from his, couldn't fall into that kind of trap again. “Stop deflecting. Who's house is this?"
Terry huffed, couldn't be bothered to answer the question, because he himself didn't know why he brought Syrae here of all places. They could've gone somewhere public, anywhere they wouldn't be alone and compromise their progress.
His thoughts clouded his head, common sense evaporating to form small little white fluffs of risky decisions and unwarranted mistakes.
By the time the flow of possibilities of their meetup stopped stagnant in his brain, he was already opening the door for Syrae.
“I'm not gettin’ out this car till you tell me where we at.” Syrae challenged, her arms crossed over her chest to emphasize her pretentious resolve. It wouldn't take much to get her to get out of the car, really. He didn't even have to tell her the truth.
Yet still, he did, and the truth was bitter. It burned Syrae's throat as a lump formed. Cleared her judgment, just enough for a frown that was so beautifully sketched onto her face, it wouldn't deter Terry's plans.
A few blinks and silent sighs were what it took for Syrae to break out of her daze. “What you say?” She questioned breathlessly.
“We're at my place.” Terry retorts with a sigh. He himself knew how all of these were too many steps in the wrong direction. It's been roughly a few days since they've agreed to being friends, yet still, this was still too soon to even invite each other to their homes.
Hell, Syrae had Terry pick her up at their café to maintain the littlest bit of the platonic relationship they had… have?
“We're not gon’ be here long, just need to-” Terry began, trying not to make it seem as bad as it may have looked.
But Syrae shook her head immediately, and as if the movement brought snowfall, Terry's words froze. “Uh-uh. Terry, this isn't… fuck.” She sighed. Curse this man for always being a headache, ‘cause the pounding in her head could never be caused by somebody other than him.
“Rae, it's cold, I'm tryna get inside. We're not gonna be here long. Promise.” He assured..
Or maybe it was the fact that Syrae's resolve was questionably weak when it comes to Terry, because while she was shaking her head no, her feet lifted out of the car. The frigid breeze hit her face, just as cold as her glare when she looked at Terry.
“Thirty minutes, then we're out.” She ordered, a finger pointed in his direction before she stepped to the side.
Terry laughed with a slow shake of his head. He closed the passenger door before walking behind Syrae, leading her to the porch of his and Amber's home. “Yes ma'am.”
The house interior was modern and warm. The decoration was a little stale or as Syrae can brutally put it, featureles. But their shower probably didn't pour out rocks, so she couldn't really be opinionated about the interior of Terry's home.
What caught her eyes the most was the set up in the middle of the living room. Some small easels and canvases. Trays filled with fruit, a meat and cheese platter, some confectionery snacks and wine glasses.
It looked sweet, cozy… but definitely not platonic. Not platonic at all.
“Here, let me take your coat.” Terry's voice filtered through her thundering thoughts in a soft whisper.
Syrae felt his fingertips brushing against her clothed shoulders, smoothly dropping the coat from her body as if it were a practised act, one that emphasized comfort they weren't allowed to have with each other. Not with the way they both felt a jolt of electricity from contact so minimal.
Syrae let him, shrugged the heavy article off her body then turned to face him as he hung it on the coat rack near the door. His coat was off too, and his muscles poked through the fitted turtleneck he wore.
“What's up with the cute setup?” Syrae broke the uncomfortable ice that laid heavy on her heart. She then prayed that it wasn't for her, then begged to the Lord that this man did not have that much audacity.
Terry looked over Syrae's shoulder, finally remembering that he hadn't cleared the surprise he had for Amber's return. “Fuck, forgot ‘bout those. I'ma clear up now.”
He took brisk steps towards the kitchen, opened some cabinets. However, the way Terry banged them on their hinges was a clear indication that there was more to his sour mood that Syrae didn't know about.
He had been trying to hide it since he picked her up with a few jokes, but it always creeped its way back to his face and poke his throat till he sounded a little too snappy.
“You want somethin’ to drink?”
His question broke through the incoherent thoughts that flew into one another, forming one huge blurb of uncertainty and concern through Syrae's brain.
