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potatoplace · 7 months ago

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I Hate It Here

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

The Afterthought: Chapter 2 | series masterlist

part one | part three | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: You are brought back to Velaris against your will, and forced to stay in the city by your supposed family. You slip into old memories and imaginings of the life you could be living whenever able, terrified of your new situation.

Warnings: suicidal ideation, slight disordered eating, toxic family, shitty Inner Circle, mentions of slut-shaming uhhh I don't think there's anything else

Words: 6.7k

Author's Note: it's heeere I'm so excited for this part! I hope you guys all like it, I know I made a few... choice decisions in certain places lol. Poor girly with the bathtub 😫 but the ending in this part is not near as sad as it was going to be. Hope you like iiiit 🫶

18+ only pls

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You weren't sure how long you had been walking, hardly registering where you were going when he appeared in front of you.

Azriel.

You shook your head at him. You wouldn't consent to going anywhere with him.

Feyre would be the next to accuse you of being a whore if you did...

"Come with me, Y/N. You're going to freeze to death out here," Azriel said quietly, extending a hand to you.

"No. I don't belong there."

He let out a long sigh. "You belong with your sisters. Just come with me. Feyre is worried."

"Feyre is..." You scoffed. "Feyre is worried? Was she worried when I didn't show up for dinner that everyone was at? Or only when I was no longer in that city? Because from where I'm standing, no one in that city has cared for me in months. So no, I don't belong with my sisters. I belong with humans. Now let. Me. Leave," you hissed at him, legs already moving to walk past him and continue your journey.

"You'll die tonight, if you don't come back," Azriel informed you, as though you hadn't already realized that.

"And the world would be just the same without me in it."

Another long, heavy sigh from behind you- then arms were wrapped around your middle, holding you tight as you fought against him with all of your pathetic, human strength. You managed to rip a nail through his wing, causing him to hiss in pain and drop you. Before you could make your way to your feet, he had you in his arms again, this time carrying you through the swirling void of night that accompanied him at all times.

A moment later you were back in that house, in the middle of the living room where the rest of the inner circle was sitting, all eyes on you.

Azriel's arms dropped from your waist in an instant, the warmth of his body leaving your side as he took his place, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"What were you thinking?" Feyre asked angrily as she stood from her spot on a couch next to Rhys. "Do you have any idea of what could have happened to you tonight?"

"Do I-" you shook your head. "Of course I know what could have happened to me, I'm just a human. Any single person in Prythian could kill me if they wanted to."

"So why did you leave?" Rhys asked quietly, in a tone that you knew meant danger.

You turned your eyes back to Feyre, doing your best to ignore her mate who still terrified you. "Do you remember what day it is, High Lady?"

Feyre looked confused for a moment, before understanding filled her eyes. "Oh, Y/N... I... I forgot. We were celebrating finally getting the Illyrians to let females train whenever they want," she explained, but you weren't buying it.

"Oh, well that's fine. You forget the day that I spent over a week preparing for, the entire day cooking for, all to celebrate something that just happened. Did you once think to find me? To invite me to this celebration?" Feyre's silence was enough of an answer for you. "I don't belong here. You should have left me in the human lands, thinking you all died. I would have been happier that way. Nesta and Elain hate me, I cannot speak to Lucien or Cassian out of fear that their mates will kill me, the rest of you ignore me unless I've done something wrong. I do not belong here," you hissed, doing your best to throw all of your hurt and rage into your words.

"You do belong here, Y/N," Feyre said tearily. "You're our sister."

You stared down at her coldly. "Am I? From where I'm standing I am just a weakness for you that you keep close so you won't be hurt. I haven't felt like your sister since I arrived."

"That's not tr-" Feyre started, but you cut her off.

"Take me back."

"What?" Nesta asked sharply from behind you, and you could feel her anger rising, the hairs on your arms standing up.

"Take me back to the human lands. I would rather live alone in poverty than spend one more day living in this place."

"You will not," Nesta snarled, a hand clawing at your shoulder. "You would die within a week with the wall down."

"I managed just fine on my own for three months before Feyre came to get me."

"Nesta is right, Y/N," Rhys said, drawing your eyes back to him. "You will not leave Velaris. Anywhere else is too dangerous for you to be, with your connection to us."

Rage flooded your system like it never had before at the thought of being kept here until you die. "I will not be kept like some prisoner in this city. I refuse."

"You have no choice," Feyre said softly, the final nail in the coffin.

"Then kill me," you said, fully hoping that they would. "Kill me and put me out of my misery, if I am not able to leave this horrible place. I do not belong here, and I do not want to belong here anymore."

Tears were pouring down Feyre's face at your confession, the last sight you saw before you slipped into darkness.

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When you woke, your body was warm, resting underneath blankets on a comfortable bed.

You could almost imagine that you were back in that hut, surrounded by your sisters as you huddled for warmth.

But it was wrong... your face was too warm, no longer chilled by the slight breeze that rattled through the house in winter, and there was no soft, quiet breathing from your sisters sleeping.

You opened your eyes, met with the familiar pale blue ceiling of your bedroom. You would guess it was the early morning, with how dark it was.

What happened...?

It was difficult, getting your brain to remember how you ended up in your bed... After all, you had hardly slept in it ever since Elain had snapped at you so many months ago, the idea of another door keeping you safe too comforting to not indulge in.

But once you remembered... ice cold terror flooded your body.

You had been in the middle of yelling at Feyre- at all of them. And suddenly now you were in your bed?

Rhysand had used his powers on you.

And you were helpless to stop it.

You turned onto your side and curled into yourself for a moment, hoping that making yourself smaller would be enough to loosen the fear gripping your heart. After a minute, you gave up, standing from your bed and pulling a thick blanket and soft pillow with you into the bathroom, making your safe little nest in the bathtub.

The blanket and pillow you had used last were still there, adding extra cushion and much needed warmth to the metal tub.

So you curled up, a pillow at your back and your knees pulled to your chest as you huddled under one blanket and pulled the edges of the bottom one up, cocooning yourself in soft cotton.

Sleep found you easily, your body and mind exhausted still from the disappointment and realizations of last night.

Your dreams were filled by half memories, half imaginings of being back in that little run down cottage, your sisters and father around you as you huddled in front of the fire, drinking hot water from chipped mugs.

"Y/N?" Feyre's voice asked, waking you from your sleep. You raised your head for a moment, considering answering her. But your recent interactions with her had you placing your head back on its pillow, tucking your knees further against your chest, ignoring the way your body had started to ache. She knocked on the bathroom door once, twice. "Just... come out when you're ready, Y/N. There's breakfast downstairs if you'd like." Feyre sighed, loud enough for even your ears to hear, but walked away, leaving you in blissful silence.

You let yourself drift off again, conjuring images of you curled up in front of the fire, your head in your father's lap just how he'd let you when you were a child.

The next time you woke, your bladder forced you awake, and by the time you had relieved yourself the muscles in your body were screaming for some kind of movement. You walked around your room for a few minutes and stretched your body, sighing as some of the tension left it.

All too soon, your stomach was growling at you, angry with you for having ignored it for... however long you had been asleep.

Sighing, you moved back to the bathroom and disassembled your makeshift bed, replacing the fabrics where they initially belonged so that you could bathe before going downstairs.

The last thing you wanted was for Nesta and Elain to make snide comments at you.

You tied your hair up in a bun- you didn't feel like going through the effort of washing it at the moment. After drawing the bath, tendrils of steam coming from the water, you stripped yourself of the pink dress you had worn for Bounty Day and slipped into the water. Your muscles eased quickly, the heat of the bath drawing out the stress they carried.

You nearly fell asleep again, and if not for the gnawing of your stomach you would have let yourself, as the tub had an enchantment to keep the water warm until emptied. But you forced yourself to wash, using a soft cloth and a lovely lavender and orange soap bar that you had picked out a few months ago while shopping for Nesta's birthday.

Once you deemed yourself clean enough, you stood from the bath, nearly slipping as you stepped out. A disappointed sigh left your lips and you shook your head at your foolish, human clumsiness.

You dried off quickly and padded back into your bedroom. You slipped on a simple white cotton dress, and a pale pink dressing robe over the top. After putting on your slippers, you stood in front of the door, steeling yourself for whatever you would face outside of your room. A deep breath in, then out, and you opened the door, stepping into the hallway.

The walk to the kitchen was quick, and it was blissfully empty when you entered. You set about making a pot of tea for yourself, bringing water to a boil in a kettle on the stove. While it was heating up, you grabbed one of the trays used for when someone wanted breakfast in bed and placed a teapot and cup on it, as well as a bowl.

You looked around the kitchen, scrunching your face at the options available. Your eyes caught on the windows looking out to the garden, noting the stars in the sky.

Just how long had you slept for...?

Shaking your head, you turned back to the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. Your hands reached for an apple almost big enough in size that you couldn't grasp it.

You grabbed a small cutting board from a cabinet and a knife out of the block, then washed the apple before setting it on the board. The kettle was just starting to whistle, and you removed it from the heat before it could wake anyone sleeping upstairs. After you measured out a small amount of tea leaves into the teapot's helpful strainer, you poured enough water in to make at least three cups of tea. You were making a soothing lavender and chamomile blend, one that never failed to send you to a dreamless sleep after having a few cups.

Leaving it to steep, you returned to the cutting board, carefully cutting the apple into small slices. Once it was cut, you placed the slices into the bowl on your tray, then washed the cutting board and knife, leaving them in the drying rack.

You removed the strainer from the teapot after deeming it to be strong enough, and emptied the leaves into the trash before washing it as well.

All that was left was to carry your bounty upstairs, without waking a soul.

Tray in your arms, you made your way back up the stairs and into your bedroom, letting out a small sigh of relief once you had closed the door behind you. The tray was placed on your desk, and you took your seat.

The first pour of tea was always your favorite, as it was always at the perfect temperature. You brought the steaming cup of tea to your lips, closing your eyes as you took the first soothing sip, letting the warmth of it wash over you.

The apple was delicious, crisp and sweet and tasting of autumn. You made sure to savor the taste- you weren't sure when you would next venture out of your room, seeing as you were still terrified to see any who would be in the River House.

Even your sisters... Though Feyre was the main change, you supposed, seeing as she had let her mate use his powers on you, when she had promised that neither she or Rhys would ever do so.

Your second cup of tea was still warm and soothing as you finished off the apple, but when you got to the third and final cup, it was only lukewarm.

A problem that any of your sisters would surely be able to solve...

By the time you finished your tea, you were tired enough to fall back sleep, but first you forced yourself to return to the kitchen, feet stepping carefully on your journey to stay undiscovered. You washed your dishes quickly and returned the tray to its rightful place, then made your way back upstairs.

Your door was shut behind you, another successful mission in avoiding those you once considered family.

The bathtub had dried, and you brought your blankets and pillows back in with you, reassembling your makeshift bed once again. Your crawled between the blankets, content to stay between them forever as warmth cocooned you. Your mind drifted, once again conjuring scenes of you living with father once more, tending to your little herb garden and cooking to your hearts content.

