writingsbytee

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who was i before one direction

[writingsbytee]

Hi there,

I’m reaching out with a quiet hope in my heart. These days are heavy, and my family is living through a reality filled with uncertainty—but I’m still here, doing my best to hold on and keep going.

If you have a moment, please check out my pinned post.

A simple share could help it reach someone who might be able to make a difference.

If you’re able to give, even the smallest kindness can bring light into the darkest places.

Your time, your voice, your compassion — it all matters more than you know.

With deep gratitude,

@nadinfamily

🫶🏾🤍

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Love my girls DOWNNNNNNNN

internet friends are kinda like illegally downloaded friends. you don’t get the physical copy but you still get all the great content

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BTS with director Ryan Coogler on the set of "Sinners"

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Divine Indeed: Part Three

Neighbor!Terry Richmond x Divine Wells (black OC)

Story Summary: Divine Wells, a 31-year-old seamstress, deals with waves of change after she picks up her life and moves to San Diego for a new job. She thought she’d finally found peace in her new normal; until Oshun decided to push her path to collide with her fine ass neighbor, Terry Richmond.

Words: 2100+

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ minors do NOT engage (you’ll be blocked), mommy issues, tism is tisming real bad, cannabis usage

Series Playlist

Author’s Note: Woah, can’t believe we’re already on part three! I hope y’all catch my ‘roll credits!’ moment lmao. I wanna know, does anyone relate to Divine? Also, would you be able to resist Terry’s charm? Lemmie know <3 - Ashanti

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Part Three

If Divine had to hand stitch another bead on a corseted gown, she was going to scream. She never thought an article of clothing would make her wish Olorun had created her. This one was a rush job, custom ordered by some famous artist’s team. Every day for the past two weeks, her workspace was a mess; seas of blue, silver, and green beads bestrewed it and found their way into her apartment. Divine would undress for bed every night and the clang of beads would hit her floor, rolling to god knows where. Sometimes sending a sharp pain through her foot when she happened to stumble upon them. I love my job, I love my job, I love my job. And she did love her job. Her backbreaking, finger-numbing job that she had manifested and waited for. She remembered laying on her parent’s living room floor, spinning tales of her dream job to her twin Seraphim. She just needed a small break from it. Thank goddess for a holiday weekend, maybe she’d get some feeling back in her hands.

S: So I guess no Breath of The Wild tonight?

Divine let out an exaggerated sigh and pulled her sleep shirt over her head. Friday nights were Switch nights for the Wells siblings. Pajamas, the $5.99 mix-and-match deal from the local pizzeria, and pre-rolls. Now, a new job and 652 miles later, they partied virtually. But it wasn’t the same for Divine. She didn’t miss her town, but she missed her sibling. Her twin never failed to make her smile. 

D: I’m sorry, Ser. They’ve been riding me to finish that project and I need sleep before I DIY death

S: You’re so valid, sib. Oh, heads up, mom says to call her

D: Ugh, don’t even start, I’m bout to knock out

S: Here’s a meme for your consolation *sends meme*

[a photo of an aurora borealis sky with a dragon leaning into frame and text that says ‘your man wouldn’t even fill a lesser soul gem’]

Divine chuckled tiredly, and rolled over into position: one leg up with her knee uncovered to offset the heat. Her eyes started to flutter closed when her phone buzzed. 

S: On some real shit though, you need to call her. I can’t keep playing the middleman

It had been three weeks, two days, and 5 hours since she last spoke to her mom. Her subconscious kept counting ever since she raised her voice at her mother for the first time in twenty-nine years. It was a day where a particular form of sadness clung to Divine and refused to leave; an unwanted host, sucking the serotonin out of her with a crazy straw. Baby Divine had always been regarded as moody or possessing an attitude by the adults around. But when the ‘big sad’ hit, there was nothing she could do to fix it. So she dared to feel her feelings and was honest when her mom asked how she was doing. 

She didn’t know if she wanted to vent or scream or cry. She just wanted to be comforted, to be told that everything was going to be okay. Looking back on it, Divine squirmed in bed, the slimy feeling of regret coating her mouth. She knew her mother was solution based. She knew her mother could not offer what she needed. She knew. And yet, she still tried to penetrate the wall that shrouded her mother’s understanding. A small part of her hoped that maybe this would be the time when she would be surprised by the response. Divine felt the small light of hope in her chest go out as soon as the words left her mother’s mouth. 

‘Did you use your tools?’ 

‘Have you asked the Orisha’s for guidance?’ 

‘You can’t keep letting these things devastate you’

‘You can’t let one thing dictate your entire day’

‘Stop being so dramatic’

Divine left the call breathless and broken, cutting her fingers on the pieces as she tried to pull herself back together. She was angry. Partly at her mother but mostly at herself. How could she be so childish to think that her mother would offer her the comfort that she searched for? As if her mother was capable of change; as if she hadn’t had similar conversations with her mother every time the unsolicited host reared its ugly head. She didn’t even remember what she screamed before hanging up suddenly. 

Sera was right and she knew it. She’d have to speak to her eventually. She hated it when her twin was right. Squeezing her eyes shut, Divine turned away from the phone to smoosh her face against her brightly patterned pillow. That was a problem for future Divine. She laid her hand against her protruding tummy and focused on her breathing. A trick a counselor had taught her in middle school that carried her for the last 16 years. Sucking in a deep breath, holding for four seconds, and breathing out for another four; her mind and all its worries drifted away. 

In the swirl of darkness, Divine felt scans of heat travel up her legs. Wet sounds of her arousal sounded in her ears, tightening her stomach as thick lips wrapped around her hardened bead. She stifled a moan while reaching out desperately. The sensation was building steadily, determined to tear her apart. A large calloused hand wrapped around hers and placed it atop waves of hair. Finally finding the strength to open her eyes, she leaned up to see the man who was so intent on pleasuring her. He was massive against her 5’2 frame. His shoulder blades rolled under his caramel tinted skin as he pushed her right thigh as far back as it would go. The new angle revealed more of his face. Divine caught sight of a dark, neat eyebrow before the man pushed two fingers into her dewy entrance. 

The steady pace of his fingers moving in and out of her tightened the coil in her abdomen, a guttural moan escaping her throat and betraying her. She’d never heard these noises come out of her mouth before. What was he doing to her? The man moaned against her sex in approval, speeding up his pace. Divine threw her head back in ecstasy, shutting her eyes once more to chase the orgasm she knew she needed. Her heart pounded as the tips of her ears set ablaze and the coil snapped. Her body seized up as she came, her hardened bead twitching discordantly against his tongue. He pulled his fingers out of her slowly, eliciting a deep hum from his lips. When Divine blinked away her tears, she was shocked to see a naked Terry of Level 5. Those same stormy ocean eyes staring directly into her soul, making her want to come all over again. Her mouth dropped as she watched him suck the evidence of her arousal off of his fingers. 

“Just like I thought you would taste. Divine, indeed.”

For a moment everything went black and Divine shot out of bed, thunder booming in her ears. She looked around the dark room before patting wildly and picking up her phone. 

6:00 AM

Missed Call from The Momster Mash 38 min. ago

Groaning, Divine covered her face with her Gajeel body pillow. She’d never felt so embarrassed. Terry was so kind the last time they saw each other and she couldn’t help but wonder what his lips tasted like while he talked. One conversation and he had invaded her mind. After giving herself a good talking to, she had nipped that kind of thinking in the bud; even going so far as to avoid him completely. She’d felt the chill of possibility creep up her spine when his thick lips parted into a smile. The weakness in her knees was a warning she knew to heed. So she swore off thinking about his piercing eyes and his wide biceps for good. Or, she at least thought she had. Her eyes darted to her ancestor table, then to her nightstand where Terry’s business card had been lying untouched for the past four weeks. The cold wet spot beneath her gave her pause and she looked out at the rain hitting her window with pleading eyes. 

“Oshun, please. Please leave me be. Please stop.” 

She definitely couldn’t text him now.

7:00 PM

Quack! Quack! Quack! 

Divine jumped at the sound of her alarm, scuttering to turn it off while never taking her eyes off the computer. Too many hours had passed since she started crocheting a cardigan after breakfast, or what Divine would consider to be breakfast: a piece of toast and a sweet potato latte from her new favorite coffee shop. The two items may have satisfied her mind, but her stomach thought otherwise. It wasn’t that Divine didn’t like food, it was just eating. The process of it. Having to sit down and dedicate the time to chew and drink and chew; it was an exercise in patience that she didn’t have. Food regret was also too much of a risk, so comfort food items were often exhausted. To the point where food began to taste bland and feel like a waste of time.

A loud and low grumble erupted from her tummy beneath her blankets. Pausing the gaming marathon, she scrunched up her face at the sound. She only had one sleeve left. Certainly, her stomach could wait for another hour or two- Grumbleeee. Groaning loudly, she threw her head back in defeat before rolling her chair back. She stretched her arms and legs as far as they could go, eliciting a symphony of pops and cracks from different body parts. Beelining into the bedroom closet, she hastily changed into something comfy and cute. She may not always like the task of eating, but she desperately needed an enchilada before her stomach made it known to the entire apartment complex that she was starving herself for a crochet project. 

Ordering a car in record time, Divine stood before her small altar with her hand on her chest. She closed her eyes tight and prayed to the ancestors and Orishas for peace of mind, a safe drive over, and to be treated with compassion. Going to a restaurant alone wasn’t a new thing for her, but having to go outside and deal with people was its own beast. Her phone alerted her that her driver was only two minutes away. Should she take her yarn with her? No, she’s already taking her switch and a journal. How many side quests did one person need for a dinner? Divine hesitated with her hand on the doorknob, before turning on her heels to go back to her messy craft table. She grabbed the half-unraveled ball of yarn and shoved it into her tote before walking out without another thought. 

Friday nights were a risky time to go out for dinner. Traffic downtown was already bad, but walking traffic was even worse. Couples and 21-year-olds filled the walkways, chatting so loud you could hear their conversation from around the corner. Divine had never been more happy to be a solo diner. No 45-minute wait or being seated in the middle of a bustling restaurant. She could grab a seat at the bar, order food from the bartender, and watch Black Lightening in peace. Simple as that; as long as this security line continues to move. 

The line was zooming past. But time seemed to slow the closer the stranger behind her got. She could practically feel his breath against her neck as the gap between them disappeared. Looking out of the corner of her eye, she watched the snooty-looking man teeter to the side impatiently; sneering at her before yelling at the person ahead to ‘speed up, bro’. He was bouncing up and down while clutching his girlfriend’s hand like a child. Her patience was thinning but there was only one person left in front of her. Divine turned the music up in her headphones to drown out his nasal voice. Inching up, she tried her best to keep a respectable gap between them while she fished out her ID. If he got any closer, she was going to give up on the entire crusade and go home hungry. 