Her legs had a mind of their own, she followed him into the kitchen, hanging by the entrance to investigate his mood further. Which wasn't really much of a problem, Syrae had learned that Terry was very expressive. His face could never hide how he's feeling.
And now, he was either pissed, annoyed or perhaps even both. That much was obvious by how deep his brows dug into his skin, creating doubt-filled crevices in the middle of his forehead, they filtered into his brain in the form of risky decisions and pettiness.
“Terry, are you-”
“I've got some whiskey, wine if you like red.” Terry spoke, hurried strings of words plunged together to create an incoherent mumble. He moved around the kitchen, getting his bottle of whiskey and two glasses.
Syrae tried calling out again, taking a few tentative steps closer. Her observations were now proven factual. He was pissed, or annoyed, or both.
“That one's for special occasions, though.”
Ignore ignore ignore, that was the game he was playing. Didn't want to relieve the bitter lump in his throat, would rather wash it away with some burning liquor. He mumbled his thoughts out more, less vigilant of the suffocating scent of spicy vanilla and… was that mango?
“Terrence.”
Syrae put her hands on his softly before he was about to pour the whiskey into his glass. She frowned up at him. Then their gazes finally met, and fuck she wished for once when their together that the stars would stop shining and the dragonflies would stop fluttering their damn wings in her stomach. She was getting fed up with the nausea that accompanied them.
“What about some tea?” She asked with a raised brow as she pried the bottle from his hands, propped the lid on before setting it on the side. “If you have.”
Terry swallowed the lump in his throat, and along went his defiance when he stared into Syrae's starry eyes, the very same eyes that pulled the strings of his heart that sang harmonious declarations of untold feelings.
“Yeah… yeah, tea is good.” He nodded, voice distant as his gaze tore away from Syrae and suddenly, everything else was interesting. The tile pattern on the kitchen floor, the colour palette of the cabinets. He needed something to do. “I've got black tea, let me make you a cup.”
“How ‘bout I make it? Just tell me where everythin’ is.”
Terry nodded yet again, showed her where everything was before she put some water to boil.
There was a pregnant silence that covered them.both as they stood awkwardly in the kitchen. Terry had his arms folded, leaning back against the counters as he tried to gather comprehensible bits of his booming thoughts.
Syrae fidgeted in one spot, her feet bouncing about as she contemplated asking what was wrong. Terry must've invited her out for a reason. Something must've been bothering him, and he didn't really feel like being annoying.
“Rae.” Terry called out with a bit of humour in this voice, so subtle others would have missed it. “Ask what you wanna ask.”
Syrae frowned. First, he brought the stars closer to her, and now he's a mind reader? She turned to face him, a sheepish grin on her face. “Huh?”
“You're mumbling. So ask what you want to ask.” Terry repeated with a grin of his own dancing on his face. Lips slightly curved upwards.
“You okay?” Syrae wasted no time to ask, wanted to pretend a little longer that them being friends could work out. And as a pretend friend, the least she could do was hear her friends problems and help him through it where she could.
“Yeah, I'm alright. Why do you-”
“No, I mean really okay.” Syrae repeated, not really in the mood to play cat and mouse with this conversation. “You seem a little…”
Terry sighed and hummed in agreement. No further words were needed to know what Syrae was talking about. He tried to get back on track after the airport incident, but that was such a failure he closed his shop for the day to get it together.
Terry couldn't figure why he was so bothered by Amber’s postponing. While he did miss her, heavily at that. This wasn't the first time Amber was gone this long for work. Perhaps he hadn't gotten used to it, or maybe he had a false belief that things would change after they got married.
“Well?” Syrae pushed, her head tilted cutely to the side, the frown yet to be relieved from her face. “What's wrong, Soldier?” her voice softened as she inquired, maybe a softer approach to this would make him more open to answering her question.
Terry couldn't dwell on her actual question for long. His mind wouldn't let him, not with Syrae using that name on him. While he had been called that before, it sounded different coming from her. The syllables rolled off her tongue so effortlessly it was as if she bled to entice him.
Terry shook his thoughts out of his head, cleansed the crevices and groves of his brain of any impurity.