Two weeks- or perhaps more- passed in the same manner, with Feyre knocking on your bathroom door every morning or so and waking you from your slumber. In the nights you would crawl from your blankets and return to the kitchen for a pot of tea and whatever fruit or vegetables were available and easy enough to eat without cooking.

Your stomach had protested loudly for the first week before settling back into the cold, quiet hunger that your body had adapted to for most of its life.

One morning, your solitude was broken by Morrigan pounding on your bedroom door, jolting you from your sleep and driving fear into your heart.

"Come to the door, Y/N, or I won't leave!" She yelled from behind the wood, persistent knocks following her words.

You sighed and turned your head back into your pillow, determined to ignore her.

"I brought you tea! Please just come to the door, Y/N? You can tell me to leave and take the tea, even," the fae offered, and your stomach rumbled in response.

Tea... wouldn't be bad, you thought to yourself.

But you hadn't bathed...

Morrigan's knocking only grew louder as you debated with yourself, fear and hunger warring in your mind.

"Y/N!"

You grumbled to yourself as you rose from your spot, shouting "I'll be right there!" when her knocking somehow continued to increase in volume. You opened the bathroom door and headed to your wardrobe, tugging a dressing gown over your nightgown.

Turning the door's handle was difficult, fear of the unknown still lingering in your gut, but the blonde on the other side of the door was in fact holding a tray of tea when you finally managed to open the door.

"Good morning!" Morrigan chirped, a bright smile on her face as she met your eyes. Her warm chocolate eyes seemed genuine, allowing some of the tension in your body to leave as you looked at the tray.

A pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of diced fruit, cheeses, and smoked meats.

She obviously wanted to join you... And she had been kind enough to bring you not only tea but food as well. That made up your mind.

"Would you like to come in?" You asked quietly, stepping aside to let her into your bedroom.

"I would love to, thank you Y/N." Morrigan breezed in and placed the tray on top of your bed before taking a seat on one side, feet pulled up so she was sitting with her legs folded in front of her.

You shut the door and followed her, taking a seat on the opposite side while she poured tea into a cup. She handed one to you first, warmth instantly flowing into your fingers, before pouring her own.

You took a small sip, closing your eyes at the bright taste of mint and ginger. "I... Thank you, Morrigan."

"Oh, call me Mor, Y/N. And it was really no trouble, I've..." She paused. "I've wanted to talk to you, check in on you after everything that happened. I know that we haven't talked much, since you came to Velaris, but I would like to change that. I know what it is like to feel so out of place that you can barely fathom living... I know how difficult it can be, when you don't have the support you need," Mor confessed. "I do wish I had noticed how uncomfortable you felt, before you had to tell us so bluntly."

Tears pricked your eyes as she talked. You wished it had been the same, as well.

"It isn't your fault, Mor..." you sighed. "You don't have the same... Not responsibility to me, but the past connection. And it is not as though you were the one to bring me here."

Mor gave you a sad smile, her eyes understanding. "I know, but you are a part of this family, and you are supposed to feel like you are as well."

You nodded your head in agreement, though you didn't quite agree. You felt... You felt as though your family had been lost to you, long before you came to Velaris.

The two of you sipped on your tea in a comfortable silence for a while, your eyes darting down to the small spread of food frequently, until your stomach made its discomfort known. Loudly.

Instead of Mor reprimanding you for it, or telling you to eat, she simply began eating herself- something you were grateful for. You followed her lead, slowly eating a few pieces of what she had brought up. Between the food and the several cups of tea, your stomach felt pleasantly warm and full, more than it had been in a long while.

"I have an idea, if you're up for it," Mor offered once the two of you had finished both the tea and food, her brown eyes looking at you hopefully.

"What did you have in mind?" You asked, mind already wandering to what she might ask you. Maybe a favor for Feyre, to get you to talk with her?

"I have a little skincare routine that I do every morning, and even though your skin is absolutely gorgeous as is, I thought that maybe you would like to join me? It's one of the few things that helps me feel a bit better when I'm having a rough day."

You blinked at her for a moment, the idea of her wanting to spend more time with you not having crossed your mind.

"I... I'm not sure that I would be any good at it..."

"Oh, nonsense! It's pretty simple, and I'll help you out with it. And if you hate it, we can stop at any point. Please?" She asked with so much sincerity that you nodded in agreement. The smile on her face when you did made you feel nice, and like she wasn't being forced into spending time with you.

"Yay!" Mor cheered. "I'll be back with everything in a few minutes. Do you want me to bring another pot of tea as well?" Mor asked, a sparkle in her eyes.

"If it's not any trouble for you, please," you replied, eyes tracking her as she stood from your bed and brought the tray back into her arms.

"Of course it isn't, Y/N. I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

You nodded, and stood from the bed to open the door for her, shutting it softly behind her.

So far... This morning was nice. Mor is nice.

She returned in a few minutes, a fresh pot of tea and her supplies on the tray.

Over the next hour, she helped you cleanse and moisturize your skin, doing the same herself. You felt silly at first wearing the clay mask that she had spread over your face, but seeing Mor in it as well made you feel giggly, the two of you laying on your bed and talking about clothes. She made you promise to let her take you shopping once you felt ready to leave the house again, and you had her promise to teach you to do your makeup- though in softer colors than the bold reds and black that she preferred.

You drank most of the second pot of tea, happily consuming it, and along with the pleasant company of Mor, you were feeling warmer and more alive than you had since Bounty Day.

"So... Do you feel a little better?" Mor asked after you had both rinsed your faces and applied one last layer of moisturizer, this one smelling of strawberries.

You thought about it for a moment- you felt lighter than you had in months. "I do. Thank you again, Mor. This was really nice," you said, a small smile on your lips as you looked at her.

"Good, I'm glad. If you want to do it again, say... Tomorrow, just let me know," Mor said with a bright grin on her face.

"I... I'd like that very much, Mor," you said sheepishly, still in slight disbelief that she wanted to spend time with you.

"I'll stop by at the same time tomorrow, then." Mor gathered her things and left your room, leaving you in silence once more.

As much as you had enjoyed her company, you felt... tired, now. You glanced out the window, noting that snow was falling on an already thick layer coating the ground and buildings below.

You hadn't known it had snown at all recently.

With a shake of your head, you brushed that thought off and returned to the bathroom, your blankets-

Oh gods, you thought to yourself. Did Mor notice?

You were slightly ashamed that you felt unsafe enough to sleep in the perfectly comfortable bed you had been given, but... You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to move back into the bedroom to sleep. Instead, you burrowed yourself into your blankets once again, telling yourself that someday you would sleep in the bed again.

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Your time with Mor the next morning became a daily occurrence for the next week, and a way for you to better tell the passing of time.

Feyre had stopped coming to your bathroom door every morning, replaced instead by the blonde that you were getting closer to considering a real friend.

One morning, you woke early enough to take a bath before Mor showed up at your door. You had just finished dressing when you heard arguing outside of your door.

"I will not ask her for you, Feyre. You can go in there and ask her yourself, but I am not going to use my friendship with her for your benefit. Once you work up the balls, come back. She might talk to you then," Mor said angrily to your sister.

That shocked you.

"I'm not trying to use-" Feyre paused. "Fine, I will come back later."

"Good. Now go away, I don't want you to scare her."

A few seconds later, Mor knocked on your door. You opened it, and found her carrying the usual- a pot of tea, plate of food, and plenty of her skincare products.

Besides her argument with Feyre, your morning together went as usual, and you had nearly forgotten about the incident until Mor was about to leave.

A knock on the door had both Mor's and your heads snapping to it.

Mor sighed. "I should be going, then, Y/N. Just... Hear her out, for a moment at least?"

Your scrunched your nose up but nodded. "Thank you, Mor. Will I see you tomorrow?"

Mor's head bobbed as she picked up her things. "Yes, but the next few days I'll be staying in the Hewn City, they tend to get a little more problematic the closer we come to Starfall," Mor explained.

Your heart sank a little bit, but you smiled at her anyways. "I hope it goes well. I know you don't enjoy being there much." You almost wished you could go with her, to be out of this city for a little while.

"Thank you, Y/N," Mor said with an appreciative smile. "Would you get the door?"

"Of course." You did so, opening it to see a nervous looking Feyre. Mor passed by her and headed down the hallway. "Would..." You hesitated. "Would you like to come in?"

Feyre smiled at you, one filled with tension. "I would, thank you." She followed you into your room, closing the door behind her and coming a few feet into the room, leaving at least your height's distance between you. "I wanted to speak with you about something- well, ask you something, more."

"Okay..."

"I- Would you be willing to come to dinner tomorrow night?"

You stared at her in confusion. "Why tomorrow?"

Feyre's brow furrowed at your question. "It's your birthday tomorrow."

Oh.

You had forgotten your own birthday. It didn't surprise you much, with how distant your mind had been recently. Only in the past week had you fully recognized the passage of time, thanks to Mor's visits each morning.

"Oh, uhm... I-" you paused. Dinner would mean... seeing Nesta and Elain and Rhys. "Uhm. Would... Who would be there...?"

"All of the Inner Circle, I think," Feyre replied, a frown on her face when she saw your own. "What's wrong?"

You were silent for a moment, trying to come up with something that wouldn't make you sound as weak as the truth. But nothing came to mind quickly enough, with Feyre still staring at you with her worried blue eyes.

"I'm... I'm afraid of Nesta and Elain... And Rhys," you admitted, looking at the floor.

Feyre sighed. "I'm sorry about what I had him do, Y/N. I really, truly am. You were just so panicked and talking-" Feyre paused to close her eyes, one tear making its way down her cheek. "Hearing you explain how you were feeling, I wanted you to have time to calm down some. I didn't... I didnt know how horribly you feel living here, Y/N."

It was your turn to sigh. "If... If you get Nesta and Elain to behave- or at least not say anything nasty to me- I will come to dinner."

"Really?" Feyre asked, her watery eyes looking into yours. "I was already able to convince Elain to bake a cake for you- your favorite, white chocolate raspberry. And Nuala and Cerridwen were more than happy to make your favorites."

Your heart lifted in your chest. "You really planned a dinner for me?" You asked hopefully, willing them to not be crushed.

"I did, Y/N. It's the least I could do, with everything I haven't been doing."

You nearly reached for her, to pull her into a hug. But-

You were still afraid, still upset at being kept in Velaris.

She would have to earn your trust back.

"Thank you, Feyre. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Feyre nodded at you, a small smile on her face. She turned to leave, but paused before she did, as though she wanted to say something else. Instead, she left your room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Dinner tomorrow...

You sighed. It will be fine. It has to be.

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The next morning, you woke with an awful cramping in your stomach, your body feeling slightly like you had the flu.

One use of the restroom proved that was not so.

Your cycle had come.

On your birthday. Just your luck.

Thankfully you had woken early enough that Mor was likely still sleeping, the sun's rays just barely peeking over the horizon.

You could take a bath. A nice, scalding bath to soothe the aches of your cycle. And you did just that, soaking in the water until the sun had risen.

Still, you felt dirty climbing out of the bath. Every cycle, you felt more and more disgusting with each vile look Nesta and Elain would throw at you.

Nesta and Elain... You would have to see them today.

Tears filled your eyes at the thought of dealing with them later.

At least you would still have your morning with Mor.