A sprinkle of rain tapped against her face, making her look down and watch the feet in front of her enter the restaurant. Relief washed over her as she approached the door and handed over her info.

“Look who it is.”

Thanks For Reading!

@babybluepeaches @muse-of-mbaku @melaninmarvel @naturallyqueenie @howtoshuckatlife @goldieccentric @archivistofwakanda @alexundefined @minyara-kun @destinio1 @raysunshine78 @madamslayyy @notdsg @ghostfacekill-monger @soufcakmistress @greennightspider @bitchacho25 @jordanhelah @puremolasses @ajspencer1892 @monochrome-pineapple @psuedo4 @bubblyqueen @chaneajoyyy @blowmymbackout @tchallasbabymama @megamindsecretlair @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @jvzmine19 @ashanti-notthesinger

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Docehii for Cosmopolitan 2025

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Unnatural Part 1

I got my phone stolen, but I found it and got it back! Sorry for the delay. This is just part 1 of a 7-part story, but this does have the smut. Enjoy and tell me what you think!

The picture I imagined this story with:

Here you go my freaky beauties!

At the intersection of Broadway St. and Lenard Blvd. stood one of the many apothecaries in New York City. Dark clouds gathered quickly, encouraging you to hasten your footsteps. You turned to your The door opened swiftly, the wind chimes hitting the door furiously. The beaded entrance parted smoothly for your form.

Leaning on the front desk counter stood a tall and lanky woman. Her mahogany skin glowed under the lights of the storefront, her long fingers playing with the corners of her current read. Perched on her button nose stood a pair of thick black-rimmed glasses shaded with green, her perceptive, iridescent eyes sharply centered on me. 

“Good evening, Ms. Laudie. Those moonstones you put up?” I murmured.

“This is not your usual time.”

“I know. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t even rest my eyes.”

 “You still havin’ those dreams?” She spoke softly this time. Her ever-perceptive eyes seemed to slowly wash over my entire being. Ms. Laudie put her book down swiftly and took a couple of steps towards me. Her strong, warm hands cupped my face, brushing my curls and coils back towards my shoulders.

“You feel warm, baby.”, she muttered. Her usual stoic face had a wrinkle centered right between her eyebrows. Her full month was scrunched up a smidge. 

“Wow, look at you worried for me. This is the most I’ve ever seen you move your face.” I softly joked with her.

She swiftly smoothed her face. Back to her stoic facade, Ms. Laudie walked back to the counter. Crouching down, she pulled out her sleeping tincture. She reached over to hand the bottle to me. Before I could take the bottle, she swiftly moved her hand, hovering it over the clear glass countertop.

“You tell me if anything, you hear?”

“Yes, m’am,” I replied, looking down at my scuffed brown sandals. 

Warm fingers quickly lift my head.

“If anything.” Her violet-green eyes seemed to pierce through me. Her mouth set in a slight frown.

“Yes, m’am.” I mocked saluted.

Her mouth lifted up slightly as she handed down the tincture. The appreciation fell short on my lips as she pushed a gold necklace into my hand. The necklace contained a single gold claw, and on the underside of the claw were gems I had never seen before.

“Ms. Laudie, I can—

“You can and you will. I was looking through my wares to find something for you and this damn near screamed at me. It’s yours.”

I gently cradled the necklace, pushing on the gems underneath.

“Happy Birthday to me.”

“Happy Birthday indeed. 25 is a big number. You rest tonight, try to ease your mind.”

“Yes, ma’am, and thank you.”

I turned to the entrance, putting the necklace into my brown leather jacket pocket. I pushed past the moonstone beads and glanced up at the sky. The dark clouds seemed to gather at an even more furious rate.  As I opened the door, I turned to wave at Ms.Laudie.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

As I walked back home, the wind picking up, pushing and pulling my hair, I missed the lingering stare of Ms.Laudie’s stoic face, dead set on my form.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Yesterday was my 25th birthday and it was…ordinary.

Just six months ago, I was released from St. Mary’s Young Women’s Mental Health Center.

Just shy after my college graduation, I had started having these…things happen to me.

Non-sensical things, at first.

My entire body started to ache and tingle a couple of months after graduation.

I thought nothing of it at first. Then came the insomnia.

 I played Uno with family and jokingly predicted the cards each person had.

 At Thanksgiving dinner, I caught the knife my mother dropped just a little too quickly.

The last straw for my family? I reached to turn off the overarching lamp in the living room, and electricity shot at me.

They tried to pray my “quirks” away. I tried that too. It didn’t work. Because I wasn’t praying hard enough, per my mother.

Just a month later, I was sent to St. Mary’s, an institution advertised heavily to my Catholic parents as the best institution to lead “wayward and faithless” young women, and with my documented history of mental health illness, therapist’s notes, and my reluctant consent, I was in.

Maybe I really didn’t pray hard enough because nothing changed. If anything, my “quirks” got worse. I hid them as best as I could and acted well enough to be released, and after my six months of “reformation”, I moved to the city of New York.

Away from my family with one suitcase, 3 pairs of shoes, and seven months of savings in cash.

I needed a job desperately. 

My email pinged, and with hope, I hastened to open it. 

“Thank you so much for applying for our Technical Writer position! Unfortunately, we have decided….”  

I sighed. Dejected, tired, and hungry, I walked to the corner store to get a sandwich and contemplate my future.

Swinging the door open, I waved to Kenny behind the counter. I walked swiftly down two aisles, reaching for my signature tuna sandwich.  I walked a few steps to the left to get a sweet tea, only to find my usual drink out of stock.

Of course.

Heading to the counter, I placed my sandwich on the counter, my face completely out of it, I was sure.

“No luck yet?”

A sigh came from deep within my core.

 “Nothing.”

“Look, I heard from my cousin, Lani, that they are hiring downtown, get you something down there. They have a new building filled with offices.”

“I’ll think about it, yeah?”

“Ok, and look…” You looked up to see him hand you your signature sweet tea. “...I saved the last one for you. Keep your head up, alright.”

A small smile played on my lips.

“Thank you, and I will.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house. Happy belated birthday.”

Tears bit stung the inside of my eyes. Nobody remembered my birthday. Nobody in my family, that is. “We only celebrate the Lord’s birthday” my mother used to scold me. That is, unless it was my father’s birthday, or hers, or my sisters’, or my cousins that is.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Tell me how it goes, you hear?” Kenny's rich brown skin glistened under the lights, and his wide smile surged a little hope in my being.

I grabbed the items and swiftly walked to the door, hand on the handle. I replied, “I promise.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Energized and hopeful, I went back home.

2:17 P.M

It was still early, and with that, I got ready. I gathered my shower essentials, my hair products, and swiftly moved to the shower. The scent of white musk, vanilla, and cherry filled the air. Humming to myself, I put ginger-scented conditioner in my long, kinky curls. Softly dragging the detangler in my hair, I thought about the job I would get, placing positive affirmations in my mind. Shower done, and it was only 2:45 P.M.

I placed sweet almond and orange blossom in my hair and started to moisturize myself with my cherry lotion. I put on a three-quarter black ankle knee-length dress. A pearl necklace hitting just shy of the modest top, and pearl earrings to top off the look.

I hobbled around, placing my black moderately high heels on.

“Fake it, ‘till you make it. I am confident.” I incessantly muttered to myself as I headed out to the door.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Main St. stretched for a while. My ankles started aching as I went from building to building, looking for open positions.

Enough with the rejections, I walked to the corner of Main Street, looking at the highest building on the block.

 “Please, universe, give me a sign. Be in my favor for once.” I thought to myself.

As I pushed in the door, the cool temperature provided relief to my heated skin. Heading to the reception area, in the corner of my eye, I saw a sign.

“Assistant Needed. Urgent Hire. Inquire at Office 394.”

I swiftly headed there, heels wobbling as I rushed to get into the elevator.

“Hold the door, please!” I groused.

“Why try heels today of all days?”

Unaware of my silent elevator partner, I attempted to straighten myself out, muttering to myself.

“Be confident. Be confident. Be confident. I should have gotten some Florida water from Ms. Laudie.”

Finally looking up, I reached out to press the 3 on the elevator key, only to find the button sunken in.

I finally looked to my left and damn near swallowed my tongue.

A silent behemoth of a man stood ramrod straight and staring at the door.

His firm caramel skin peeked under the entirely black suit he was wearing. It was only then that  I noticed the laundry soap scent wafting from his body. His jaw was lined, partially covered by a mustache, tight, and jumped occasionally. As if the universe didn’t already favor him, his piercing blue-grey eyes were framed by the most beautiful eyelashes I had ever seen on a person.

His eyes.

I swiftly turned forward and was keenly aware of the six-foot-four giant next to me. My face heated, and I started sweating despite the cool temperature. 

The elevator dinged and I quickly exited. Unaware of the silent footsteps following me to office 394.

I reached the office only to see a sign in bold black letters.

“ Closed. Returning at 4:30.”

As I dug through my purse for my phone, I heard a deep, rumbling voice ask.

“Are you interviewing for the assistant position?”

I quickly turned, and there stood the behemoth from the elevator.

“Yes, sir.”

His jaw flexed ever so slightly before smoothing over his face.

“I’m Mr. Richmond.”

He opened the office door and, holding the door, signaled me to come in.

The office was pitch black the only light provided to us was the afternoon sun. He swiftly turned on the lights, and my eyes widened slightly as I took in the space. Beautiful deep browns of every shade took over the office. Instead of the fluorescent lights,  there were warm, low lights. 

Six push brown chairs and a coffee table lined with magazines: Essence, Jet, and Vogue were some of the few.

To the left, there stood a solitary mahogany desk with a typewriter instead of a computer.

The shock must have shown on my face, and he commented, “ I have very high standards when it comes to hiring, and I have had trouble getting someone on board. As you may have noticed, I am not fond of technology. I do not use computers and ask that phones be used outside of your work time. I require my assistant to be proficient in using a typewriter. Is that something you are able to do?

“ Yes, sir.” The institution I was placed in did not allow for digital devices either. I had to make time fly, so I read or typed with the old typewriter in the small, cramped room they dubbed an “ extensive library” to my parents. But he didn’t need to know that.

He quickly turned and, walking up to the typewriter, placed a sheet of paper inside the slot.

He placed a letter to the left of the machine.

“Type this and knock on my office door when you are done. Add your demographic information at the end.” He muttered as he left the room, his door closing with a finality that echoed in the office.

I walked over to the plush leather chair, put my purse to the right of the machine, and began to type.

After writing the letter, I swiftly walked to the door and knocked gently.