Then he told Syrae about all that was bothering him. Amber constantly postponing her return back home, the missed calls, and texts. While her job was always demanding, it has never been this demanding.
The kettle had long stopped boiling, but Syrae didn't dare move from her spot. She listened intently, nodding along to every word that echoed in a smooth baritone through the space that suddenly felt small with the way Terry's presence loomed over her waking thoughts, the sensible ones that is.
Once he was done, Terry inhaled deeply, and as he exhaled, he could feel the tension lift away from his once heavy shoulders. Talking out his frustrations seemed to do enough to relieve him.
“Look, T. I get it, okay? You miss your wife, and I can't blame you. But It just sounds like she's an ambitious woman tryin’ to climb up the corporate ladder.” Syrae explained with a tentative shrug.
“And with her being a woman, that means she had to work two times as hard just to be on the same level as someone who don't even put in the same amount of work.”
Terry sighed, his frustration riding into guilt. Not only was Amber a woman, but she was a black woman. Intersectionality only made her climb up the corporate ladder harder than what was fair. “Fuck, I ain't think about it like that.” He responded, scratching his goatee while in deep thought.
Syrae hummed, a sombre smile on her face as she turned her back to him to get started with the tea. “So give her some grace. She'll come back to you.” She offered words of comfort before looking at Terry over her shoulder. “How many sugars?”
“Two, thanks.” Terry responded before they slipped into a comfortable silence while Syrae made their tea.
The silence didn't last long. Soon, they were onto asking the other questions. Nothing that would make the atmosphere uncomfortable. They've been in many similar situations, and Syrae could not jeopardize promises of a platonic friendship because of probing curiosity.
Not Syrae at least, because Terry did not mind probing one bit.
“Where'd you learn to dance like that?”
Their cups of tea were long abandoned on Terry's side table. The middle of the living room now cleared of the painting setup. They indulged in one another instead, taking a few sips too many of getting to know one another. Getting to know Syrae tasted somewhat like the whiskey he so badly craved earlier, smooth and easing to the mind.
Syrae chuckled in shock, never had she been asked that. Not by Broisa, Randy or anybody else. She just made money and went along with it.
“Oh, my mama owned a dance studio for middle-aged women.” Syrae responded, the corner of her lips lifting slightly as she fiddled with her fingers.
“Your mama taught middle-aged women how to strip?” Terry asked with a thick brow raised.
“No, silly.” Syrae laughed yet again, her eyes rolling into her lids. “She taught ‘em how to pole-dance and a few other things.”
“There's a difference?”
Syrae nodded, her eyes lifting to meet his with practised ease. She wished he would stop staring at her so intensely. Brows dipped, head down-turned, and bottom lip caught between his teeth. She fluttered her eyes away before she could get caught into a little staring contest that would not end with her leaving his home.
“Sure is. One you do for money, the other you do ‘cause you want to.” Syrae explained with a nonchalant shrug, “Anyway, sometimes she would take me to work with her and I would watch. Few years down the line, she was teachin’ me too.”
Syrae laughed as she recalled the countless times her mother had hit her upside her head for getting a step wrong or slacking. Dancing was always her mother's passion. That woman bled through her platform heels.
Terry didn't miss the melancholy in the way Syrae spoke, he also didn't miss the way she spoke of her mother in past tense.
“What happened to the studio?” He inquired, innocently so, yet the question alone caused Syrae to wince softly.
“Repossessed. Too many debts to keep it running.”
Terry hummed, understanding the struggles to maintain a life that didn't include poverty. “And your mom?”
Syrae winced again, this time a bit louder, the sound followed by laughter that sounded a little bitter to Terry.
“Damn, soldier. Take me out to dinner first.”
Terry’s shoulder shook as he let out smooth honey-filled laughter. The sound glazed over Syrae, sticking on her leaving a thick residue of pure wanton.
“Where you wanna go?” his expression quickly changed into a serious one, but the soft upturn of his lips gave away his playfulness.
“Please, don't start.” Syrae laughed, her head shaking at his silliness. There was a beat of silence, it wasn't uncomfortable, but expectancy hung in the air. Syrae's eyes found Terry, only to see his face turned serious.