You finished dressing just before Mor arrived, tying your dressing gown as she knocked on your door.

"Good morning, Y/N," she said after you let her in, her arms filled with the usual fare. "Do you want a pain potion or anything, sweets?" Mor asked after she set the tray down on your bed.

"No, I'll manage fine," you said, still disappointed that everyone else can scent your cycle.

Mor nodded her head in understanding. "Well, if you change your mind, feel free to come to me for one. I know your cycles aren't quite like mine, but they're painful nonetheless. But for now, Y/N, I'd like to wish you a very happy birthday. Feyre says you're turning twenty?"

You bobbed your head in confirmation as the two of you took your seats on your bed. "Yes, we're just a few days under a year age difference." Mor poured out tea for the both of you, today it was your favorite lavender and chamomile blend. "Do you... Do you know what Feyre has planned for this evening?" You asked nervously.

If you knew what to expect, maybe it wouldn't be as bad.

"Well, there's the dinner, obviously, and I do believe that we all got you a gift- at least I did, and Elain made a delicious looking cake for you! I do think that's all, though, Feyre thought you wouldn't like a huge celebration right now."

"Feyre would be right... I'm nervous enough as it is..."

Mor smiled softly at you. "You know what will help with that?"

"What?"

"Doing our skincare! It'll get your mind off of tonight!"

You shook your head at her. "I should've guessed, Mor," you laughed, but followed her into the bathroom anyways.

And Mor was right, as she usually was.

The two of you dozed off on your bed while you had masks on, only waking up once Mor accidentally kicked you in her sleep.

The two of you were still giggly by the time she left your room, your spirits much higher thanks to the lovely blonde that had become your friend over the past week.

By the time dinner rolled around, you were cramping more than before, and feeling absolutely exhausted from keeping yourself awake all day.

You hadn't realized how tiring just being awake was, even with your mind traveling back to that little cottage for most of the day.

Still, you bathed once more, a quick one this time, and dressed in a modest, dark green dress.

Now the difficult part... Making it downstairs. In the daytime.

Your hand rested on the doorknob longer than you cared to admit, your body warring with your mind, knowing who was waiting downstairs.

You managed to get out of your room, very slowly making your way downstairs as dread filled your stomach.

Surely Feyre could get your sisters to behave for one night, right?

The dining room of the River House was packed when you finally entered, the entire Inner Circle being present along with Nuala and Cerridwen.

Good- two extra friendly faces could never hurt.

"Y/N!" Feyre exclaimed when she spotted you, and she quickly made her way over to you. Her hands clasped yours. "I'm so glad you came down, sissy," Feyre said, using the old nickname she had given you.

"Me too," you replied, only half meaning it.

"Well, dinner is just about ready if you want to take a seat. Mor and I saved a seat between us for you, if you'd like?" You nodded and let her lead you to your chair, which was next to an excitedly bouncing blonde.

"I can't wait to give you your presents, Y/N. I think that mine are the best!" She boasted.

Your nose crinkled as you smiled at her enthusiasm. "I'm sure everyone's presents are nice, Mor."

"Yes, but mine are the best. You'll see after dinner."

"I'm sure I will..." You said quietly, and it was then that you noticed the eyes on you.

All of the eyes on you.

Nesta was looking at you like she wanted to stab you, or perhaps burn you alive with her silver flames. Elain's look had less outright hatred, but hurt all the same.

Still, they said nothing.

Thankfully, Rhys's eyes looked more concerned than angry, as they had been the last time you had seen him.

You turned your eyes to your plate. White porcelain with delicate silver flowers painted onto the rim. Pretty.

"So, what all do you want?" Mor asked a few minutes later, drawing you back into the present.

You looked up and noticed that dinner had been served, all of your favorite dishes that Nuala and Cerridwen had made for you since you met them on the table.

"A little bit of everything...?" You said, unsure if that would be okay. No one stopped Mor from loading up your plate with a whole lot of everything, leaving you with a dauntingly full dish set in front of you.

There was no way you could eat all of that in one go, with the way you had been eating... Or rather, avoiding eating recently. The most consistent meals you had were your small breakfasts with Mor.

You resolved yourself to eat a small amount of each, and see how you feel then. After all, there was still Elain's best cake to have later.

The dinner was more pleasant than any you remembered, though you hardly spoke to anyone. Mor and Feyre seemed to have picked up on how anxious you were, both of them touching your arm or hand to draw you back to the moment when you stared at your plate too long.

But then it was time to retire to the living room, you seated on the couch across from the fireplace that you had avoided for so long now...

Gifts were given, more than you had anticipated.

Feyre, Elain, and Nesta had all gotten you cookbooks. Feyre's was of traditional Night Court recipes, your favorites marked with bookmarks. Elain had gotten you one on desserts of the Solar Courts. And Nesta had gotten you a book of soup recipes.

All of them would be thoughtful... If they had taught you to read.

Still, you smiled when you opened each one and said thank you, though your heart had sank lower at the reminder that they had forgotten your illiteracy, had forgotten that you barely knew your letters, if that.

Amren's present was next, a pretty set of pink opal jewelry. You smiled at the tiny fae, barely managing to meet her eyes. She was still... unsettling, though she had never done anything to you.

Then Rhys presented his, a book of human fables, explaining that Feyre had mentioned how much you had adored them as a child.

That much was true, but... It was the same problem as with the cookbooks. You thanked him but refused to meet his eyes.

Cassian was next, who had gotten you a box of sweets from the chocolate shop you had gone to a few times, all of them ones that you had ordered more than once. It was thoughtful enough, and you knew if he'd gotten a more personal gift, Nesta might have...

You didn't want to think about that.

Azriel was next after Mor told him that she would be presenting her presents last no matter what. He had gotten you a beautiful teapot and set of teacups, all enchanted to keep the tea at the perfect temperature for up to twelve hours. The bottom was a pale pink that faded into white at the top, with delicate irises painted on the sides. It was perfect.

Along with it, he presented you with a large box of different tea samples.

"Whichever ones you enjoy, let me know and I will buy you full sizes of them, alright?" Azriel asked after presenting you with it, and you nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Azriel."

There were at least ten teas you had never tried before, though these were all from a store that you had never been to.

To say you were excited for all of the new flavors would be an understatement.

Mor sighed after seeing his present. "Mine ties for first, I suppose... Here, Y/N," she said, handing over a large box to you.

You opened it, eyes widening at what was inside. It contained a beautiful pink bedding set, all of the fabric so soft to the touch you wanted to bury yourself in it the moment you felt it. There was a second blanket, one that was buttery soft and in a pale purple.

These would be a wonderful addition to your bedding.

"And... Here," Mor said as she gave you a large bag, this one filled to the brim with skincare and makeup products. "I wanted you to be able to keep up the routine, even while I'm gone. And I picked out some shades I thought would look pretty with your skin tone."

"Thank you, Mor." You leaned over to hug your friend who was seated next to you, so happy that she had thought of you so much.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N."

A few moments later, your presents were covered in shadows before disappearing, and you looked to Azriel.

"They're in your room, I thought it would be easier to have them taken up for you," was his answer. You nodded in acknowledgement.

"How about cake now?" Feyre said excitedly, clapping her hands together as she stood. "Elain, come help me?"

Elain started to follow Feyre, but as Feyre passed Cassian he held out a hand to stop her, nose tilted to the air.

"Feyre... Is...?" He took a few more deep sniffs. "Oh mother, are you pregnant?!" He asked, standing up and embracing her before she could confirm or deny.

"Oh, Feyre, congratulations!" Elain exclaimed, the next to hug her.

"Yes, yes, I'm pregnant," Feyre said shyly. "I wasn't planning to-"

"We have to celebrate!" Cassian announced, already pulling Feyre into the kitchen where everyone else followed.

You were excited for your sister, of course you were... But it stung, seeing the first time you had seen everyone in so long become a celebration of Feyre so quickly.

You said a quick congratulations to Feyre, though you weren't sure she heard you over the tenfold increased volume in the kitchen.

Then you made your way upstairs, back to your room, back to your bathtub.

At least you had a new blanket to keep you company, and new tea to have the next time you woke.

So you settled in, snuggling down into your now cozier makeshift bed. There was less fear in your heart, now that the obligation of seeing people was over. But the cramps were ripping through you, causing you to curl in tightly on yourself. Maybe you should have asked Mor for a potion after all...

Until you drifted off, you could hear them celebrating below, another reminder of how out of place you still feel.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao

ILIPW taglist: @darkbloodsly @angelbunny222 @uniquedreamsblog @romantasyreader28 @that-one-bibliophole @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @deathtopistachios @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @babypeapoddd

#I hate it here #i look in people's windows #the afterthought #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar x you #acotar x reader #angst #acotar x reader angst #acotar x you angst #toxic inner circle #inner circle bashing #mor is good tho!#mor is the best 🫶#morrigan #tato writes

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paperbodiesamongthestars · 1 month ago

Text

Halfway out the door, but it won't close

Yeah, I'm still mad. The show flatly refuses to address the emotional fallout of the events that take place on it, so I guess I'll do it myself.

Title from Say Don't Go by Taylor Swift, because I love a T Swift lyric as a fic title.

Read the whole thing below, or on AO3.

For the first time in a long time, Buck wants to run.

The roots he spent so many years putting down washed away more easily than he ever could have imagined, and that hurts. He’s always known Bobby was important—the linchpin of the 118, in addition to being the father Buck always wanted—but Buck was somehow still surprised when things spiraled apart so quickly and so completely without him.

And Buck gets it. He does. Everyone is retreating into their own corners, taking comfort from their families, and that’s good. He’s glad everyone has that kind of support system. He’s glad they have families to lean on, and to grieve with.

He just wishes he had someone in his corner too.

And Maddie’s got him—he knows she does. If he called, she’d be there in a heartbeat, no questions asked. But she’s pregnant. And Chimney almost died. And Bobby did die, making sure Chimney got out. They have a lot going on, and Buck doesn’t want to be selfish.

Besides, he’s managing. Sure, he wishes he didn’t feel quite so alone all the time, and he wishes that all of the ways he’s trying to help weren’t fundamentally selfish, like they apparently are, but he’s dealing. The hardest part is that he’s been doing his best to be what everyone else needs—to live up to Bobby’s last words—and he’s falling short. He doesn’t—he’s really not sure what else to try, at this point.

It really doesn’t feel like anyone wants him to keep trying.

The temptation to pack up his jeep and just choose a direction is intense. He doesn’t, because he promised to take over Eddie’s lease, and Maddie’s baby is coming, and maybe there’s something Athena will need from him at some point, but he looks at the horizon on his way to work and all he sees is freedom.

He compromises, and requests a transfer. The 118 doesn’t mean what it used to, to him, and maybe at another house he can get up for work without feeling like the grief is going to pull him under. Maybe at another house he’ll stop wanting to take a hard turn onto the freeway, and drive until he loses track of where he is. The 118 is already changing anyway. Eddie will head back to Texas, and the team will get a new captain at some point, and Buck isn’t at all sure that he can see someone else in that seat. Maybe this way he can keep his love of the job, even if it feels like he’s lost just about everything else he cares about.

And then the building goes down, and the 118 pulls together to help.