“Mr. Richmond, I’ve completed the letter,” I murmured.

The door opened haphazardly, Mr. Richmond looking flushed and his jaw tight.

He reached over to get the letter I typed, and our fingertips touched.

As if electricity shot out, an actual spark traveled between us, singeing the paper. The lights flickered on and off, leaving us in the dark for a couple of seconds.

My heart jumped to my throat. No! No! Not here, not now.! Since my time at the mental health center, I have not had any incidents. No aches, no predicting, no unexpected speeds, and no electricity.  Granted, I kept to myself and kept my exposure to people to a minimum, but still, nothing.

Until now.

I felt myself starting to panic, and when the lights came back on. I started babbling.

“I didn’t know the building had electrical problems. I get why you would not want a computer. I would get tired of turning something on and off, too. I just realized I had a prior engagement. You’ll have to forgive me, I must go. Thank you for the opportunity.”

As I rambled, I gathered my purse and damn near ran out the door to the elevator before slumping on the inside of the elevator. My back hit the wall as I waited to go down to the 1st floor.

Tears stung my eyes, blinding me as I raced out of the building. Unaware of the weather, thunder rumbled incessantly. I looked up only to see dark clouds gather and lightning strike. Not a moment later, rain started pouring. My curls got heavy quickly, obscuring my vision.

As I hastened to move my hair out of my eyes, I felt cool air and became aware that the building door opened up behind me.

A shadow quickly loomed over me. I looked up, no longer feeling the rain on me, into the eyes of Mr. Richmond.

“You didn’t have an umbrella and you’re soaked. Please allow me to take you home.”

His eyes darkened when looking at me.

“Please don’t bother-”

“It’s no bother.” 

“Please”, he uttered, stressing the word.  “My car is in the garage.”

“...Thank you.”

He quietly led me to the garage. My heels echoed in the dark and silent space. A sleek black Ford Mustang stood out among the few remaining cars. 

He opened up the door, and as I walked past him, I heard him inhale deeply.

Thinking I had finally lost it, I clambered into the seat.

Before he could ask, I blurted out, “My apartment is on Leonard Blvd.”

He swiftly made a left, down to my side of town.

The entire ride was silent. 

Internally, I was screaming.

Growing up in a religious home, a strictly catholic home was hard.

The first time I touched myself, unaware of those feelings, I was caught by my mother.

I received 20 swift lashings for “sinning”. I didn’t even know it was a sin.

Before I could even look at boys, I was quickly enrolled into an all-girls Catholic school and consequently applied for and was admitted into an all-women’s catholic university.

I was a good girl, I avoided sin and tempting men for most of my life.

Again, until now.

My panties were soaked, and not from the rain.

 And though my time spent at the institution did more good than bad in my eyes, I have to come to terms with the fact that you can not overcome over 20 years of religious ideology in 6 months.

And the familiar feeling of shame washed over me. 

That didn’t matter, now I thought battling myself. My heart raced sitting so close to him, vulgar thoughts raced through my head, scaring me.

I gripped onto the leather seat.

Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Richmond was having a similar problem. His face was flushed, and at the red light, he took off his suit jacket to hide the very prominent bulge south of his belt.

His pupils were blown, and his breathing deepened, taking in wafts of my wetness. He struggled to contain himself. He had to confirm what his biology was telling him, and he couldn’t have her running and screaming like a madwoman about what she was about to see.

Arriving at my apartment, I made to exit the car.

“Do not do that. When a lady is in a car, a gentleman opens it. Understand?”

I hope there isn’t a wet spot when I stand up.

“Understood.”

“Call me Terry.”

He promptly exited the car.

He gripped the door handle, and I swore I could hear a crunch. Too preoccupied with my embarrassment, I hastened upstairs.

I didn’t hear footsteps behind me and when I went to opened the door, I heard my name being called out.

I jumped and looked behind me. Towering over me, there he stood.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I wanted to make sure you made it safely.”

“That’s ok. Thank you for taking care of me.”

The vulgar thoughts came back to me tenfold. I wanted to fuck this man. I needed him to fuck me, non stop. As I battled internally with myself, I heard him ask,

“Can I come in?”

It was said so softly. So seductively.

I felt myself nod.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I gave him some wine and poured myself an even bigger glass.

“Do you like sweet wine? I’m sorry, this is the only thing I have.”

“I like it.”

I took a big gulp of my wine.

He sounded different since he asked to come in. He talked much more softly, and every time he opened his mouth, I felt myself get wetter.

He almost purred when he spoke.

And another part of my body purred.

I was going to fuck this man.

I thought I would prepare myself properly when I lost my virginity. I thought it would be on my honeymoon, underneath a much too eager husband, and that I would have to endure the ceremony of it all. I didn’t dream of it much favorably. Until now.

There were no books on how to seduce a man, and I had no instinct for it.  Thankfully, I didn’t need it.

As I reached over to fill his glass again, his hand softly took mine.

I looked into his eyes, at his full lips, and back into his eyes.

“I know you can feel it too.”

My stomach sank. Act normal! No one should know.

“I saw what happened at the office.”

“....the electrical output must ha—”

He stood up and grasped my hand firmly, walking me to the open window of my apartment.

It rained softly now, but there were remnants of thunder and lightning on the horizon of the night.

“Don’t insult my intelligence—”

He gathered my face in his hands.

“...or yours.” He slowly lowered his face to mine. His eyes watched mine, and he placed the softest kiss on my lips. I closed my eyes in excitement.

“I enjoy it when it rains”, he murmured on my lips.

He kissed my lips softly three times.

With each kiss, there was a bolt of lightning across the sky.

I felt the white glare at the back of my eyes, and as I opened them to comment, I found his white eyes looking back at me. His entire eye, pupil and all was white, and they seemed to have a fiery hue.

White eyes!

My eyes widened and I gasped into his mouth and he took the opportunity invite his tongue in and suck on mine.

I moaned.

I attempted to pull back in shock, but he followed for a couple of seconds.

A man was in my mouth, sucking on me as if I were water in a desert.

I pushed on his shoulders. 

“Terry.” His mouth traveled to my neck, kissing and sucking.

“Terry.” His hands gripped my waist with a ferocity I had never known before.

His right hand reached under my dress, grabbing my ass and a side of my wet panties.

“Ugh fuck! I knew it”, he panted.

“Terry!” 

He stopped and panted. His lips swollen and eyes wild and white.

“Wha-what are you?”

His brow furrowed, and his eyes glimmered down to his grey-blue eyes.

Still panting and voice much deeper, he asked. “The question is, what are we? I know you have a lot of questions, and I will answer them. Later. Much later.”

“Let me take care of you.” He stated as he descended on my lips.

I was overcome, and years of sexual repression caught up to me, and I nodded, guiding him to my bedroom.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I stumbled into the pitch black room.

He swiftly lifted me up cave man style, walked over to my bed, and threw me on it.

He hovered over me. As I bounced on my bed and tried to get a hold of myself, he started furiously going after his clothing as he kissed me. I reached for the lamp to see better. The soft light illuminated his beautiful face. 

His tie came off, then his watch.

His movements became more choppy and intense. His eyes flickered between his grey-blue eyes and his white eyes, until finally they settled on white. He started to unbutton his shirt with a quickness I couldn’t grasp.

It suddenly dawned on me to tell him of my lack of experience. He seemed eager, and I didn’t know what I was doing. The shame and embarrassment came back.

“Terry?”

“Yes?” he answered gruffly.

He was still emptying out his pockets as I spoke.

“Teach me, please.”

He stopped his movements and faced me completely.

“Teach you?” He asked softly as he started to unbuckle his pants. The bulge was undeniably there and big, and I felt my mouth dry. A spike of fear at the unknown hit me at the base of my spine, and I unconsciously closed my legs.

He dropped his pants, my eyes eagerly attempted to get see more of him, but he did not allow me to linger on his bulge.

He crawled onto the bed, slowly opening my legs as to not scare me. His soft hands trailed from my thighs to my waist.

He hovered over my face, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, and finally my mouth.

“Yes, you’ll have to teach me,” I muttered against his lips.

“Ok.” He whispered as he planted a gentle kiss on my lips.

With a final kiss to my lips, he pulled back to look into my eyes. He toyed with the edge of my dress, looking into my eyes. Seeing that I did not fight it, he quickly pulled the garment over my head. 

His hands trembled and flexed.

“Are you cold?” I whispered.

“No.”

He continued and pulled my panties down my legs, and unable to help himself, left it hanging on my right leg as he quickly dove down and took a deep breath in and placed his mouth near me.

Near my pussy.

He let out an animalistic grunt.

My face felt heated, and I swiftly covered it with both hands.

And just as swiftly he pulled my hands down.

“No, no, no, sweetheart. I am teaching you. You keep your eyes on me. At all times. Understood?

I was looking at my electric blue comforter before I felt his right hand pull my face, and I was met with bright white eyes.

“Understood.”

“Good girl,” he groaned as he spread my thighs wide open.

At the first lick, I almost jumped. I moaned. Loudly.

Loud and deep from my core. I attempted to close my legs, but I was pinned down.

“Just feel it. Let yourself feel what I’m doing to you.”

He kissed my thighs as he spoke, looking into my eyes.

He dove back in, giving me a lick from end of my pussy to the top of my clit.

I shuddered, trying to contain myself, biting my lips.

He stopped and came up to my lips. Gently, with his teeth, he removed my hold on them and pecked me.

He had me panting like a dog in heat.

“I want to hear you.”

He dove back in, incessantly flicking his tongue on my clit before sucking it hard, moaning as he did.

My legs struggled to stay open. 

“Ugh, Terry, ugh I feel so g-go—”

I started crying in earnest. I was overwhelmed.

Within a couple of minutes, a strange sensation took over me.

I had heard enough about an orgasm and I knew enough that this might be it, but, my goodness it was indescribable and so terrifying!

My legs started shaking and I felt myself become short of breath.

“W-what’s h-happen-ing ugh, Te-e—”

Tears rolled down my face, and I couldn’t catch my breath. My chest lifted off the bed, bowing my back. I attempted to remove his mouth from me with my hands, pushing on his head with an urgency I have never experienced.

Ignoring my attempts, he quickly placed his left hand on my lower stomach to flatten my body on the bed. His warm and forceful hand, keeping me still, forcing me to take in these foreign feelings pushed me over the edge. 

I felt wetness seep out of me. I felt ecstasy and in what felt like a long distance, I vaguely heard myself shouting.

I fell limp on the bed. Sweat gathered on my brow as I attempted to gather my breath and close my eyes. I didn’t have the energy to move at all. 

Terry did.

He licked me gently now. Panting I pushed on his head, trying to dislodge his mouth from my pussy.