“Oh you actually want to know?” Syrae asked, raised brows and an open mouth.
“Wouldn't be askin’ otherwise.” Terry shrugged, “But no pressure.”
Another beat of silence filled the air, droplets of discomfort filling the air that it had Syrae looking around the space for any distraction. Her eyes caught a vinyl player in the corner of the room, sitting on the TV-stand. “You have a vinyl player?” She turned towards Terry in shock.
She had always wanted one, but finances had made it hard for her to even save for one. She preferred listening to music that way, especially with the few records she’s got.
She got up from her seat, walking towards the display of records. “You mind?” She asked without looking at him, her fingers across the thick stack of records on one of the shelves.
“Not at all.” Terry responded with a smile before getting up himself. His feet with a mind of their own, walked closely behind her as she admired the antique player and the records he kept maintained and clean.
Syrae pulled out a single record that caught her eyes. “What you know ‘bout Nina Simone, boy?” She looked at the laminated record cover of one of her favourite songs, a small smile dancing on her lips as she lifted her eyes to meet her favourite shade of green.
“Me? Girl, you dont know nothin’ bout this. Sit down somewhere.” Terry laughed, waving a playful dismissive hand at her. He watched the smile widen on Syrae’s face. And his favourite fluttery feeling in his stomach came back, with the voice that was the complete opposite of reason urging him to forget all morals and claim her smile against his lips. Capture her happiness as if it were his own.
Syrae smacked her teeth, “You don’t know me.” She retorted before turning around. She placed the vinyl on the platter of the turntable. She turned on the player, pressed play before aligning the cueing lever with the record, and in a matter of seconds, the strings and keys of I Put A Spell On You filled the living room.
Syrae immediately sang along, swaying along with the tempo of the song. A smooth baritone filled her ear behind her, and she turned to find that Terry was singing along with her, harmonizing beautifully with her. Like their souls were singing symphonies to each other.
I put a spell on you, because you’re mine
You better stop the things you do
I ain’t lyin’, no, I ain’t lyin’
They smiled at each other, their feet dancing towards each other, hearts pulling on the adamant string until they were swaying in sync.
“You know I can’t stand it, you runnin’ around.” Terry sang lyrics, his fingers snapping to the soft bass of the music.
“You know better, daddy.” Syrae finished off, and by then they were toe-to-toe. Eyes glued to one another, smiles adhesive on their faces. Cocoons raptured and butterflies fluttered about, and the universe collapsed as stars fell all over them, covering them in a starry light and untold stories of intertwined souls.
Terry imitated the trumpet solo with his hands and mouth, and that drew a laugh from Syrae’s stomach as she shook her head at him. Now they’re chest-to-chest.
“I love you, I love you. I love you, I love you anyhow.” Syrae recited, her eyes slowly blinking as the room seemed to dim. And all the light came from the brightness of his smile, the songs being sung from the want in his eyes.
Terry’s movements slowed, smile faltering as the lyrics didn't sound like lyrics anymore. But a promise, one that filled his heart with hope but his head with guilt.He saw galaxies in her eyes again, a starry gaze that willed his hands on her waist, barely touching, yet he could feel the static. *I don't care if you don’t want me.*
*I’m yours right now.* Her heart soared. Hands grazing his shoulder, then they began swaying on the living room floor of Terry’s house, the one he shared with his wife, who wasn’t the person he was dancing with.
“I put a spell on you.” Syrae whispered, fingers grazing the back of his neck and his gently placed across her back.
“Because you’re mine.” Terry attempted to scat along with Nina, which he failed at miserably. But anything to hear her laugh again.
And he succeeded at that. Heart beat faster, butterflies fluttering more intensely at the sound of her giggle filled his ears in a harmonious melody, enticing a slow dance from his heart as their bodies molded together to do the same.
Syrae shook her head at him, “You so silly.” She said breathlessly.
Terry knew by then just how close their faces were when her warm breath fanned against his lips in a quiet plea for the smallest and most desperate of kisses. Noses nudging against each other.
There’s silence, silence filled with unspoken words as their gazes flickered from one eye to the other, then their noses and finally their lips.