Buck withdraws the transfer paperwork. He doesn’t want to feel disloyal to Bobby’s memory. Going to work every day at that station, like things can ever go back to the way they were before, still makes him feel like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s paralyzed; every decision he wants to make feels like the wrong one.

What he really needs to do is start looking for an apartment. Eddie and Chris are coming back to LA, and of course Buck is going to give him them their house back. He’s happy they’re returning—obviously he is. And the house never really felt like home anyway, aside from—well. It’s never felt like his, is all, aside from one bright, hopeful morning in the kitchen.

He tries not to think about that too much. The warm light, and the billowing hope in his chest, and Tommy’s familiar scrunchy smile before everything went sideways. It’s too bright to look at for long, so he’s gotten used to locking it away again.

He should call Tommy, probably, but it feels like it’s been too long. Tommy took a lot of risks to help them, and came to the funeral when Athena asked, to round out Bobby’s first team at the 118, and Buck didn’t even call him after. Never really thanked him. He’s got some texts on his phone—how are you really doing?—that he never responded to, and a couple of voicemails he hasn’t listened to. So yeah, he assumes that window is closed, no matter how much Tommy put on the line for him—for them.

It’s one more thing that Buck used to have and doesn’t anymore.

Buck is quiet at work, and the team thinks he doesn’t see the worried glances and the wordless conversations. No one asks him about anything, so he doesn’t share. He spends a lot of time thinking about how he used to picture his life, where he thought he’d end up.

It should be enough, to have what he has now. He has his sister and the 118. He’s loved, certainly. He matters to people—he knows he does. But it doesn’t feel like quite enough anymore. He knows everyone lost Bobby, and everyone is dealing with it in their own way, but he doesn’t think he should have to feel like an afterthought, or an inconvenience. He has the vague sense that he shouldn’t have to keep making his grief smaller, but he does it anyway. What else can he do?

Eddie sets a firm date for his return, and he keeps telling Buck that he doesn’t have to move out, but Buck does. He does have to move out. It’s just—it’s the right thing to do. He thinks it is, anyway, but maybe he’s making it all about him again. He can’t tell anymore.

Buck goes on calls, and he gradually packs his life back into boxes and labels them, and he goes to look at apartments. He doesn’t find any that he likes. They’re too small, or too dark, or in the wrong neighborhood, or they just don’t feel right. Big shock there—nothing feels right to him.

Buck knows his realtor is frustrated when he tells her the kitchen in one of the units faces the wrong direction, and he gets it; he’s frustrated with himself.

Buck goes back to his—to Eddie’s—to the mostly packed house, and he finally admits to himself that he’s not really looking for an apartment.

He goes to see Gerrard, with a request for vacation this time.

“It’s a good chunk of time,” Gerrard says slowly, from behind the desk where Bobby should still be sitting.

“It is,” Buck agrees.

“Sometimes staying busy is better, in these situations,” Gerrard says. Buck can tell he’s trying to be gentle about it, but all he can see is Tommy’s shoulders hunching when Gerrard all but called him a fairy at the medal ceremony. He doesn’t waver. He holds Gerrard’s gaze until the man looks away, clears his throat, and signs the request.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Buckley.” He sounds irritated, and Buck feels a little better. He also hopes he knows what he’s doing, but he has a good feeling about it. He’s optimistic, maybe, for the first time in a while.

Buck shows up to his next shift with a countdown clock in his head, and the rush of relief he feels almost makes him dizzy. He’s got another ten days before his time off starts, but it’s sitting there on the horizon now, an emergency exit, an escape hatch from his life.

He feels steadier now that he can see it up ahead. He’s a little more settled in himself, and he knows everyone sees it. His friends exchange relieved glances when they think he isn’t looking, and some part of him wonders why they can’t just talk to him. He wonders why they couldn’t just sit him down and tell him they were worried, but maybe that’s unfair. Maybe everyone is doing their best, and Bobby’s loss is just insurmountable. It feels that way sometimes, like Buck won’t survive this. It feels like all the bonds tethering him to his life snapped at once, and they’re just dangling now, the severed edges fraying by the day.

Buck doesn’t say anything about the time off. He works and he smiles at his friends, and no one eats together or makes plans to hang out after work. He tries not to be too hard on himself for giving up—for betraying the last thing Bobby asked him to do. He tried—he really did—but he just can’t anymore. He can’t throw himself into holding everything together when no one seems to want to be held.

He hopes Bobby would understand, but he can’t be sure.

The day finally comes. Buck’s stuff is packed into his jeep or his new storage unit. He works his last shift and still doesn’t say anything. He thinks about it, but he’s not sure what he would even say. He figures his friends will have questions when he doesn’t show up for the next shift, but that’s a couple of days from now. Maybe by then, he’ll be far enough away to have found some answers.

Buck makes it a little over an hour into his drive, heading north, before he has to pull over; he’s crying so hard he’s afraid he’s going to hit something. He takes the next exit, doesn’t see the number through his tears, and parks in the first parking lot he finds. He turns the car off, leans over the steering wheel, and gives in to his sobs.

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he takes one deep breath, and then another. He feels calm for the first time in a while, emptied—for the moment—of the deep, terrible sorrow that’s been suffocating him for so long. He cleans off his face and then sits up straighter and looks around. He’s parked near a Jack-in-the-Box and he’s suddenly starving, so he goes inside and orders about half the menu. He goes back to his car to eat, windows down, staring unseeing at his surroundings as he thinks.

Getting even this far out of LA, he feels like his brain has rebooted itself, like he’s stepped out of a fog and can suddenly see clearly again. He considers what he wants to do next.

He could turn around. He could drive back into the city, and find a place to stay for a couple of weeks while he keeps looking at apartments, and he could use the time off to get settled into a new place. He could rebuild his routine. The thought of it makes a pit of dread open up in his stomach, so that’s a no.

He could keep going. He could get back on the road, head north the way he planned, drive until he feels like stopping and find a place to stay the night. He could do that for weeks—he’s got six of them before he has to be back at work. It’s what he should do, probably. He could rely on himself, learn how to be alone. Only he feels like he’s already pretty good at that. He’s been alone a lot in his life, and he knows he could do it. But six weeks on his own suddenly feels a lot more like loneliness than freedom.

Buck tilts his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. With this unexpected—and almost certainly temporary—feeling of calm and clarity, he’s suddenly confronting some uncomfortable revelations.

Underneath the grief and the helplessness he’s been feeling for weeks, he’s angry. He’s angry at Eddie for getting in his face, and for implying that he didn’t do everything he could to save Bobby. It felt like shit to hear it, and Eddie was a dick for saying it. He’s angry at the rest of the team, too. For not taking him seriously. For assuming he was as fine as he seemed, even after losing someone who was more of a father to him than his own father ever was. For not even asking where he was moving to when he left Eddie’s house. He loves Chim, but maybe he was wrong; maybe Buck doesn’t owe it to Bobby’s memory to stay in a place where he doesn’t really feel seen anymore.

Buck knows he’s a lot—he can be a lot. But he also knows that he’s grown up in the last few years. He’s loyal, and will do anything for the people he loves. And even before Bobby died, he wasn’t getting that back from his friends. He understands why—they all have lives, and kids, and it’s been a crazy year for everyone. But he consistently made the effort to be there for them, and it doesn’t feel great that no one could find the time to do that for him.

Well. One person did. One person always showed up for him.

Maybe Buck doesn’t actually need to get out of LA for six weeks. Maybe he needs some space from his friends and family until he’s got a better handle on his anger with them. But maybe he doesn’t have to spend the next six weeks alone.

It’s entirely possible that Buck’s silence the past few weeks closed that door for good. But Tommy’s been texting and calling, even though he’s not getting anything back, so maybe it didn’t. There’s only one way to find out.

It’s early afternoon by the time Buck parks in front of Tommy’s house. He doesn’t know Tommy’s schedule anymore, but he gets lucky—Tommy’s truck is parked in the driveway. Buck’s hands are sweaty all of a sudden, and some of the conviction he felt earlier has drained away. There’s enough left to propel him out of the jeep, though, and up the steps onto Tommy’s porch.

He rings the doorbell and waits. It’s only a few seconds before Tommy opens the door. His face creases with surprise when he sees Buck, but his eyes are warm.

“Hi,” Buck says a little awkwardly, and then he barrels on before Tommy can say anything in return. “I want to be friends,” he blurts, without really meaning to. Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up and then furrow as he frowns, and Buck watches his eyes shutter, the way they did in the kitchen that morning. “For now!” he adds hastily. “I’d like to be friends for now.”

Tommy’s expression does something decidedly judgmental before he gets a handle on it. He’s such a bitch sometimes, and Buck likes him so goddamn much. Loves him, in fact, but he thought about it the whole drive here, and he’s a mess right now; if he says it for the first time today, neither one of them will ever trust it.

“Maybe you should come in,” Tommy says slowly, and his tone is so neutral that Buck winces. It’s fine. He can fix this. Tommy’s willing to at least hear him out.

He follows Tommy into the kitchen, and sits on one of the barstools at the island while Tommy makes two cups of coffee. He slides one over to Buck and sits at one of the other stools. He’s got his expression under control now, and Buck hates it. Tommy’s so expressive when he’s comfortable that this carefully polite mask feels like a slap.

Still, Buck feels more relaxed right now than he has in weeks, just because Tommy is sitting across from him, watching him, and yeah, he should probably start explaining.

“I put in for a transfer,” he says, and there go the eyebrows again. Buck smiles despite himself. “I withdrew the request, later, but then I took some time off. Kind of a lot of time off, actually.” He has a thought, and he looks up. “S-sorry I didn’t get back to you.”

Tommy shakes his head. “It’s fine, Evan. I figured you were busy with your family.”

“Not, uh. Not so much,” he says, feeling tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. “It’s”—he waves a hand—“everyone has their own families, you know?”

Tommy’s frowning at him now. “You’re their family too,” he says slowly, like it’s an obvious truth, and that does it. The tears come, and so does the whole of the last few weeks, words spilling out and over each other as Buck tries to convey his loneliness, and helplessness, and what Bobby said, and how hard he tried, and how no one seemed to want that, and then Eddie—

He loses the thread a little bit, and he’s not sure what he’s saying. He’s trying to get the important parts out through the tears, but he’s not sure he’s even making sense anymore. And then Tommy’s arms are around him, big and warm and grounding, and he stops talking at all and just cries for a little while.

When Buck is composed again, Tommy takes a step back. Buck wishes he wouldn’t, but he holds out his hand and Tommy takes it, and that’s something. There are some things Buck still needs to say.

“It got a little jumbled earlier, so I’m not sure if I mentioned it, but I, uh. I gave Eddie his house back.”

“You said,” Tommy says, and squeezes his hand.

“I didn’t find a new apartment,” Buck admits. “I was going to go on a road trip, just drive for the next few weeks, stay wherever I felt like staying.”

“That sounds nice,” Tommy says.

“It did at first,” Buck says. “Then it sounded really lonely.” Tommy makes a soft noise in his throat. “So I—I turned around and came here instead.”

“Because you want to be friends,” Tommy says slowly.

“Because I want to be friends right now,” Buck corrects. “I absolutely want to try again. I wanted to try again last time, before—but I screwed it up.”