“T-Terry, hold o-on.” I slurred.

He lifted his head. The lower part of his face glistened with my wetness. He licked his lips, his tongue extending as far as possible before he, ran them through my pussy and sucked off his fingers.

I jerked from the sensation.

“You’re ready for my fingers.”

Before I could respond, I felt a thick finger enter me slowly. 

I flinched and hissed in pain. Had I had more energy, I would have put more force into the instinctual kick I aimed at his head.

He caught my leg and kissed it. From my ankles to my knee and back, I was distracted enough for him to slip in his finger to the first knuckle without much of a complaint.

It burned, and as I squirmed, he came up to kiss me. 

He came closer to my body,  forcing my legs wide open with wide body. With his other hand, he tapped his pointer finger on the bottom of my lips twice and looked into my eyes expectantly.

I opened my mouth, and he quickly pushed his fingers in, mocking the act of sex. He pushed in and out of my mouth as he pushed his finger deeper into me.

“When we kiss, open your mouth wider. Think of our tongues dancing. Ok?”

I whimpered and nodded my head so distracted and wet that his finger was able to slide completely inside me.

He removed his fingers and replaced it with his tongue. What felt like mere moments, lasted for a while. The kiss was so wet and raunchy and as we continued to kiss he glided a second finger into my pussy, the motion made easy now that I was a bit more warmed up. I attempted to look down to see, curious about what my body was doing, but he followed, continuing to kiss me, only this time he caressed my neck.

I panted into his mouth and we shared an open mouth kiss between us. He removed his mouth from mine briefly and remaining eye contact his two fingers made a “come here” motion inside me.

Full of pleasure and pain, my eyes attempted to roll into the back of my head. I could here him muttering nonstop.

“You taking it so good.”

“I’m hitting that spot, I know honey.”

“All for you, it’s all for you.”

He caressed the back of my neck from the base to the end of my hairline and gently grabbed a handful of coils, bringing me back to the present and kissed me.

“Ugh, I can’t believe I found you,” he groaned into my mouth.

In and out. In and out. I could hear the lewd noises coming from me as he penetrated me with his hands.

I was delirious. I couldn’t tell what time it was or how long we were at it. He removed his hand from my hair and slowly caressed down my body to my breasts.

He gently pulled my black lacy bra down to pop out my breasts.

He brushed the nipple of my left breast and gently sucked on the right.

My mouth fell open, and nothing came out of it. The next orgasm quickly ripped out of my body unexpectedly.

It allowed him to slip another finger in me.

I protested loudly.

“You’re stretching me out!” I squealed, trying to get up. He placed his hand on my lower stomach again and popped his mouth off my nipple.

“I need to. Believe me.” He explained teeth gritting.

I was so focused on my pleasure, I didn’t notice how tense he was. Terry was practically vibrating.

His white eyes seemed to gain intensity.

“I’m trying to be as gentle as I can, but tell me if it is not enough. I’ll be more gentle.”

“Terry…”

“Shh, don’t worry about me, focus on your pleasure. You’re so pretty, baby,” he cooed.

Moving his hand from my lower stomach he started tapping it on my clit and I sank into the bed. Mouth open and no sounds. My eyes were unfocused for a while before I heard Terry’s voice in the background.

“I need to be inside you.”

Coming down from my high and eyes starting to focus, I vaguely saw Terry pull out his dick from his boxers. I felt that pang of fear hit my spine again. Although my vision was blurred at the moment, I could see the outline, and it scared me. Though it was curved, his dick was so heavy it weighed down, hitting a couple inches shy of mid thigh. I attempted to pull my legs together but failed to move an inch. Not even attempting to remove his boxers, he quickly lowered himself onto me.

His dick slapped my pussy hard three times causing me to jump. It sobered me up quickly, and I clenched around his body.

“I want you to enjoy yourself. Don’t think, it’s just me and you and pleasure. Don’t be scared, I got you.”

As he spoke I felt him, saw between my pussy lips before notching into the entrance and pushing slowly in.

He kissed me as his penetration took the breath out of me. Sharing breath, he kept eye contact as he steadily entered me.

About halfway in, I felt that sting again, only this time much more strongly. I pushed my hips down, attempting to remove some of his length from inside me. He followed my hips down.

Tears escaped my eyes as I whimpered. 

“I know, I know,” he whispered breathlessly. 

“Let’s just stay like this a moment. You’ll get used to it.”

He caressed my face, pecked my lips softly before entering mine. We shared multiple deep kisses, him inhaling as I exhaled for a couple of minutes. 

As we continued kissing, he reached down and gently massaged my clit.

Looking into my eyes and with a slow final peck, he entered me completely and slowly. I felt his hair touch my inner thighs.

I was so full, I couldn’t help but tell him that.

“I’m so full. You’re stretching me out,” I whimpered.

He hunched slowly and deeply into me, barely moving his hips, trembling in pleasure and restraint.

He looked into my eyes to gauge how I was feeling and I clenched around him. He and I both knew I was dripping.

He shook even more intensely.

The entire evening I received back to back orgasms. I knew he was holding back for my sake, but I needed to see him free. I wanted to see who I was dealing with.

“I know you’re holding back for me. Let go. I want to see you.”

He trembled even more.

I reached up to kiss him on the lips.

“Fuck me”, I moaned in his ear.

He immediately pulled his hips back and gave me a deep thrust.

He hit something, and it felt so good I chocked on my own drool.

He started rutting in me and unbeknownst to both of us. Lightning and thunder rolled in. All I could hear were my wetness and his grunts drowning my cries.

The lamp lit next to me started flickering on and off.

My hands, clenching his shoulders started to spark with electricity.

In and out. In and out. In and out. He churned in me mindlessly, causing me to be pushed up and down, getting closer and closer to the knocking headboard of my bed.

I don’t think he would be able to hear much less understand me if I spoke. He was gone.

“So good, so good, that pussy is so good. Give me that pussy, give me that wet pussy.”, he grunted as he mindlessly rutted into me.

He opened my legs, stretching it into a wide V, my toes pointed at the sky. He gripped my ankles tight, locking me in.

I felt myself creaming all over him in disbelief, I was so wet and so full of pleasure. I got louder and louder. My breath got shorter and shorter, I clung to him even more. I was sure I drooled.

He fell down onto me, our chests touching, and started thrusting a bit to the right, grunting into my ear.

I blacked out. Before I lost consciousness, I felt him heave into me a final time, putting his entire body weight behind the thrust, knocking the little breath I had out of me, and cum. I felt warmth spread from inside me and he grunted, pushing his cum deeper into me.

“That’s it. Take it, take it baby girl, get that cum deep in that pussy.” he groaned.

 I felt him drive his tongue deep in my mouth and suck as I lost consciousness.

The last thing I remember was his body dropping down onto mine in exhaustion and his dick pumping into me the last bit off warm cum he had inside him, draining himself dry in me.

Neither of us was aware of the neighborhood blackout or the flash flooding in the area.

[writingsbytee]

Across the Hall Part 2

masterlist + part 1

MDNI! you have been warned!

warnings: mean black!oc, terryau!, oral sex, penetrative sex, and domination/submission dynamics, emotional vulnerability, romantic slow burn, and explicit language!

It was Monday morning, and Aisha was up earlier than she needed to be. Her eyes were puffy from too little sleep and too much highlighting the night before, but her brain was surprisingly alert. The apartment was quiet, the light streaming softly through the sheer curtains in her living room. Her laptop was open, and notes pulled up one last time. Aisha had spent all weekend studying for this damn exam, but the only thing she could think about was Terry Richmond.

Her phone buzzed.

Terry Richmond 💻

Good luck today, Ali.

I know you’re gonna kill it.

You’re brilliant.

And if anyone gives you trouble, tell them I said stand down.

She bit her lip.

It was a simple text. Sweet. Supportive.

But it sat warm in her chest for minutes after she read it.

She stared at the screen, then typed:

Thank you. I needed that 🫶🏽

I’ll text you once I dominate this exam. 😤

…unless you jinx me. Then we’re fighting.

Terry responded almost immediately.

Nah babe, I’m not a good luck charm.

That’s all you.

I’m just the guy cheering from across the hall in sweats.

Aisha laughed quietly, tucking her legs under her at the kitchen island.

Hours later — 2:17 P.M.

Aisha Ali 🧠🩺

Just got out. 92%.

Your good luck charm powers are undefeated.

Might need you around for every exam.

What are you doing later, Professor Richmond?

Terry Richmond 💻

Just wrapped a conference call.

Professor though? That’s dangerous talk.

But congrats. I knew you’d ace it.

Proud of you.

What’s on the menu tonight?

Aisha Ali 🧠🩺

I’m making garlic herb butter steak with truffle mashed potatoes, asparagus, and maybe a little chocolate or banana pudding for dessert

But let me warn you now: I don’t do mooing meat. I like my steak medium. No blood. Just flavor.

Yours can be pink if you want. But it better not bleed on my plate.

Terry Richmond 💻

Medium rare. Always. I like a little attitude in my meat.

Want me to bring anything?

Aisha Ali 🧠🩺

Just your appetite and your manners.

And wear something clean-cut but casual.

I’m not trying to see cargo shorts and a graphic tee from 2011.

Terry Richmond 💻

You tryna dress me up now?

Aisha Ali 🧠🩺

I’m making you dinner.

You better look like you know you’re being fed by a fine woman.

Speaking of…

2:48 P.M. — She sends a photo.

Just a little mirror pic—her hair freshly refreshed, curls juicy and soft, edges laid. She’s not fully beat yet, but her skin’s radiant with a warm glow and a touch of lip gloss. The Leopard Print Twisted Asymmetric Maxi Dress from Club London wraps around her body like a second skin—plunging neckline, cinched at the waist, one leg slit high and the hem swirling dramatically.

She's wearing her soft house slippers, with fuzzy straps and gold accents, peeking out from the bottom.

Caption:

Not dressed yet but I figured I’d brighten your workday 😌

Slippers are staying on tho. That’s non-negotiable.

Terry Richmond 💻

Jesus.

Cancel my next two meetings.

You’re trying to kill me before I even taste the steak.

You look beautiful.

And soft.

And like trouble.

Aisha Ali 🧠🩺

Only the good kind. 😉

Terry Richmond 💻 — 3:13 P.M.

You didn’t tell me your favorite flowers.

Aisha Ali 🧠🩺

Lilies. Especially white ones. They’re soft but bold. Kinda like me. Why, you taking notes?

Terry Richmond 💻

Always. I like knowing what makes you smile.

She paused on that one.

Read it again.

Pressed her lips together, then typed:

I’m smiling now.

6:22 P.M.