When Syrae heard the keys of ‘Tomorrow Is My Turn’, she blinked rapidly before clearing her throat. Her hands detached from his hot skin, eyes from his face, and she swore she felt the painful tug from her heart. “I- I forgot there’s somewhere I gotta be.”
She detached from his body fully. Only a few steps away from his, but her body chilled as if he were half-way across he world.
“Yeah, of course. You… you need a lift-”
“No! I mean, nah. I’m good, I’ll just uber.” She scratched her head as she paced around the living room. Muttering to herself as she cleared the checklist in her head. Phone? Check. Bag? Check. She was missing something.
“Why would you waste your money when I could give you a ride?” Terry asked with a frown, he just wanted to make sure it wasn't awkward between them again. And that when she got home she wouldn't go back to ghosting him
Syrae sighed as she ordered the Uber anyway. She wouldn't look his way, didn't want her faltering resolve to collapse completely under the heat of his stare. “Terry, I’m good.”She forced out as she stared at her screen. The driver was two minutes away.
“Syrae… come on-” Terry attempted to reason with her. His voice was shaky, and his fists clenched at his sides. He wanted. No needed to know that they’re okay.
“Terry, I’m good. We’re good.” She finally turned to face him, swallowing the lump in her throat when she met his desperate eyes. “I’ll text you when I get home, I just really need to go right now.” She croaked.
“My uber almost here… walk me out?” She beckoned with her head towards the door.
Terry nodded and walked closely behind her, reaching over her shoulder to open the door before he followed behind her towards the sidewalk.
The breeze wasn't as unforgiving as when they first got into the home, and there was a little sunlight peeking out of shielding clouds. They waited silently, those few minutes until the car got here. And when it did, Terry never wished that a car would break down as much as he did at that moment.
“Text me, Rae. I’m serious.” Terry insisted with his eyebrows dipped into a frown as he looked down at her, his arms crossed against his chest once he felt his hands twitching to touch her, but they’ve crossed too many borders already.
Syrae chortled, drawing her gaze behind to where the uber waited for her. “I will.” She nodded in his direction before walking towards the silver honda. “Bye, Terry.” She waved before fitting into the car, eyes stuck on the window as the car drove away.
Terry sighed when he felt the string tug painfully at his stomach, forced to move his limbs to chase after the car or yell her name as if he were a puppet, controlled by ill-fated strings.
Days passed since then, Syrae kept her promise to text Terry, but it wasn’t as frequent to be considered satisfactory.
That and the fact that she’d woken up to soaked pantied every day since that day didn’t satisfy her decision in wanting to keep Terry at a distance away from her. The first dream occurred the day after they first kissed. They stopped for a while, until they came back.
Here she was, leaning against the sink of her bathroom with her face wet and her eyes focused disappointedly at her reflection. The images were vivid, yet this dream wasn’t even as vile as the ones she’d had previously.
“Terry, we said just friends.” Kiss right below her ear, she tilts her head because who was she kidding trying to take control.
“And these are friendly kisses” kiss behind her jaw, she shudders because she was stupid enough to even pursue something as mediocre as friendship with him.
“What's happenin’ in my panties is not friendly…” a laugh, a pussy fluttering laugh, how was he supposed to stop this when she said shit like that?
“Could help you with that if you let me.” kiss on her shoulder, faux reassurance he gives because they knew they shouldn't do anything with what's happening between them. A little something to keep the guilt at bay, before it eats at them the way he pined to eat on her.
And man did he eat it, messily, desperately. Like he preserved his hunger solely for her. She bit her lower lip at the vivid images. “Fuck fuck fuck.” She groaned before undressing into her steamy, running shower.
It took some effort to stop herself from drumming her fingers where she ached the most, she didn’t want to deal with the guilt she knew she would be feeling after strumming an orgasm out of her while chanting a married man’s name.
Syrae urged herself to leave the apartment. to try and get Terry out of her head.
What started off as a day of cleaning around the house and trying to get the weird, brown stain off her sofa. Which also became the fourth, futile attempt. It soon drastically changed to her pushing a cart around Walmart for new sheets and hopefully decorations.