“Pretty sure I screwed it up,” Tommy says.

Buck shrugs. “Maybe we both did. I want to do it right. But I’m a mess right now, and I don’t want you to think that I’m only here because…because everything else in my life is falling apart. I want to choose to try again when we’re both solid.”

Tommy nods, but his gaze stays on the countertop in front of him. “What if”—he clears his throat—“what if you get your feet under you, and realize this isn’t what you want?”

“I won’t,” Buck says, calm and sure. He tugs on Tommy’s hand to get him to look up. “Tommy, I won’t. I’ve been missing you for months. The only reason I want to wait is because I want both of us to know for sure that we’re building on a solid foundation, okay?”

Tommy stares for a long moment, searching his face, and then he gives one short nod. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.”

Buck can feel the smile stretching over his face. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and smiles back.

“I thought you weren’t ready to move in together yet,” Buck says without thinking, when Tommy shows him the spare room.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “This doesn’t count. This is me helping out a friend, like everyone should do.” His tone is pointed, and Buck tries to ignore the little burst of pleasure he gets from knowing Tommy is mad on his behalf. He can work on being less petty about it later.

“Yeah?” Buck asks.

“Evan,” Tommy says, leaning in. His voice is low and intimate. “When I actually ask you to move in with me, you’ll know it.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks again, and it’s a lot breathier this time.

“Yes,” Tommy says with a smirk, and Buck briefly wonders how committed he has to be to the friends thing. He watches Tommy saunter out the door, heading for the kitchen, and he firmly reminds himself that waiting is the responsible choice, and will absolutely be worth it.

He’s by himself for the moment, but he doesn’t feel alone at all. He looks around the spare room, at his clothes hanging in the closet, and the soft blue comforter on the bed. Tommy put fresh sheets on it earlier, and they smell faintly of lavender. He sits on the edge of the bed, closes his eyes, and breathes. He feels good here, safe and comfortable and wanted.

He knows his grief will be back, and the real world will intrude sooner rather than later. He’ll have decisions to make, and explanations to give when the team realizes he’s gone. He and Tommy still have a lot of talking to do.

For right now, though, he can smell the faint scent of lavender, and Tommy’s body wash underneath that. He can hear the sound of Tommy moving around in the kitchen, and birds chirping at each other outside the window. His hand moves over the comforter, and he feels the echo of Tommy’s palm against his.

Buck blinks his eyes open and smiles to himself. He’s not okay yet—not by a long shot—but for the first time since Bobby died, he knows that he’s going to be.

#bucktommy #fix it fic #paper writes #buck still drives a jeep #no one gets bashed but buck does take some space

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creativepromptsforwriting · 8 months ago

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Birthday Bash 🎉

With my birthday coming up on Nov 16, I will give you a gift!

For 16 days (from Nov 1-Nov 16) there will be daily brand new posts.

Each post is already uploaded on Ko-fi for my members and you can find a list of all the posts you can expect there as well.

Which post are you most excited about?

Gifts in form of a coffee would be extremly appreciated if you're able to (you absolutely don't have to), same goes for sweet messages here on my birthday. 💕

I hope that you'll have a lot of fun with these posts 😊

- Jana

#birthday bash #writeblr #writing prompts #creative writing #writers on tumblr #writers things #writing community

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sillyteecup · 3 months ago

Text

A Lethal Shot Of Passion

Terry Richmond x black!o.c

Warnings:

18+

Swearing/Cursing

Minor injuries

Alcohol consumption

Innocent character held at gunpoint

Smut

Unprotected sex (please bazalwane, one condom one round)

Gunplay (minor) (logic does not live here besties)

Breath play

Degradation

Impact play

Edging

Orgasm denial

These people just might hate each other

Technically stalking ig

Word count: 5468🧍🏾‍♀️

A.N: so, here's my very late submission for the Terry Birthday bas by @megamindsecretlair . Also, introducing the Milaverse where I will be writing a bunch of oneshots, all in different universes with there only being 3 constants: Mila, Terry, and smut. I really wanted to do a fluffy one this time around but I couldn't get this out of my head, so the next one will hopefully be some cutesy stuff. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this, and thanks for reading and engaging. (also, let me know if you wanna be on the taglist for all Milaverse fics)

~Tee❤️

Ah yes, Sundays.

Good food, a glass of wine, good music, maybe a good trip, but most importantly, good old peace and quiet. Relaxation aside, Sundays meant no work calls for Mila, which meant no dealing with her annoying Team Leader, Terry. In another life, this would have been enough for her to believe in God.

Having finished what was supposed to be a weekend-long mission in Singapore in a mere day, Mila had taken her early clock out as a vacation opportunity. And so there she was, in Phuket with her locs in a ponytail, and a clay face mask, wearing nothing but her older brother's old Outkast t-shirt and a pair of white crocs, lounging before a lush mountain view enjoying her third glass of Shiraz. A knock sounded at the front door of the villa, making her groan. The knock was soon followed by the familiar voice of one of the housekeeping ladies announcing herself. Mila pressed her lips together in mild annoyance as this was the second time she'd have to exist in the company of the older and mouthy lady, completely killing the peace she enjoyed in solitude.

“Coming!” she called as she ruefully placed the glass of wine on the table in front of her.

In 5 long, impatient strides, she reached the door and opened it to a view that irritated her to no end.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, glaring at the disruption standing before her.

“Oh, room servi-” Mrs Suwan began to respond before being cut off by Mila.

“I'm sorry Mrs Suwan but I'm actually talking to the big headed oaf behind you,” Mila said, eyes narrowing at the 6’1, now green eyed, honey skinned, undying pain in her ass behind the much shorter and somewhat terrified looking Thai woman.

Terry's lips quirked into what one would swear was a smile, but to Mila was a nasty sneer. “Now Mila, that's no way to talk to your husband who's trying to surprise you,” he spoke cooly, baffling Mila. She noticed Mrs Suwan wince slightly as her body jerked suddenly.

Which meant-

“Especially after everything I went through to make it happen,” he added, now through gritted teeth, confirming her suspicion. Terry was angry, and angry Terry was someone nobody dared to knowingly tango with. Even more so when he had a weapon in his hand. So Mila played along, hoping he would release the older woman between them if she let him in.

“Mila,” Terry said, snatching her out of her head and right back into the real world. The real world where he glared at her expectantly while still maintaining that strained grin.

She swallowed her pride and wore an expression that rivaled his. “I'm sorry sweetheart, I just wasn't expecting you. Come on in,” she bit out as sweetly as she humanly could.

Although the intense staring contest with Terry continued, Mila caught a glimpse of Mrs Suwan’s posture relaxing in her peripheral, as the quiet click of a gun being put on safety sounded behind her. “Thank you, Mrs Suwan. I'll be leaving a generous tip for your services,” he said, not once letting his smoldering glare at Mila falter.

Suwan nodded and scurried away, likely about to cry or throw up from trauma. Although sympathetic, Mila paid her no mind, only focusing on Terry, whose smile instantaneously dropped the moment she left.

“She couldn't even see you smiling, you fucking idiot,” Mila hissed, making no move to let him into her temporary space.

"I was committing to the bit.”

“While holding her at gunpoint?”

“Nudge in the right direction.”

A beat passed in the middle of their back and forth as Mila took in his appearance properly. With a duffel bag slung over shoulder, he was dressed in a royal blue knit golfer that revealed his bulging muscular arms, and navy slacks that likely shaped that juicy ass she often stole glances at during training, at the gym and during post-mission se-

His face however, didn't sell the polished image too well. Aside from the likely cut that was hidden beneath the bandage on his eyebrow, the remnants of his last fight were glaring. A split lower lip, dark with dried blood, a cut healing along his tense jaw, and most obviously, the dark bruise forming below his left eye, all told her everything she needed to know about his weekend.

“You look like shit,” was all she said though, not sure if it was safe to ask why.

Terry's features scrunched up in momentary distaste at the comment, before he took another to scan her appearance, basically eye-fucking her with his cutting gaze.

“Well you don't look so fresh and so clean yourself 3-stacks,” he retorted cooly, his bluff making Mila roll her eyes.

“Whatever nigga,” was all she said before she stepped to the side to finally let him into the villa.

Terry stepped in but not without immediately dropping his back onto the one of the couches, slamming the door behind him and grabbing Mila's wrist to drag her into the kitchen. He cornered her against the counter where the rest of her ingredients lay abandoned. His nostrils flared subtly, as his usual even glare bore through her with a tinge of fury. His large hands were on her sides, gripping at the edge of the counter and caging her in should she attempt an escape.

“You've been annoyingly hard to find,” he stated, his tone low and dangerous, like him in the field.

“It's almost like that's my literal job description,” Mila bit out sarcastically, her fiery glare matching his to a T.

Terry's jaw shifted as he likely ground his teeth. Mila fought the urge to respond with a quip about how that was bad for his precious pearly whites that he cared about so much. But she had already committed to being passively rebellious and she figured he was in no mood to hear a joke about his appearance. Especially considering his current state.

“Last I checked, ghosting your Team Leader wasn't in your contract,” Terry scoffed, his burning gaze setting her skin ablaze.

“Neither is having said Team Leader barge into my personal space on a Sunday, yet here you are,” Mila snarked, getting increasingly impatient.

Terry let out a sardonic chuckle, before firmly grabbing her chin. “Mila, I am not in the best mood right now, so I advise that for your own sake, you watch your fucking tone,” he snarled, venom dripping from his deep baritone.

Ignoring the shiver his tone sent down her spine, she tilted her head up even further, her eyes blazing with defiance. “Or what? You stick a gun against my forehead till you get your way? Nah, you're too much of a bitch to do that to your equals. I know, you're gonna pull out the usual! Bend me over and fuck me silly till I catch an attitude again? Huh Bitchmond? You gonna-” her tirade was promptly cut off by the hand that previously held her chin, now firmly gripping her throat, almost promising to tear it out. An additional surprise was the cold barrel of a gun pressing her chin.

“How ‘bout I do you one better? How ‘bout I shut that big ass mouth of yours and make you gag and slobber all over this here glock. And then when you've got it all nice and wet for me, I'll use it fuck that pretty little cunt of yours till the only thing you can remember is that I am your fucking superior,” he muttered darkly, every last ounce of restraint turning to dust.

Tears pricked through Mila’s eyes as with every word he cut off more and more air from her lungs. This made her pooling arousal all the more disgraceful to an unfamiliar spectator. However this was what Mila decided she wanted the moment she invited him in. No one, except Mila dared to knowingly Tango with an angry Terry, because to her, angry Terry meant sweet, twisted release that nobody else could grant her. Only she knew which buttons to push and how. Only she could rile him up and get exactly what she wanted from his rage.

Still, she mentally cursed herself when she noticed how her lack of underwear caught his attention, like a wolf catching the scent of prey. His hazel irises darkened even more than what Mila thought was possible, as a dark sneer spread across his face.

“Of course you like that shit. You. Filthy. Little. Whore,” he snickered mockingly, punctuating every word with a taunting tap to the cheek with the gun.

“Safe word?” he demanded, loosening his grip on her neck but not completely removing his hand.