The apartment smelled like garlic, thyme, and butter. Aisha moved between the stove and the counter with practiced grace, plating asparagus with tongs in one hand while stirring the mashed potatoes with the other. Her music was playing low—Snoh Aalegra’s "I Want You Around" humming from her Bluetooth speaker.

The table was already set—simple but elegant, with cream linen napkins, matte black plates, and two wine glasses sparkling in the amber glow of her kitchen pendant lights.

She’d lit one candle. Just one. She didn’t want it to feel too heavy. This wasn’t a date. Not technically. But the butterflies in her stomach disagreed.

She checked her dress in the hallway mirror, adjusting the twist just slightly over her hip. Her skin was moisturized, glowing, with a light beat—soft bronzer, a hint of blush, liner, and lashes. Nothing dramatic.

But her eyes?

Her eyes were alive.

Excited. Nervous. Open.

She wiped her hands on a towel and turned back to the kitchen to pull the steaks from the resting plate.

Then—

Knock.

Not loud.

Just steady.

Three times.

She paused.

Checked the time.

6:31 P.M.

Right on time.

She wiped her palms again. Stepped to the door.

Took a breath.

And opened it.

When Aisha opened the door, she expected him to look good—Terry always looked good—but she wasn’t ready for this.

He was wearing a fitted black button-up, sleeves casually rolled to the elbow, tucked into dark jeans that hugged his waist just right. Clean-cut, like she asked, but relaxed enough to remind her he wasn’t trying to prove anything.

He didn’t have to.

His cologne hit first—something warm and masculine with a hint of spice—and then his eyes, blue-green with that hazel swirl, locked onto hers like they were picking up right where they left off.

And in his hands?

A bouquet of white lilies mixed with soft pink and white roses, eucalyptus, and tulips, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a black satin ribbon.

“I heard lilies were your favorite,” he said, lifting them slightly. “Thought the roses might be a little extra, but… couldn’t help it.”

Aisha blinked.

Then smiled.

Wide and soft and almost bashful.

“You remembered.”

“I remember everything you tell me,” he said, voice low and warm.

Her heart did a slow, dangerous somersault.

She took the flowers, letting her fingers graze his. “They’re beautiful.”

He gave her a long look—appreciative, deep, not lingering on her curves or dress like most men would, but watching her face. Watching the way her lips moved, the way her eyes lit up. Memorizing her.

“You’re beautiful,” he said simply.

Aisha’s breath caught.

She stepped aside, breaking the moment before it consumed her.

“Come in.”

The dinner table was perfectly set, the candles flickering between them as soft jazz played in the background—nothing too slow, nothing too fast. The air smelled like garlic butter and seared meat, and Terry had already complimented the food three times before they even finished their plates.

“This steak might be top three,” he said, leaning back with his wine glass, eyes fixed on her over the rim. “And I’ve eaten steak in five countries.”

“Oh really?” Aisha smirked, sipping her own glass. “Well, this was grass-fed, seasoned with sea salt, thyme, rosemary, and love.”

He raised a brow. “You seasoned it with love?”

“Of course. And maybe a little spite. You did reject me the first time.”

Terry laughed—a full, rich sound that made her toes curl under the table.

“I didn’t reject you,” he said. “I respected you.”

“Felt the same from where I was standing.”

He leaned forward, resting one arm on the table.

“Ali…” he said, voice low and teasing, “if you knew how bad I wanted you that night, you’d never accuse me of rejection again.”

Her breath hitched.

And for a moment, they just looked at each other.

All the jokes and playfulness melted beneath the weight of that silence—the real kind. Heavy with curiosity. Laced with unspoken truths.

“You looked so good,” he added softly. “That blue dress? The way you stood in my doorway like you were daring me to do something about it…”

He shook his head.

“You’ve been in my head ever since.”

Aisha’s pulse raced, but she played it cool.

“I figured,” she said lightly. “You started knocking on my door like you were on salary.”

He smirked. “Had to make sure you saw me.”

“Oh, I saw you. Sweaty, shirtless, thirst trap behavior.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

She laughed into her wine.

He leaned back again, relaxing into his chair like a man who knew he was right where he was supposed to be.

“So,” she said after a moment, tilting her head, “tell me something you haven’t told me yet. Something I wouldn’t guess.”

Terry raised an eyebrow.

“Like a secret?”

“No,” she said, eyes glittering. “Like a detail. Something real. Something I wouldn’t find on your resume.”

He looked at her for a long time. Not just at her—into her.

“Alright,” he said, setting down his glass. “I used to get panic attacks. After my first deployment. Nobody knew but my cousin, Mike. I’d come home and sit in the dark for hours just trying to breathe.”

Aisha blinked.

The smile faded from her lips, replaced by something deeper.

“I never would’ve guessed that.”

“I know,” he said. “Most people wouldn’t.”

She nodded slowly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You asked for something real.”

She looked down, toying with her fork. “I don’t let many people in.”

“I know,” he said, voice quiet now. “But I want in.”

Her eyes lifted. Met his.

“Why?”

He leaned forward again, elbows on the table, tone sincere.

“Because you make me feel like I’m on edge and at ease at the same time. Because you’re smart and sharp and a little mean when you’re tired. Because you say you don’t want love but you cook like you’ve been feeding hearts your whole life. And because since the day you stood outside my door in that little nightgown and told me you weren’t scared... I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”

Aisha felt her whole body react—heat creeping up her chest, her legs crossing beneath the table without thinking.

“Terry…”

He shook his head gently. “I’m not trying to rush this. I just want to know you. I want you.”

The room felt hotter.

The candles flickered like they felt it too.

She stood suddenly, collecting their plates. “Okay. Dessert’s up next.”

He didn’t stop her.

Just watched her walk into the kitchen, hips swaying slightly beneath the sleek leopard print, slippers still on her feet like some unfair contradiction.

She returned with two small ramekins of chocolate lava cake, each topped with a tiny scoop of vanilla gelato.

“Okay now I know you’re trying to seduce me,” he said.

She handed him a spoon. “Relax. It’s just chocolate and cream and a little magic.”

He tasted it.

Groaned.

She watched him from across the table, chin resting on her hand.

“I told you.”

Terry pointed at the ramekin. “If this is how you reject men, I’m glad you turned me down last time.”

They both laughed.

And something settled between them.

Later — 9:13 P.M.

The plates were cleared. The wine was almost gone.

They sat on the couch now, closer than they had any right to be, her legs curled under her, his arm draped along the backrest behind her. Not touching—but almost.

The conversation had slowed.

But the energy?

Still pulsing.

“You always look this good after a 12-hour shift?” he murmured.

Aisha smirked, swirling the last bit of wine in her glass. “Only for special guests.”

“You’re gonna kill me in that dress.”

“I’m literally wearing slippers.”

“Even worse.”

She looked up at him, her lashes heavy now.

“Terry…”

He tilted his head.

“What happens after this?”

He met her gaze without flinching.

“Whatever you want.”

She set her glass down.

And for a second, just looked at him.

Her voice, when she spoke again, was soft.

“Stay a little.”

And he nodded.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The city murmured beyond her windows, distant and irrelevant now, like the world had taken a step back and left this room untouched.

Inside, everything was low and warm and intimate. The single candle on her console flickered against the soft cream walls, casting shadows that danced across skin and fabric. The last of the garlic and rosemary still lingered in the air, layered now with the spice of his cologne and the sweetness of her body lotion.

Aisha sat on the couch with her legs folded beneath her, the high slit of her leopard satin dress revealing one smooth thigh that caught the golden light every time she moved. Her bare skin glowed—moisturized, kissed by candlelight, warm from wine and proximity.

Terry sat beside her, close enough that their knees brushed whenever one of them shifted. He had his arm stretched behind her, resting along the back of the couch, and his fingertips grazed the curve of her shoulder once in a while—casual, accidental, electric. His wineglass sat abandoned on the side table, forgotten. He hadn’t touched it since she started talking. Since she leaned in just a little too far while laughing about something minor and meaningless, and his gaze dropped to her mouth like he was imagining what it tasted like.

Aisha’s chest was rising a little faster now.

The room was too quiet.

The tension was too thick.

She was hyperaware of everything—his breathing, the low rasp in his voice, the way he shifted slightly but didn’t pull away when her knee bumped his for the fourth time in as many minutes.

And that song—

Sade’s “Cherish the Day” floated through the air like a whisper. That voice, soft and lush, only made it worse. Or better.

She didn’t know anymore.

She just knew she was buzzing—skin hot, thighs tense, her core throbbing in that slow, needy ache she hadn’t let herself feel in months. Not like this. Not from a look. A touch. A man who hadn’t even kissed her yet tonight.

“Let me ask you something,” she said suddenly, voice lower now, rougher. “You’ve really been putting up with me since August?”

Terry turned to look at her, slow and deliberate. His eyes scanned her face before dropping—just briefly—to her mouth.

“I wouldn’t call it putting up with you.”

“No?”

He shook his head, his voice quiet, velvet over steel.

“I’d call it discipline.”

That word.

Discipline.

It landed somewhere deep.

She tilted her head, her hair falling slightly over one shoulder, brushing the skin just above her breast. His eyes followed it.

“And what exactly required so much discipline?” she asked, playing innocent, though her voice was a little breathless.

He gave a soft, dangerous smile. “You.”

She arched a brow. “Because I was difficult?”

He leaned in slightly, close enough for her to feel his breath. “Because you walked around with that sharp mouth, those soft eyes, and curves that made me want to forget my name—and you didn’t give me the time of day.”

She stared at him, lips parted.

Her breath came slower now. Heavier.

“And you didn’t take that personally?”

“Oh, I did,” he murmured. “But it made me want you more.”

Something in her chest fluttered. She didn’t like it.

She liked control. Distance. The safety of space.

But with him? Her body didn’t care. Her logic didn’t matter.

He made her feel… seen. And hungry.

She bit her lip, just barely.

And his gaze zeroed in on the movement like it was a damn invitation.

She reached for her wineglass again, only to realize her hand was shaking.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

She took a breath, exhaled slowly, and set it back down.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said.

“I’m trying not to ruin the moment.”

“How would you ruin it?”

He tilted his head. “By pulling you into my lap and kissing you the way I’ve been dreaming about since the day you moved in.”

Aisha blinked.

Just once.

Her thighs pressed together involuntarily.

Her heart pounded so loud, she swore he could hear it.

His voice had dropped lower, darker, but his body hadn’t moved. He was still giving her space. Still waiting. Still letting her set the pace.

It was infuriating.

It was… everything.

She shifted slowly.

Turned toward him, letting her knee slide between his. Her hand rested lightly on his thigh. Just above the knee. Testing. Waiting.

He didn’t flinch.

He did inhale—slow and deep.