She was speeding in between aisles with the right mind to go back home and get ahead of holiday planning, or a bit of the holiday she could spend.
The Walmart wasn't that full, given it was a weekday and only two in the afternoon. Most people were at work.
Her shopping went by swiftly, until she bumped her back into somebody while trying to decide which colour sheets she should buy.
“Ow, what the fuck?” The soft voice spoke.
“Shit. I'm so sorry, are you okay?” Syrae whips around to gauge if the person is badly hurt, only for Her to take a few steps back as she finds an all too familiar face in front of her. “I know you fucking lyin’.” She laughs, eyes as wide as her mouth.
All in her oh so fabulous Glory, is the woman she admired all throughout her highschool years. One of the people who helped Syrae navigate school, her life at home and possible sweethearts.
Amber fucking Coleman, or as Syrae does not know now Richmond.
“Well if it ain't Ms. Trouble.” Amber smiled and ran her eyes over Syrae. “I'll be damned. How you lookin’ like snack in sweats. I see some things don't change?” Amber raised a playful brow.
Syrae rolled her eyes and waved her hand at the woman. “Girl please, talking ‘bout me.” She laughed as she noticed the huge rock on her finger. Her eyebrows shot up in elated surprise. “You looking like a billion dollars while carrying another billion on your hand.”
Syrae gently took Amber's left hand into hers as she inspected her wedding ring. “When the hell did this happen and where was my invite?” She asked jokingly.
Truthfully, Syrae cut all contact with people a while after high school. Syrae couldn't handle the pressures of how her life went to complete shit while other people did well for themselves, one of them being Amber.
While others were off to university and studying. She was back home trying to help settle her mother's debts while the woman battled an illness. She missed out on so much, and soon… life caught up to her so quickly that she had to strip to make ends meet.
“Well you didn't make it easy to contact you.” Amber retorted with a frown and a tight-lipped smile. “You went ghost on everybody.”
Syrae sighed before scratching her head, “I know, I know.” She agreed, the corners of her lips curling upwards, forming a hesitant smile as her eyes softened gradually. “Life ain't go as planned… I needed to reboot.”
Amber hummed while nodding her head. “That's adulting for you.” She spoke off into the distance, as if Syrae lost her attention for a while. “Throwing whiplash your way.”
Syrae nodded with a frown, “Well you must be getting the good kind, cause you're married girl.” She laughed, trying to snap the slightly shorter woman back into reality. “Who the lucky man?”
“Tuh girl, you in my business?” Amber pokes her tongue out jokingly before laughing. “Well, I'll have you know that I was buying flowers for him, I ain't been home in a while. Wanted to give him somethin’ for my return, but these sheets are calling my nam-”
“Baby, I can't find the vases you want… come help me.”
A raspy voice spoke from behind Syrae, yet when she turned to face the man so lucky to receive Amber's affections, she was more surprised.
Her eyes flicked back to Amber, then to the man. A moment went with her eyes dancing back and forth between the two people. “Baby?” She asked, her voice sounding a bit more high-pitched than normal.
Syrae didn't expect Amber to be married to him, especially with the way he frequented the strip club like he didn't have a home, or the many times he couldn't take her rejections to a private dance well.
“Rome… I didn't know you were married.”
A/n: Y'all remember Rome?lol.
This is the fifth chapter, and I haven't written smut for them. I'm proud 🥹
Likes are appreciated, but comments and reblogs are encouraged. I've got a praise kink❤️
Taglist:
@blyffe @peachbutterfly-blog @browngirldominion @blackmoonchilee @megamindsecretlair @mogul93 @earthchica @nayaesworld @cdotmvkspaz @zillasvilla @onherereading @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat
NOT AN UPDATE.
This is how I imagine Syrae was dancing on that pole that had Terry so mesmerized that he just HAD TO ask for a private dance.😭
Credit: moniquedrew_ (tiktok)
@blyffe @peachbutterfly-blog @browngirldominion @blackmoonchilee @megamindsecretlair @mogul93 @earthchica @nayaesworld @zillasvilla
Tyriq Withers has my fingers itching for that keyboard...