“Moonstone,” Mila choked, struggling to speak between the breaths she was trying to catch up on.

“Who?”

“Sir.”

And with that confirmation of consent, the show was back on as Terry grinned slyly. He traced the butt of the gun along her left cheek, drawing lines and circles until he reached the corner of her lips. “Safety’s still on. Open up,” he commanded raspily.

Ever defiant, Mila parted her lips and spat out a defiant, “fuck you.” Terry's grin morphed into a malicious sneer as his grip around her throat tightened once again, snatching her right to breathe.

“Now I already told you that I ain't in the mood for no bullshit, so open that fucking mouth or God help Me I'm going to rip your fucking jaw in half with my bare fucking hands,” he seethed, fury laced in his still low tone.

A spark of rebellion passed through Mila's eyes as she spat in his face. Anything to get him to completely snap and make their little game go faster.

Children, this is a cautionary tale to be careful what you wish for.

His eyes went cold, and the rest of his features emotionless. He removed his hand from her skin and took a step back to retrieve a handkerchief from one of the pockets of his slacks. He wiped the substance from his face, his features not moving an inch from their stoic state. He then balled the now wet material up and marched back up to Mila whose triumphant smirk fell into a fearful grimace as she tried to book it for the room upstairs. Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough, as signified by Terry's iron grip on her ponytail yanking her back against him.

“You know that was fucking stupid right?” he demanded, voice ragged from his labored breaths.

Understanding that she had flown too close to the sun, Mila internally surrendered. “Yes sir,” she whimpered in a mix of fear and pain from the sting of her thoughts being snatched out of her scalp.

“And you know what comes next right?”

Mila sighed as realization set in. Nothing is ever worth a week of paralysis from the waist down, yet that was exactly what she had ordered. Lust made her irrational and now she was gonna pay the price. But what else was new?

“Yes sir.”

While parts of her legs ached from being pushed and practically dragged up the stairs of the villa, a disgusting sting of excitement burned all over Mila’s skin. Yes, she was fucked, but she was also about to be fucked: a win was a win. Even when Terry let go of her locs as he discarded her onto white covered, large double bed that took up most of the space in the room...until Terry stepped in of course, she couldn’t help but to rub her thighs together to quell the anticipation making itself known underneath the oversized t-shirt. Her Team Leader, for all his quirks on the more annoying side, was what she considered an amazing lay who never failed to shake her world up whenever it collided with his. And that was just on his more mildly frustrated, but relatively nonchalant days. Although she had never crossed this far into the inferno that was Terry’s notoriously violent rage, she had learned on a few occasions that once her little green-eyed monster’s nostrils flared, a time was about to be had, albeit at the cost of functional lower limbs.

You win some, you lose some.

She used all her might to fight the smirk that threatened to tug at her lips, but it was futile. By the way the flecks in Terry’s irises darkened blazed momentarily, she had lost dismally. He stood silently at the foot of the bed, the decade in Academi evident in his bone straight posture. In his hand, like an extension of the limb, was the tool that had aided his rampage, threatening as it gleamed against the dim glow of the lamps that illuminated the bedroom. Even with the remnants of his last fight, he still looked unreal. The soft, luscious pink lips, the glow of his honey skin, and those deep bright eyes whose natural state eluded her due to his guarded demeanor and ever changing moods, had maintained his otherworldly appearance; but the bruises and cuts that littered his godly face, came with the addition of something more rugged. His steely and borderline hateful glare melted with a drizzle of desire while he likely contemplated how to deal with Mila’s blatant disregard for his authority. Mila itched with the need to break the biting ice. She had even settled on a quip about how he looked even sexier when he was beat up, but Terry’s low and cold tone beat her to the punch.

“You’re excited,” he noted, a hint of irritation inflecting in his tone.

“I know what I’m in for. Sue me for reacting accordingly,” she retorted with a shrug, a miniscule prior semblance of submission having evaporated under the heat of his gaze.

Terry let out a near silent but all the more sinister snicker as he shook his head and scratched his jaw. “You a smart little bitch aren’t ya? Aight then Einstein, that little toy you carry everywhere? In my hand. Now!” the command came out as a growl that Mila immediately obeyed.

After a quick search through her suitcase and her second toiletry bag, Mila retrieved the hot pink and royal purple silicone toy and its accompanying lube, and immediately placed them both in his outstretched palm. Terry hummed approvingly at her obedience before speaking again: “I’m giving you 5 minutes to wash your face while I head downstairs and get something to drink. By the time I get back up here, I want you on this bed, naked, on your back and with your legs wide open for me,” he instructed, leaving the two new additions to his arsenal on one of the complementary towels splayed across one of the corners of the bed.

And that’s exactly what she did. She rinsed her mask off then cleansed and scrubbed away at her face before moisturising. She tossed her t-shirt into the guest hamper in the bathroom and slid the crocs off her pedicured feet. She then assumed the given position, slowly lying back into the foam mattress covered in white sheets and duvets, and spreading her legs wide enough to give Terry a clear view of what awaited him.

The man of the hour returned to the room with his duffel around his shoulder, the bottle of Mila’s Shiraz, and a single glass. Mila watched, antsy as he dropped his bag near the bathroom door and set the wine and the glass on one of the nightstands. He then wordlessly moved to climb the bed, kneeling at the edge and reaching out to grab Mila by the backs of her thighs and yanking her towards him, eliciting a sharp squeal. A loud slap rang through the room, followed by a yelp. His calloused hands struck the outside of her thighs, one by one, one sharp smack after another. All Mila could muster were cries of pain and lust as the stinging on her thighs birthed an ugly baby named arousal. The suddenness of Terry’s attack sent her reeling and unable to think straight, which was ironic considering the fact that she was trained to maintain cognisance regardless of what was being thrown her way.

Unfortunately no amount of training can prepare you for the wrath of Terrence Richmond, fuck or foe.

“Just ‘cause ain’t a paddle, don’t mean you shouldn’t be counting,” Terry stated gruffly as he increased the pressure of each smack.

“I don’t know-” she cried out before being promptly cut off by a moan that tore from her own throat at an even harder crack.

“Then figure it out. Ain’t that what smart-mouthed whores like you do?” he asked, mockingly. “You better get that shit right too, ‘cause I don’t mind improvising and starting from the top to wear that ass out properly,” he promised with a malicious sneer.

Mila mentally clawed at her own brain, desperate to figure out what number they were on. Maybe in the first 5, she would have gotten to the answer immediately, but Terry had waited before reminding her, and worst of all he wasn’t even stopping. This light-skinned, grinch-eyed motherfucker had set her up for failure from the start and judging from the growing tent in his slacks, he was getting off on it. Except Mila would have had the chance to avoid the brick wall if she had just remembered to count from the start. And there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that he would keep his promise and get creative: painfully creative. But right as the thought crossed her mind, Terry’s assault came to an abrupt halt, leaving Mila’s thighs a smoking debris on the outside and a soaked mess on the inside. He was getting dangerously unpredictable.

“Hmm, I’m over here singing your praises, calling you a genius little slut, but you can’t even do something as simple as count? Disappointing,” he taunted with a scrutinizing glare. He sucked his teeth in as he leaned over to grab the vibrator from the towel, slowly moisturizing it with the lube next to it.

Her teary brown eyes met his steely, focused silver ones as he harshly wrenched her legs apart. His features softened when he once again caught a whiff of her sweet, vanilla-peach scent, eyes closing as the pads of his fingers danced lightly on her skin while he basked in it with a slow inhale. Mila bit back a smile at what was to come. Her pussy may have just thrown Terry off whatever treacherous course he had intended for her…or he had just cut her punishment short and was about to fuck her anyway. Either way, what bliss. Terry’s expression however turned back to stone as he had freed himself from the momentary trance. Mila held space though, hoping that despite whatever he had planned, she would still get her fill.

“You’ve gotten too damn comfortable with me Mila. I knew that little attitude of yours would be a problem the moment you were assigned to me, but I thought I could fix it. I tried tougher drills, I tried harder warm-ups, and you just got worse. So I got alternative, I tried being nice, and unfortunately all that did was make me care about you beyond your safety on the field,” he vented, still keeping his tone low and menacing. Mila recalled how he had been a nuclear asshole when she had first joined his team. He had already been a bit of a standoffish prick by the time she arrived, but her defiance against his tone and unreasonable drills sent him over the edge.

So Mila pushed even further. Terry then reverted-actually became more tolerable than when she had met him. Sure, his tone still had a bite to it when he spoke to her, but he was more considerate and more respectful. Never nice though. Which is why she had been surprised when he told her that she was slowly becoming his weakness and that he was finding it harder and harder to pull away from her. And despite their past spats, Mila was forced to confront her desire for him and her enjoyment of their incessant push-and-pull. That was how they built what she called their “healthily toxic love affair”. Without the love of course, because to Terry, outside of his concern for her safety, it was still about keeping her under control.

“Then you let me take creative liberty when you let me fuck it out of you. I thought giving you wanted would quell that agitating fire in you, but I was wrong. So fucking wrong, because now you’re disappearing on me, ignoring warnings, calling me out my name. Spitting in my gotdamn face,” he gritted through his teeth, fingers still tracing light circles, effectively igniting another flame on her inner thighs.

Mila tucked her lip between her teeth, keeping a snarky retort down her throat because the universe knows that Terry’s fury would likely tear through it and her if she said what was on her mind.

“I can’t keep giving you everything if you can’t give me the one thing I expect of you. Come on Einstein, tell me what that is,” he said with an expectant glare.

“Respect,” Mila replied softly, earning another sharp smack, this time to her inner thigh at the incomplete answer. “Respect sir, ‘m sorry,” she whimpered.

“Trust me Mila, unless you tap out and say your safeword, you will be,” he expressed, his dark promise coated in sincerity.

“I don’t wanna say it sir.”

“Mmmh.”

She watched intently as he turned the vibrator on, the low hum growing with every increasing setting. Her eyes widened as he inserted the toy in her sopping cunt, immediately sending unearthly shockwaves through her body. The unholiest of potential noise complaints spilled from her lips as the vibrator worked at her clit and g-spot at once. The overwhelming sensations dulled her mind, weakening her resolve than any of the drills Terry had ever thrown at her. All she could see was the orgasmic light at the end of the tunnel, a light she ran towards until her path was blocked by an evil set of greens and her breathing being cut off.

Fingers pinching at her nose and a heavy forearm pressing against her chest, his gaze burned through her skull as he spoke: “Nah, none of that. Orgasms are for respectful little whores. And you,” he paused to chuckle, “ain’t even halfway there.”

With that, he was off the bed, leaving Mila there to curl and writhe in the bed she had made. He bent over to rummage through his duffel before finally retrieving…a book. A fucking book. He grabbed the wine and glass from the night stand, stealing one last glance at Mila. “I’m not gon’ hold you though, this is a nice ass place,” he noted lightheartedly before retreating to the balcony, closing the sliding door behind him and getting comfortable in the hanging loveseat.

30 minutes.