“I’m not good at this,” she said softly. “Letting people in. Letting them… see me.”

“I know,” he replied, eyes locked on hers. “You’ve spent the last six months building a fortress. And still—I found the door.”

Aisha swallowed hard.

“I didn’t open it for you.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said. “I waited. I learned the rhythm of your knock.”

She couldn’t take it anymore.

The honesty.

The heat.

The way her skin burned under his gaze.

So she moved.

She climbed into his lap, straddling him slowly, the silk of her dress dragging across his jeans, the slit falling open to reveal the full length of her thighs. Her arms settled around his shoulders, her fingers curling into the back of his neck. Her chest pressed into his, and she could feel the heat of him everywhere.

His hands stayed planted on her waist.

Still not touching more than he had to.

Not taking.

Not demanding.

Just there.

Solid.

Strong.

Waiting.

Her lips brushed the edge of his jaw, then hovered above his mouth.

Her voice was a whisper.

“You gonna keep waiting?”

And finally—finally—he moved.

His hands gripped her hips, firm and hungry, and he pulled her closer, pressing her down against the hard length of him straining beneath his jeans. His mouth found hers without mercy—hot and deep and claiming. Tongue sliding against hers with a precision that made her knees weak, even while straddling him.

A low sound escaped his throat.

Something primal.

It rumbled into her mouth as he kissed her like the months of restraint had snapped, and now there was no turning back.

His hands slid up her back, over her ribs, and then tangled in her curls—pulling just enough to make her moan. Her hips rolled instinctively, grinding down against him, her dress bunching higher as her thighs opened wider.

“Fuck,” he muttered against her mouth. “You feel so fucking good.”

She gasped as his hand slid down again, gripped her ass, pulled her tighter into his lap.

And when she felt the thick length of him pressed perfectly against her center—right where she ached—she whimpered into his mouth.

“You’ve been teasing me for months,” he growled. “You know that, right?”

Her lips brushed his ear. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

He pulled back—just an inch. Enough to look into her eyes.

And his voice—his voice was low and dark and full of promise.

“I’m gonna make you beg.”

Her breath caught.

And she wanted that.

God, she wanted that.

But she wasn’t giving in that easily.

She kissed him again—slow and deep—and whispered against his mouth:

“Then stop talking.”

Aisha didn’t know when she’d stopped thinking.

Maybe it was when Terry lifted her off the couch like she weighed nothing.

Maybe it was the second his mouth slammed into hers—harder, deeper, like he was finally done pretending he could be patient.

Now?

Now, she was sprawled on her back across the bed, dress hiked around her waist, panties soaked and clinging to her. And Terry?

Terry was standing at the foot of the bed, shirtless, broad chest rising and falling, the line of his abs dipping into the waistband of his jeans.

He hadn’t touched her again.

Not yet.

He was just watching.

His eyes dragged over every inch of her body like he had full ownership now. Like this wasn’t just desire anymore—it was claiming.

“You don’t know,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough, “how close I’ve been to fucking you against that damn front door since August.”

Aisha’s breath caught.

He stepped closer.

“Every time you looked at me like you didn’t see me… every time you rolled your eyes like you weren’t wet five minutes later…”

He reached down, gripped her ankle, and dragged her body slowly toward the edge of the bed.

“You were mine before you even knew it.”

Her thighs parted on instinct, knees falling open, exposing the soaked center of her lace panties. Terry looked down at her like she was his favorite sin.

And then?

He leaned in.

Pressed one palm flat against her chest, right between her breasts, and held her there.

Not rough.

Not cruel.

But commanding.

“You’re gonna listen to me now,” he murmured. “No more running. No more pretending.”

Aisha’s lips parted, breath shivering from her throat.

“Take off the dress,” he said, stepping back.

She blinked.

“W-what?”

His voice hardened. Lower. Final.

“I said. Take. Off. The dress. Or I can rip it. The choice is yours."

Something inside her snapped.

Her hands moved before her brain caught up, slipping behind her back to untwist the knot at her hip, letting the silky fabric slide down over her shoulders, down her waist, over her thighs until it pooled around her hips.

She wasn’t wearing a bra.

Her nipples were hard. Her breathing erratic.

Terry’s jaw flexed.

“Panties too,” he added. “Show me everything you’ve been hiding.”

Her hands trembled, but she obeyed—hooked her thumbs in the lace and slid them down, arching her back as she peeled them away.

Now she was laid out for him.

Bare.

Flushed.

Throbbing.

Completely exposed.

His eyes never left her body. They devoured her. Traced her collarbones. Her breasts. Her navel. The wetness glistening between her legs.

“Touch yourself,” he said.

Her eyes flew to his.

“Terry—”

“Do it.”

She hesitated.

And then her hand moved, slowly, between her thighs. Her fingers brushed her clit—just a featherlight stroke—and she moaned.

Terry stepped closer.

“Slower.”

She obeyed.

Swirling soft circles over the sensitive bud, her breath picking up, thighs twitching.

He watched.

And then—finally—he unbuttoned his jeans.

Aisha’s mouth went dry as he pulled them down and kicked them aside. No boxers.

Just him.

Hard.

Thick.

Heavy.

She whimpered.

“You want this?” he asked, fisting the base of his cock slowly. “You ready to take all of me?”

“Please,” she gasped.

“Then stop touching my pussy,” he growled. “And open your legs for me.”

She dropped her hand, moaning softly as he climbed onto the bed—knees pressing into the mattress, body moving over hers with terrifying control.

His hand wrapped gently around her throat, thumb brushing the side of her jaw.

“You’re mine tonight,” he whispered. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she breathed.

He pressed the head of his cock against her entrance, sliding it through her slick folds once… twice… coating himself with her arousal.

“You gonna take me like a good girl?”

“Yes—please—”

“Say it louder.”

“I’m yours, Terry,” she gasped. “I’m gonna take all of you—please—just—fuck me—”

And then he thrust inside.

Deep.

All the way.

A single, devastating stroke that had her crying out, back arching off the bed.

“Fuuuck,” she sobbed. “Oh my God—”

“Look at me.”

She tried.

Her eyes fluttered open, and he was right there—face inches from hers, chain dragging across her chest, sweat beading on his brow, lips parted as he ground into her with a slow, punishing rhythm.

“You feel what you’ve been making me wait for?”

“Yes,” she whispered, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. “It’s too good—”

“It’s mine,” he growled. “This pussy’s mine. Say it.”

“It’s yours—oh God—it’s yours—”

He fucked her slow at first. Cruel. Measured. Holding her legs open with his hands on her knees, watching his cock slide in and out of her dripping core with eyes that burned.

Then he sped up.

Harder.

Faster.

Relentless.

The sound of skin against skin filled the room, her cries echoing against the walls, his low curses grounding her in the madness.

He bent her legs higher, folding her in half, thrusting even deeper.

She screamed.

And he covered her mouth with his, swallowing the sound as he slammed into her again and again and again.

When her orgasm hit, it tore through her like a storm—her nails raking down his back, her entire body locking around him, convulsing with the force of it.

“Let go,” he growled. “That’s it. That’s my good girl—fuck—”

He followed seconds later, hips jerking, jaw clenched, as he came inside her with a long, broken groan against her neck.

They collapsed together, still tangled, breathless, her body trembling under his.

And he didn’t move.

Didn’t pull out.

Just held her there—his hand on her thigh, his chain resting between her breasts, his breath cooling the sweat on her skin.

“I should’ve done that the night you knocked on my door,” he murmured against her temple.

She laughed softly. Shakily.

“I would’ve let you.”

His voice dropped.

“I’m not done.”

Her heart skipped.

He lifted his head, eyes on hers.

“You’re not sleeping until I fuck you against the window,” he said. “I want this whole city to know who you belong to.”

And the way her body clenched around him?

She wanted that too.

Aisha’s breath hitched.

Her legs were still wrapped around his waist. Her body wrecked. Slick. Trembling. But her core clenched at those words—hard, involuntarily—like her body wanted to be taken again before her mind could catch up.

She lifted her head from the pillow, eyes meeting his through the low light.

“You want the city to know?” she whispered, voice hoarse, lips kiss-swollen. “That serious?”

His fingers slid up her thigh, to her waist, gripping tight.

“I want every motherfucker in a ten-block radius to hear you scream my name.”

He kissed her again—hot and punishing—and before she could blink, he was pulling out of her with a hiss, gripping her hips and flipping her over onto her stomach in one smooth, dominant motion.

Aisha gasped.

The cool sheets brushed her breasts as she pushed up on trembling forearms, hair falling into her face.

Terry grabbed her by the hips and dragged her back toward the edge of the bed until she was kneeling, ass arched, legs wide.

“You know how many nights I stood across the hall thinking about this view?” he muttered, dragging his palm slowly over the curve of her ass. “How many times I had to walk back into my apartment and jack off because I could smell you through the goddamn wall?”

She whimpered.

And then he smacked her.

A sharp slap to the left cheek—firm, precise, not cruel—and she moaned like it fed her.

“Say you’re mine,” he growled.

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “I’ve been yours—”

He lined himself up and slid back into her with one deep, brutal thrust that punched the air from her lungs.

“Oh fuck—”

He didn’t ease up.

This time, he was fucking her for the echo.

Every stroke was hard and deep, his hands gripping her hips like reins, slamming into her over and over while her moans turned into cries, turned into gasps, turned into his name—over and over.

“Terry—Terry—oh my God—”

Her hands clawed at the sheets.

He yanked her back against him, his chest flush with her spine now, one arm wrapping around her throat, the other sliding between her thighs again.

“You wanna give them a show?” he rasped in her ear. “Then come on my cock. Right now.”

She shattered.

Convulsed.

Her walls clamped around him, her scream muffled by the arm around her throat, her whole body trembling like it had lost signal.

Terry’s rhythm stuttered—once, twice—and then he came with a low, possessive groan, hips grinding into her as he emptied himself again, deeper this time, staying buried to the hilt.

They stayed like that.

Connected.

Pressed together.

Heavy breathing filling the room like thunder.

And then—his hold on her softened. His hand moved from her throat to her chest, palm splayed over her racing heart.

He kissed the back of her shoulder. Then again. And again.

Soft.

Reverent.

“Breathe,” he murmured.

Aisha collapsed forward slowly, pulling him down with her, his weight anchoring her, his body a furnace at her back. Her arms curled beneath her, her cheek against the pillow, hair wild and damp from sweat.

Terry moved with her.

Shifted so he didn’t crush her, but stayed close.

Close enough to hold her.

To keep her.

His hand never left her body—now sliding slow, lazy circles along her spine while her heartbeat slowly came back to Earth.

They lay like that for minutes.