That was the amount of time that Terry had left Mila to suffer for before making his return from his me-time. By then, Mila only existed between a deep seated regret for crossing someone as twisted as Terry Richmond, and an even deeper desperation for release. Although he was seated beside her, he had made no move to remove the torture machine from her pussy. All he did was watch indifferently as the toy repeatedly drilled the lesson into her while she writhed and squirmed about. Finally, he lulled her from her frenzied state, rolling her to her back and removing the vibrator. His touch felt cold against her raw skin, eliciting a pained groan. Her vision was blurred, but she could still see him smirking down at her in twisted satisfaction.

She heard him tsk at the soaked toy before he redirected his attention to her.

“Always gotta make shit harder than it has to be, huh? Now look at you,” he spat, still fairly vexed by her display earlier.

“‘M sorry sir. So sorry,” she managed to whimper through quivering lips.

Terry only clicked his tongue before getting up and taking his belt off. He made a single loop, wrapping one end around his knuckles. Naively, Mila tried to crawl away, only to be manhandled onto Terry’s lap with her stomach against his muscular thighs. “You miss a number, I start again, understood?” he inquired sternly.

“Yes sir,” Mila replied with a desperate nod.

Smack! “One, sir!”

“You gon’ learn how to fucking talk to me Mila!”

Smack! “Two sir!”

“You gon’ learn to treat me with some fucking respect!”

Smack! “Three sir!”

“You gon’ learn that me and you ain’t equals!”

Smack! “Four sir!”

“I am your superior in every sense of the fucking word!”

Smack! “Five sir!”

“I fucking own you!”

Smack! Six sir!”

“Say it,” he growled, arching her back as he held her up with a first in the now loose ponytail.

“You own me sir,” she whimpered, earning another stinging crack of leather to her bare ass.

“Ah-seven sir!”

“And?”

“We’re not equa-” Smack! “Gyahhh! Ei-eight sir!”

“Again,” he commanded.

“We’re not equals!”

“Because?”

“Because you own me sir!”

With two final cracks of his belt to the pricking skin on her ass, Terry rolled her body off his lap, ragdolling her onto her back. He wasted no time discarding his shirt before taking his dress shoes off. His dick had all but strained against the material of his slacks from snuffing out the brat in Mila and he was ready for his more personal dues. He made quick work of his pants along with his boxers, long and girthy glory springing free for play time. Roughly grabbing her thighs and wrapping them around his waist, he lined himself up at her entrance. Her body jerked as he rammed his way into her now flooded cunt, filling her like a piece of herself that had been missing. The feeling of him bottoming out felt like she was being completed.

Mercilessly, he rammed in out of her, the sound of his pelvis slapping against her ass akin to the clap of thunder. Moans, cries, and screams of pleasure and praise slowly ate away at Mila’s voice. Her throat had begun to dry and fizzle from the way she exerted her vocal chords. The next person to hear her would think she had been at a Beyonce concert. Until they saw her body of course. Terry made her skin a foster home for his mouth, kissing, sucking and biting at whatever he could taste like a starved bear.

“Whose fucking pussy is this?” he rasped as he fucked her mind into nothing.

“It’s yours sir! All yours,” Mila screamed, unable to contain the fire Terry's unforgiving thrusts into her.

Bright green eyes darkened with lust bore into her soul, the erotic stare making Mila even wetter. The familiar knock of impending release began knocking for Mila to open up, and she had no issue reaching for the handle after turning it away for so long. However she hadn’t accounted for Terry reading her like a novel he had finished 4 times over. Suddenly his hand was wrapped around her throat, squeezing like she were a foe.

“You thought this shit was for you wasn’t it? Nah baby, I’m just trying to catch a nut before my nap,” he growled tauntingly, a damn near demonic smirk splayed across his features.

“Don’t get it twisted Mila. The only reason I cut shit so short is jet lag. You ain’t earned shit yet,” he chuckled menacingly, feeling spurred on by the tears in Mila’s eyes making their umpteenth appearance that afternoon.

“Bu-but…I said…I said I…’m sorry,” Mila whimpered helplessly.

“I’m sure you are. But I need that shit to stick. Need you to remember what happens when you boutta forget who the fuck you talking to. Need you to remember the consequences for taking my kindness for granted,” he said, finally about to chase his own high.

All he granted Mila was a warning before he came inside her with a guttural groan. As he caught his breath, Mila held onto a hope that maybe by some miracle, Terry was joking. Unfortunately her hope was snatched away with the feeling of him inside of her when he pulled out. Her heart dropped as he grabbed his duffel from the hardwood floor and made his way into the bathroom. With the pent up tension eating at her, she couldn’t even console herself with the view of his retreating ass. The sound of water rushing into the bathtub reached her ears, deepening her disappointed frown. But it wasn’t long before he had come back out though, once again fueling a spark of optimism in her heart, until he gently scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the en suite bathroom. As the water began to fill the large tub, Terry gently placed her body inside before retreating into the shower a mere step away.

Unsurprising considering his chronic fear of non-sexual intimacy.

Mila sighed in contempt as she slid further into the tub. The hot water soothed most of her body while stinging at her ass. If she hadn’t survived worse, she would probably be crying in pain. The water reached her neck, prompting her to close the faucet. She turned her head slightly to glance at the shower. The glass doors were blanketed in condensation, obscuring her view of the delectable looking cause of her ruining cleaning himself up. Then a mischievous thought crossed her mind.

If she couldn’t see Terry, then that meant he couldn’t see her.

So she slowly inched her hand down her abdomen, touching herself until finally her fingertips ghosted over her clit-

“Don’t even think about it!”

Mila was back in the living room, nose buried in one of Terry’s many books he always had on him, while the man in question napped upstairs. Gold Teeth by Blood Orange played softly in the background to drown out Terry’s slightly less soft snores from upstairs. Flicking to a new page, something fell onto her lap. Absent-mindedly picking up what she thought was a bookmark, Mila lifted it to hold it against the page Terry had marked. As the object lifted into her view, her eyebrow arched. The bookmark was Terry’s I.D. Her attention was immediately on the picture, displaying a slightly younger Terry with less frown lines and a mini-fro Mila wished he had kept. Even younger Terry wore the same stoic expression he was notorious for unless he was yelling. She snorted to herself before her eyes shifted to the words on the side.

Terrence James-yeah he seems like a James-Richmond

03/17/1992

Mila frowned at his birth date. She thought Terry was at least in his 40s with how uptight he was. She always chalked his appearance up to good genes and “black don’t crack”. Then there was the date formatting that never failed to irk her anytime one of her American peers or friends would show her their licenses or the time on their phones.

Oh, and there was the fact that today was March 17th.

“Kganti le Terrence wa birthday’a? I never expeded it,” she joked to herself right as the card was snatched from her hand.

She craned her neck up slightly to find Terry’s tired, unamused stare trained on her. She grinned innocently, not sure how he’d react to her little quip since he had clearly heard it. To be fair, he didn’t really move like the laws of humanity applied to him.

“You know contrary to popular belief, I’m actually a regular person,” he snarked, turning Mila’s grin into a smirk that said, “really? You?”

He simply clicked his tongue before snatching his book too and making his way to sit on the opposite end of the couch. Not letting him enjoy his peace since he had taken hers away, she moved closer to him, nearly close enough for their arms to touch. The point was to annoy him, not violate his boundaries. Still, she poked him in the side, earning a mildly annoyed glare. For someone who had probably flown across the world to find her, despite her ensuring she was impossible to track down, he sure had a funny way of expressing his desire to be around her. She didn’t mind it though. This was the closest to nice she would ever get out of Terry and if she was being real, she liked him like this.

“Happy birthday Dumbo,” she said, taking a shot at his ears. He rolled her eyes, a ghost of a genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Whatever nigga.”

#terry richmond #terry richmond smut #terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black!oc #terry richmond birthday bash #aaron pierre #sillyteecup writes #rebel ridge fic

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dabratzchronicles · 3 months ago

Text

Tick

Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond

You as Yourself

Summary: It's Terry birthday! While he is out with his homeboys, you decide to send him a video you made, but what happens when the reaction you get is something you never expected?

Warnings: Nasty Shit, You are able to be picked up, dry humping, P IN V, size kink, established relationship, kind of possessiveness? you'll see why.

A/N: Yall, *fans myself* I love being a whore omg. I hope yll enjoy this as much as I did and as of rn? I need to change my panties

A/N2: be on the look out, I got some shit cooking up that'll make your coochie beat many miles a min!

A/N3: IMMA READ YALL SHIT TMR! I SEEN SOME SHIT IN THIS TAGGG HUNNYYYY and shoutout to the lady who inspired us to toss this man around 😏 love you megan! @megamindsecretlair

You stopped your recording and giggled, All that booty in the pants and it moves like water, Oh how jealous these other bitches should be. You edited the video to your liking and pondered for a second, who should be the first person to be blessed with such beauty within a video.

Terry, Obviously!

If there’s anything that man wouldn’t do, is hype you up like like he is not a 6’4 lightskin with the body of a bodyguard, like guarding the president type shit. But what people don’t really understand is under all that tough man act, he is a big softie down under. A classic textbook example of a pitbull. All big and scary bark bark rawr rawr until you’re their favorite human and they won't leave you alone, you can’t count on each hand how many times Terry wanted you to be the big spoon, and he is your emergency contact.

You scrolled and scrolled and searched for his name until you finally found it, your thumb hovering over the send button.

A part of you didn’t want to send him the video, you thought you were feral but that man? Puts your thoughts to shame, for the most part.

But gee that man loves your body, love each curve that sat, the cellulite he would trace when you two watched something on tubi, your face that he would cup every now and then and you would melt each time, getting lost in his ocean eyes as he would get lost studying your features, as if you were his Mona Lisa, his prized possession, painted and crafted so perfectly, That nigga Leo Da Vinichi aint got shit on you.

You mustered all your strength to press the send button, the loading bar at the top made your stomach flip and turn like the Gymnastic Olympics. These lil fuckers are giving it all its might.

Your phone buzzed with a sound, You knew it was Terry but it still scared the dog shit outta you, it also didn’t help that you are high.

Looking down to see what he said, you felt a sigh of relief, it was only a notification that he loved the video. But an eerie feeling came behind that, it's no way he would just love a video. A video like that? He’d be telling you that he would be seeing you very soon and you would be covering your face giggling with excitement as he would stop everything and come home.

He didn’t do that tho, weird.

You brushed it off, He is with his homeboys enjoying his birthday, you already gave him his gift of flowers and a teddy bear that had a cute little MCMAP shirt on it along with a poem of how much you loved him, you agreed on the no sex part until after he got home because he wanted to, he would be home possibly trying to trap you in the house for the summer, and you promised this summer was gonna be one for the fuckin books!

You stretched your legs out, and your knees were fuckin killing you like Terry gave you one free ticket to pound town too rough. But you felt sexy! That damn SiR and TeaMarr know how to throw down onna song. But fuck that shit. It's time to enjoy your time without Terry for once.

You walked with a twist around the house, bouncing like a lady on the moon to the beat of the song, the sensuality flowing happily in the air as the airwaves of Say Yes by Floetry carried you lovely.

In the midst of getting lost in the song. A thought flew into your head, Where the fuck is Terry and that was the million-dollar question for right now, it's been an hour since you last sent the video and he just loved it after that? Silence. Did his homeboys see the video? Did he not like it? That’s silly, you know he loved it, but why love it? Were You thinking too hard on this and need to enjoy your night?