The world outside returned faintly—cars in the distance, a train horn far off, some idiot honking two streets over—but it didn’t matter.

Here?

It was quiet.

Full.

Real.

She turned her face slightly, voice raw.

“Are you always like this?”

Terry didn’t speak at first.

Just kept tracing her skin with his fingers.

Then: “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to claim every inch of me. Like you already have.”

His hand paused.

Then slid up her side, cupping her breast. Just resting there. Intimate. Warm.

“I’ve waited too long not to.”

She swallowed. “I thought this was just going to be one night.”

“It’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I don’t leave what’s mine.”

The words hit her like heat.

She turned, shifting until she was on her side, facing him.

Terry looked at her now—really looked.

His face was soft, despite the sweat, the edge, the dominance still humming beneath his skin. His blue-green eyes were steady. Sharp.

Honest.

“You think I let myself fall for a woman across the hall just to fuck her once and walk away?” he asked. “You think I let you in just to dip?”

Aisha’s throat tightened.

“I didn’t know what you wanted.”

“I want you,” he said. “Not just your body. Not just your mouth and that smart-ass attitude and that body in scrubs that made me crazy. I want you sleepy in the mornings. I want your bare face and your sarcasm before caffeine. I want to hold you after your worst shifts and fuck you senseless after your best ones.”

Her heart thudded.

And he kept going.

“I want your trust. I want to earn it every damn day.”

She blinked hard.

Her voice cracked when she whispered, “That’s a lot.”

His hand moved to her face. Thumb brushing under her eye.

“You’re worth it.”

She stared at him.

Let herself believe it.

Just for a second.

Then she curled into his chest.

Terry wrapped his arm around her instantly, pulling her in, anchoring her again. His hand found her curls, massaged the back of her head like he already knew how to soothe her.

They didn’t speak for a while.

Not until her voice came out soft.

“Stay.”

“I was never leaving.”

He kissed her forehead. Not gentle this time—firm.

Like he meant it.

She closed her eyes, chest tight, body still pulsing with everything they’d done, everything they’d said.

And everything they hadn’t yet.

But she knew—somehow, quietly, surely—that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Not this time.

Not ever.

The first thing Aisha felt was heat.

Not just the kind soaked into her sheets from the night before—but the weight of another body. Terry’s body.

He was behind her, chest pressed to her back, one heavy arm draped around her waist like he was afraid she might vanish if he didn’t hold on.

And maybe she would have.

On any other morning—after any other man—she would’ve slipped out of bed without a word. Taken her space. Rebuilt the armor.

But she didn’t move.

She just lay there, blinking slowly, watching the morning light spill across the floor in soft gold streaks.

The sheets smelled like him now. Spiced cologne, sweat, and something she was sure was his skin alone. It lingered in her hair, on her pillow. In her bones.

She closed her eyes again, sinking back into his warmth.

“You’re still here,” she said softly, almost to herself.

His voice rumbled low against her shoulder. “Of course I am.”

She smiled.

Just a little.

She shifted, turning slowly until she was facing him. Her bonnet was half-off, curls tangled and mashed from sleep. Her lips were dry. No makeup. No lashes. Just Aisha, stripped down to her barest form.

Terry looked at her like she was radiant.

“Morning,” he said, brushing a curl off her cheek.

Her voice was scratchy. “You sleep okay?”

He nodded. “Better than I have in months.”

She traced the edge of his jaw with one finger. “You snore a little.”

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“Lies.”

She laughed—a soft, sleepy sound. “I didn’t mind.”

They stayed like that, facing each other, bare and quiet. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t performative.

It just was.

Comfortable.

New.

But not wrong.

Terry finally leaned in and kissed her forehead. Then her cheek. Then her lips—slow and warm, no fire, just familiarity forming in real time.

“You hungry?” he asked.

She blinked. “You offering to cook again?”

“Only if you like burnt toast and undercooked eggs.”

She smirked. “Pass.”

“I could order something,” he said, voice casual. “Or we could walk to that café two blocks over. The one you pretend not to like but lowkey go to twice a week.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You been watching me that close?”

“Six months,” he said. “You think I missed anything?”

A flush crept into her cheeks.

She sat up slowly, pulling the sheet with her, wrapping it around her chest like armor. “And what happens now?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“I stay.”

Aisha paused.

Blinking.

Processing.

“You mean… this morning?”

“I mean from now on.”

Her breath caught.

He sat up beside her, one hand reaching to cradle the back of her neck, thumb brushing her skin. “I know you’ve got your walls. Your grind. Your goals. And I’m not here to mess with any of that.”

His eyes held hers, steady and sure.

“But I’m here, Aisha. Not for a night. Not for convenience. I want to be next to you through all of it—messy or not. Tired or not. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

Her throat tightened.

She wasn’t good at this. At receiving. At letting someone show up without conditions.

But she believed him.

For maybe the first time, she believed someone meant it.

“…Okay,” she whispered.

Terry smiled, that soft, slow one that melted through all the walls she thought were permanent.

“Okay?”

She nodded. “But no ugly slides in my apartment. House rule.”

He laughed, kissed her again.

“I’ll buy new ones.”

It started simple.

His toothbrush on her counter.

His sweats in her laundry bin.

Her study notes spread across his coffee table now because he said she focused better with his playlist in the background.

They cooked together. Late nights. Early mornings. He walked her to her car after 12-hour shifts. Waited up with matcha when she had exams.

He didn’t just exist with her.

He fit.

He made space.

And slowly… she stopped looking for the exit.

She’d still get tense sometimes. Distant. Defensive.

But he never pushed.

He just waited.

Reminded her—with soft hands, quiet presence, and that unwavering gaze—that he wasn’t going anywhere.

One night, while she was brushing her teeth, she turned to him in the mirror and said:

“You can bring more of your stuff over.”

He paused, leaned against the doorframe, and smiled.

“That an invite?”

“That’s acknowledgment,” she said around her toothbrush.

“You’re getting soft, Ali.”

She rinsed. Smirked.

“You’re the only one I let see it.”

He kissed her on the shoulder.

And from that moment on?

He stopped locking his apartment.

Because home wasn’t across the hall anymore.

It was wherever she was.

AN: as always let me know what you think! if you want to be added to the tag list taglist: @keyaho @naughtynolly@rose-bliss @slowlyelectronictyrant

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[writingsbytee]

Across The Hall

MDNI! you have been warned!

warnings: mean black!oc, terryau! slow burn, male masturbation, explicit language.

There is a schedule for part two! as always, please tell me what you think!

synopsis:

For Aisha Ali, love is a luxury she can’t afford. Focused on surviving her intense CRNA program, working night shifts in the ICU, and climbing out of student debt, she’s got no time—and even less energy—for men, especially the one who’s been flirting from across the hall for months. Smooth, too fine for his own good, and always catching her at her worst, Terry Richmond is the kind of problem Aisha swore she wouldn’t entertain.

But Terry isn’t just waiting around. He’s a man who knows exactly what he wants—and it’s her.

From the moment Aisha slammed her apartment door in his face, Terry’s been watching, listening, learning. He sees the softness beneath her sharp mouth, the vulnerability under the ambition. He’s been patient. Respectful. But he’s not playing anymore.

When one late-night decision shatters their carefully drawn lines, Aisha finds herself tangled in more than his sheets—she’s tangled in him. And when he asks her to stop running, to stay, to finally admit what they both feel…

She has to decide: Will she guard her heart to the end? Or hand it over, knowing he’ll handle it with care?

The elevator dinged softly as the doors slid open to the third floor, and Aisha Ali stepped out with the kind of deliberate exhaustion only a woman in the trenches of a doctoral program could wear.

Box in her arms. AirPods in. Edges laid. Skin is dewy with sweat and humidity.

The entire move had been a solo mission—no friends, no boyfriend, no favors. Just her, her trunk full of Amazon boxes, a playlist that rotated between trap and Beyoncé, and the focused rage of a woman who had no time to waste and no space for bullshit.

She adjusted the box on her hip, ignoring the way it dug into her ribs. Her copper curls—thick and spiraled in defiance—were piled high on her head, curls spilling from a loose bun that had given up the fight three trips ago. Her tank top and leggings clung to her honey-brown skin, soaked along the curve of her lower back, clinging to the slim, strong lines of a body sculpted by just enough Pilates and a lifetime of being underestimated.

She paused outside apartment 306—hers—took a breath, and reached for her keys.

“You need help with that?”

A voice. Deep. Smooth.

That kind of smooth that curled around your spine before your brain caught up.

Aisha turned slowly.

And there he was.

Well over six feet. Built like the gym owed him money—shoulders broad, chest defined beneath a dark gray tank top, arms cut and veined like someone who didn't just lift weights but challenged them to fights.

His skin was a honeyed bronze, like he’d been kissed by the sun in every possible right way, and his jawline—sharp, shadowed by a close-trimmed beard—framed a mouth that looked like it had said a thousand dangerous things.

But none of that hit her as hard as his eyes.

Blue-green. Swirled with hazel around the iris. Like the ocean was trying to tell secrets through sunlight. And when he looked at her, really looked at her, it hit like standing too close to an open flame.

She almost faltered.

Almost.

But she’d practiced this. She had plans. Loans. Deadlines. Debt. No space for blue-green anything.

“I’m good,” she said flatly, the box still balanced against her hip. Aisha was not in the mood. Men were just a distraction from her goal, and she couldn't be bothered.

He smiled. Slow. Disarming. Like he wasn’t surprised by her chill.

“New here?”

“No, I always carry moving boxes for fun,” she deadpanned.

Terry laughed, and God help her, it was rich. Warm. It vibrated in his chest and made her stomach tighten for a second too long.

“Alright, smart mouth,” he said, nodding toward his door across the hall. “I live right there. 308. Terrence, but everyone calls me Terry.”

She blinked once. Her voice was calm, steady, clipped. “Aisha.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” he said, eyes dropping to her box, then rising slowly back up to her face.

He wasn't being gross. Not leering. Just watching. Like he wanted to learn something about her by how she stood, what she wore, how her eyes narrowed slightly every time he leaned just a little too close.

Aisha didn’t move. Didn’t smile.

She did not do charming neighbors.

She didn’t do casual flirtation.

Not anymore.

Not six months into a 36-month grind with ten-hour clinicals, night shifts in the ICU, and a mountain of federal loan paperwork waiting for her attention.

She had things to prove. She had goals. And men like Terry—the charming, ridiculously hot ones with fine-ass arms and eyes that made you forget your name—were distractions wrapped in temptation.

“You need help or not?” he asked again, tilting his head slightly, watching her like he could see right through the ice.

“I said I’m good.”

He leaned on the wall beside her door, crossing those arms like they weren’t bulging on purpose.