The answer is yes. He knows where home is.

Your cute pink headphones sat highly above your head, the right side is being a fucking bitch right now. You adjusted it so it could sit better, covering your ear fully. Better.

You walked away from the kitchen and autopiloted to the living room to see what you could watch on Netflix, they added a ton of shit on there, you just might watch that movie about the ex-military getting done dirty and getting his biggest getback, taking down the whole damn station. What was that fuckin movie called?

You didn’t even take 3 full steps before you got swept off your feet, but not scared because you knew it was Terry. Who did you know that can pick up all that good woman?! Not a naan fuckin soul!

Terry took his hands and raised you from under your armpits, you jumped a bit to wrap your arms around his neck, his cologne swallowing your nose whole, inhaling every ounce of it. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he corrected his arms from your pits to your waist, his lips then began to tackle your neck, tickling your every so often. “Hey, Mufasa.” You giggled, “I can’t hear! My Headphones.”

Terry lifts his head and tilts it back, His nostrils flared as air blows at you, sending you into a giggle fit. Looking at you still, He mouthed ‘Take them off’ to which you then protested that your shit was on! You couldn’t take them off and at least let the song finish. He reached into your pocket to slide your phone out, a few swipes, the music switched to the surround sound in the living room. That Meanie!

You yanked your headphones off in a fit, tossing them on the couch. His smile grew wide, “Hey Big Mama. I seen what you sent.”

“And I seen what you did, you loved it.” You sassed, “You're supposed to hype me up!”

“You hyped something else up.” He said, his head snuggled in the crook of your neck. Biting your flesh softly in new spots.

“Oh, you slut!” You teased, “I’m high and wanted to watch Netflix.”

He cocked his head back. “Girl, you are my woman.” He said, walking away with you firmly secure in his grasp. “And that Netflix shit dead. I need my dance and I need it now.”

You both laughed goofyly as he walked you both into the room you two shared. He tapped you twice, a signal to unlock your legs. You swung your legs to prepare yourself for the carpet underneath. Terry unbuttoned his mustard-like shirt, exposing his chest and his abs, you brought your bottom lip to bite on it, squeezing your legs together to suppress the heartbeat in between your legs.

He tugged at your basketball shorts, looking you in your eyes with a smirk. “My first request is this? Need to be off.”

“Wait! I got on granny panties! Can I at least switc-“

“Mamas, I don’t give a fuck about your Grandmother’s Underwear, See I'll make it better for you. I'll take my pants off.”

Excuse you?! How does anything top granny panties? Unless it's tidy whities, what can possibly be more embarrassing than that?

Terry read you like a book, somehow seeing what you were saying in your head. He unbuckled his belt, making a ‘fwip’ sound at how quickly he took it off. He grabbed your hand and placed it on his pants hook. “I’ll let you do the honors.”

With one hand, you unhooked his pants, swinging your other arm around to pulled them down to his ankles, to which, you busted out with laughter. This nigga got Freddy Kruger boxers on. You genuinely couldn’t contain yourself as you were hunched over holding your stomach, doing breathing techniques to get serious about this. You have to give a lap dance! Get it together!

Terry stepped out of his pants and kicked them to the side, shaking your phone in his hand, reminding you that he had it. “Now. May I please get this dance?” he asked, planting his butt in the armchair that sat beside the bed. “I don’t know, my pants is stuck, I need a biggg stronggg birthday boy to help me take them off.” You pestered him, grabbing your phone out of his hands to switch the audio output from the surround sound in the living room to the one in the room. His hands snaked into your shorts, covering each of your cheeks as he kneaded your ass like fresh dough, You moaned into the air as he worked his fingers into each kink and knot, your warmness expanding more throughout your body.

You leaned forward a bit, lost in the massage you caught yourself, and your hand flew to his shoulder. “If you gonna take these bitches off just do it!” You pouted, almost sick of the massage but shit, when was the next time you were going to get one like this?

“They already off, You just bullshittin’ with these navy blue undies.” What?

Your LaLa bubble popped and your head zapped down to see that he really took them off. Without you knowing… This man, He a sneaky lil critter. This is exactly what the fuck you get for getting with an MCMAP nigga.

You turned around to face away from him. “I have to pick a song! and It's Not gonna be the one you heard.” Terry groaned at your words but your lips ran silently as you talked to yourself, What would be the best song for right now? What makes you feel the most sexy, gives you the confidence to give Mr Handsome a dance he may never forget? Come on brain. You have to think of- Aha! Click!

That's Why I Love You by SiR ft Sabrina Claudio, gently rang out, tossing the phone on the bed, you mentally prepared yourself, Let the music swallow you whole, be engulfed by it, let it determine your night.

You swayed your hip to one side, winding up your snaps until your hands reached the top of your head. Keeping the beat in your hips until the beat changes, you then move both hips, relaxing your muscles and letting Mary Jane drive the boat. Rolling your lower half like a belly dancer, tossing your hair to one side as you looked back at Terry, his eyes never leaving your ass, the hill in his boxers gave you a one-tier boost in your head.

You inched closer to him, bending forward a little, sitting directly on his bulge, you moaned with your mouth closed, using your lower half to spell the words: ‘I Love You’ Backwards and Forwards.

“Fuck,” He groaned, The feeling of your pussy and his dick rubbing on each other and not going in was killing him. And you knew that shit, which is why you prolonged it. Like the sneaky little devil you are.

You lifted yourself and slammed down gently, not too hard as to it would kill the mood, but just enough force to take him by surprise. You dipped your body down, gripping his ankles, you twerked on him, imitating the video, Life imitates art they say, Ain't no art better than the real thing.

He placed both of his hands on your hips, keeping you steady and pausing your movements, Rude. You felt him rub his print up and down your sopping clothed lips.

“Stay like this, please.” He moaned, his whimpers powered you but you didn’t dare to disobey. You let him hump you, using your body any way he wanted to use it. That’s Why You Loved Him, and all his nastiness.

Terry went into a twitching fit, his moans grew louder, the curses under his breath spat out quickly, his grip tightening on your hips, a thought snuck in your head and it might get you fucked up.

You threw your left leg over the arm of the armchair, twerking slowly on him until you felt the warmth of his cum shooting out but not going anywhere. “That’s It.” You dragged your words, a long guttural moan came from him afterward. “That’s my gooddd boy.”

Terry laughed from behind you. You let go of his ankles to raise your body, moving your hair out of the way. Terry grinned, lifting his hand towards your neck. “I bet not— ever Find out you giving a nother nigga this kinda dance. Not even yo homegirls can get it, This shit for me and me only.”

“You territorial ass nigga.” you joked, his hand guiding your head to his, “I mean it,” His breath tickled your lips. “I need all this to me. Or else Big Mama ain't gone be able to walk.”

“Im tryna have that happen now-” You didn’t even get to finish the sentence, a squeal finished it for you as he picked up again, tossing you on the bed, the pillows and the unmade bed cushioned your landing. You flipped around to a pleasant surprise. Terry and his Mini Him standing and dancing. “At ease.” you poked fun at him. “I have to take off my stuff as well.”

“I can always rip em.” He said

“If you rip these, you're buying me new ones.”

“Well,” He thought for a second, only for a second though, his arms shot out as he tore the fabric like it was nothing. What monster did you create tonight? All you did was send a video. “I always wanted to buy you lingerie, Think of it as a head start.”

Lewd sounds escaped from your mouth as you watched him toss your now-torn undies into the trash. That shit was kinda hot, almost made you want to wear them before getting cracked to get the same results.

He climbed on the bed resting his back on the black headboard, gripping his dick with a sneer, giving it a few strokes, teasing you with it right in front of your face.

You smiled at Terry, the sight was too beautiful to fuck up, but way too beautiful to not get a piece of. You crawled to him with your ass wiggling in the air like a cat, as you got closer to him, the Mahogany scent grew stronger, the beast inside you getting more eager to finally be let out.

You reached him, placing kisses on his collarbone all the way up to his ear where you whispered, “Want me to recreate the video?” Taking over his hand, jerking him off with your thumb circling his tip.

He breathed out a quick yes before his head dropped down, resisting the urge to cum all over your hands, your soft hands gripping his dick had him singing sweet faint moans. You rested your other hand on the headboard, pointing his dick upwards, letting go of it to lick your hand, fuck, You miss the way he tasted, You can see why he gets such pleasure sucking on his fingers after eating you out.

You align yourself with him, his tip brushes against your clit, your body twitches in response. You sat on it halfway, you both gasping cutely. “Fuck,” you underestimated how much you could take, his dick already made itself comfortable, filling you up deliciously.

“Come on Big Mama.” He groaned, noticing that you have already hit your limit of dick. “I know you can take more than that.”

“But you’re too big.” You dragged out your words.

“Oh, Come on,” he started to tease you as he slightly pushed you down on him, making you gasp a little bit.

“You know you can take all of it, what was all that shit you was doing in that video?” you looked down at him as you locked eyes, then quickened your pace. “There she is, There’s my princess.” He groaned and grunted at you squeezing him. “Taking all this dick, I wish you knew how pretty you looked taking all of me.” You smiled at him, gaining enough confidence to bounce on him, making your ass clap with each collision you made with his body.

He moaned so beautifully that had you clenching around him, grabbing his hand to place it around your throat, he already knew what to do as he gripped your throat not applying too much pressure, but just enough to still feel pleasurable.

“Shit,” He whines, his eyes squeezed shut, you held on to his arm as you slowed down your pace, taking your time with it but it was killing you. And it was killing him too.

“Why are you fuckin me like this? Fuck this pussy so good.”

“Because you deserve it, birthday boy. I love you, baby.” You said, planting kisses on his sweaty head and face, smiling at the putty of a man you made.

“I love you too, And I’m sorry.”

You didn’t get to question him, his arm wrapped around you as he pounded you from underneath, taking you by surprise. Terry pounded you senselessly, creating waves with each smack that landed on your asscheeks, it was too much too bare.

“Oh fuck, Im bout to cum!” You announced, fucking him back as your body began to shake vigorously, thanking god you didnt have nails on or it would be guaranteed that it would be four little indents on one side and one on the other.

Moans filled up the room as the squelching was drowned out by your screaming. You black out momentarily, collapsing on Terry’s body, his shoulder becomes your headrest as your body halts production.

When you came to, all you saw was braids, his braids, Earth to you, Gather the strength and get up hoe!

“Happy Birthday, Pretty Eyes.”

“Thank You, But I’m not done yet.” he breathed, wrapping his other arm around you as he picked you up, still inside you, he bounced to the bathroom. “I need to clean off after round 2!”

You snickered at him, squirming under his grasp. Who knows what would happen in the shower? All you knew? You truly weren’t going to be able to walk tomorrow.

Not even to buy new panties to replace the ones he ripped like an animal.

Fin🌺

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P.S. lmk if yall wanna see his reaction when he got said video

#told by bratz #bratz be writing #terrys birthday bash #terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black reader #terry richmond x plus size reader #terry richmond x fem reader #rebel ridge #rebel ridge smut #rebel ridge fic #Spotify

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