“I got nothing better to do,” he said. “It’s either help you or watch the same re-run of Bourne Identity for the third time this week.”

“Watch your movie, Richmond.”

“Richmond, huh? So you’re already calling me by my last name?”

Aisha’s mouth twitched. Barely. Almost a smile, but not quite.

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“It felt like one.”

She stared up at him, big brown eyes unreadable. “You do this with all the new girls who move in?”

He shrugged. “You’re the first I’ve wanted to talk to.”

She felt her stomach clench at that. Not from nerves—from annoyance.

She knew his type. Charming. Relaxed. Confident in that easy, smooth-operating way that said, I know I look good, but I want you to say it first.

And if she wasn’t careful, he’d catch her slipping.

Not happening.

“I’m not interested,” she said, voice low but clear.

Terry blinked. Not offended—more like intrigued. “In what?”

“Whatever this is.”

He smirked. “Didn’t say it was anything.”

“You’re standing here shirtless in sweatpants with slides like you have your toes out, smiling in 4K like this is a music video, asking for my name like it’s not obvious what you’re doing.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Painfully.”

He chuckled again, pushing off the wall. “Alright then. Welcome to the building, Aisha. Holler if you need anything.”

She watched him retreat across the hall. Watched his back, his arms, the way his shirt pulled just slightly as he reached for his doorknob.

And just before he stepped inside, he glanced over his shoulder.

“I mean it,” he said, eyes locking onto hers. “Anything.”

Then he was gone.

Door shut. Silence returned.

Aisha stood there for a moment, heart beating faster than she liked. She hated that. Hated how easily men like him could slink into your mental space and rearrange the furniture.

She took a slow breath and went inside her apartment, dropping the last box on the hardwood floor.

The space was gorgeous—open layout, recessed lighting, clean as a magazine spread. It smelled like new paint and fresh possibilities.

She stared at the window for a moment, the city skyline winking at her in the distance. Her future was out there. Unwritten. Untouched.

She didn’t have time for blue-green eyes.

She didn’t have time for smooth laughs and tight T-shirts.

She had 30 months left of a program that was going to change her life.

But as she walked into her bathroom to shower, the heat of his gaze still pressed against her skin like a fingerprint.

And she knew—Terry Richmond was going to be a problem.

The hallway of the third floor had no business holding that much pressure on a Saturday night. It was Fall Break weekend, and Aisha was finally getting a break from work and school.

The warm hum of city sounds filtered in from the windows at the far end, and soft recessed lighting bathed the polished floors in a cozy golden glow—but none of that could compete with Aisha stepping out of 306 like the hallway was a runway, and the walls needed a show.

Her curls were swept up in a loose, romantic updo—copper spirals pinned high, but wild, soft tendrils coiled down to frame her high cheekbones and glowing skin. Her honey-brown complexion gleamed under a fresh highlight, collarbones popping with each elegant step in her white stiletto mules.

And that dress?

Ocean Blue, House of CB, Aiza.

Mesh hugged her curves like it had been commissioned specifically for her body—every line, every cinch, every sculpted inch perfectly wrapped. The lime green lace crisscrossed down her back like the temptation in neon, disappearing where the dress met the top of her hips. The hem was just dangerous enough, paired with legs that made the elevator seem unnecessary.

In one hand, she held her Coach Quilted Tabby 26 in Bluebell, its soft leather and structured frame giving her the final, feminine bite she was going for.

She’d planned this look for the girls, not for him.

And yet—

Terry Richmond dared to be standing outside his door like God had placed him there for maximum inconvenience.

His hoodie was charcoal gray, soft-looking, clinging just enough to suggest the muscles beneath were earned not just in the gym, but in long hours, early mornings, and discipline. His sweatpants were low on his hips, worn in the way that made a woman’s eyes wander before her brain caught up.

And his eyes?

Still, those wild blue-green hazel swirled ones.

Eyes that didn’t just look at her. They took their time.

She paused only briefly—long enough to register the catch in his breath, the pause in his step.

Gabrielle, behind her, leaned in with an audible whisper: “Girl. I swear to God. You need that man biblically.”

Aisha shot her a glare like daggers dipped in attitude.

But Terry heard it. Oh, he heard it.

And for a second, he just stood there, keys halfway into the lock, head turned, eyes dragging down the length of her in that very specific, quiet, male way—like he wasn’t just looking at her body, but reading her energy. Watching how she held herself, how that bag swung just so on her forearm, how she walked like the hallway was hers and everything in it moved for her.

“You heading out?” he asked, voice low, rich, textured like velvet over gravel.

“Girls’ night,” Aisha said coolly, not slowing her stride. “Dinner and then a little chaos.”

Gabrielle smirked. “Followed by us ignoring texts from men who don’t read instructions.”

Terry’s mouth twitched. “That include me?”

Aisha gave him a look. Unreadable. But her lips curved slightly—just the edge.

“We don’t text you,” Gabrielle grinned before Aisha could answer. “But we have talked about you.”

Aisha froze mid-step. Neck-snap sharp.

Terry raised his brows slowly, smile crawling across his face like he’d just hit jackpot on a machine he wasn’t even playing.

Aisha turned, voice low and lethal. “Gabrielle.”

“What?” Gabrielle threw her hands up. “He’s been right across the hall this whole time and looking like a walking reason to sin. He deserves to know he’s been mentioned.”

Terry let out a soft chuckle, low and satisfied. “Good to know.”

Aisha took a slow breath. She didn’t want to blush. She didn’t blush. But her ears were hot, and she could feel the weight of his gaze again—like it was walking its fingers down her back, right along the lime green laces of her dress.

Before Aisha could shut it all down and drag Gabrielle to the elevator, she heard her friend shift in her heels and say, too casually:

“Hey—give me your phone.”

Terry tilted his head, still watching Aisha.

“You serious?”

Gabrielle already had her hand out. “Don’t act shy now.”

He reached into his hoodie pocket, pulled out his phone, and handed it over. No questions. No hesitation.

Aisha blinked. “Gabi.”

Gabrielle ignored her, already typing. “You’re welcome.”

Terry’s voice dropped, gentle now. “You sure about this?”

He wasn’t looking at Gabrielle anymore.

He was looking straight at Aisha.

Her heartbeat kicked once—fast. Loud. She hated how good he smelled from across the hall. Like clean soap and spice and man. The kind of scent that lingered in the sheets the next day and ruined your focus for the whole week.

She rolled her eyes, flipping her curls over her shoulder.

“Do what you want,” she muttered, eyes on the elevator.

But Terry caught the almost smile. The barely-there smirk she didn’t mean to show.

Gabrielle handed the phone back. “Saved under ‘Ali—Handle With Care’. You’re welcome again.”

Aisha sighed, defeated.

Gabrielle’s Uber Black arrived at the curb downstairs just in time. A buzz hit her phone.

They walked toward the elevator, heels clicking like punctuation marks. But as the doors slid open and they stepped inside, Aisha turned one last time.

Terry was still standing there.

Still watching her.

Still completely undone by a woman who didn’t say more than ten words to him—but wore every one like a challenge.

“Goodnight, Richmond,” she said softly, almost to herself.

Terry’s smile turned slow, dangerous.

“I hope not.”

The doors closed.

Gabrielle turned to her with wide eyes and whispered, “Girl. You are in so much trouble.”

Aisha didn’t say a word.

But her phone buzzed again.

New Text – Unknown Number

You were right. I’m a distraction. But you looked like a dream in blue. Text me when you’re ready to stop pretending I’m not on your mind.

She stared at it.

Then locked her screen.

She wasn’t ready to answer.

But damn it… she wasn’t not thinking about it.

The Uber Black pulled back up into the front of the apartment building like a sleek shadow slipping through the night, the city lights dancing on its polished black frame. Inside, Aisha sat back against the leather seat, her legs crossed, one manicured hand resting on her Bluebell Coach Tabby, her face turned slightly toward the window.

She wasn’t drunk.

She knew herself better than that.

She was buzzed. Clear enough to walk straight, to unlock her door on the first try, to make choices.

Intentional.

Gabrielle had slid out first at her own stop, fluffed her curls in the reflection of the car window, and leaned back in with her usual ride-or-die bluntness.

"Text him."

Aisha had hesitated.

“I don’t know.”

Gabrielle blinked once. “What are you scared of?”

Aisha said nothing.

Gabrielle smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

She shut the door before Aisha could respond, but her voice still rang in her head like a bell that wouldn’t stop.

“Don’t be scared.”

Back at her apartment, Aisha kicked off her stilettos by the door, slipped her bag onto the counter, and let herself breathe for the first time all night. The blue dress still hugged her like a second skin. The lime laces at the back were slightly loose from the hours of movement and heat, but her hair had held—wild and pinned, soft tendrils sticking to her temple from sweat and late-night city air.

She paced once. Twice.

Then picked up her phone.

His number was already pulled up.

Her fingers hovered over the screen.

Still up?

She hit send.

Heart pounding.

Buzz.

Always.

She stared at it.

And then, with a sudden surge of boldness—born from tequila, from desire, from months of slow-burning tension she could no longer ignore—she stepped back into her heels, grabbed her purse, and walked out the door.

She didn’t knock.

She didn’t wait.

She stood in front of 308, chest high, eyes sharp.

And texted again.

Open your door.

It was 2:43 am and Terry had just come back from brushing his teeth when his phone buzzed again.

He saw her name.

Ali 🧨.

He’d been staring at her last message, trying to fight the urge to go to her. To ask. To want.

But now?

Open your door.

No hesitation. No question. Just a command.

He smiled despite himself.

She was bold. And maybe a little tipsy. But she wasn’t out of control. She wasn’t stumbling or slurring or pressing buttons on accident.

She knew what she wanted.

And tonight… it was him.

He walked to the door and opened it.

There she stood—back straight, curls messy and regal, skin glowing in the dim hallway light. Dress still hugging her like temptation. Lips parted slightly like she was daring him to say something first.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

She stepped past him.

Into his apartment.

Just like that.

She turned once inside, walking backwards slowly, eyes locked on his.

“I don’t play games, Richmond,” she said softly. “If I wanted attention, I’d get it anywhere. I’m not here for that.”

“I know.”

She stopped, chin tilted high, voice steady but eyes blazing.

“I’m not scared.”

He nodded once. Closed the door behind them.

“You sure?”

“Dead ass.”

He moved closer.

Not fast. Not predatory. Just... steady. Measured. Like every step was a warning and a promise.

When he stopped in front of her, they were just inches apart.

She could feel the heat rolling off him. Smell the faint soap and spice of his skin.

He reached up—slow—and tucked one of those wild copper spirals behind her ear. His thumb grazed the side of her face, gentle, reverent.

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away.

“I’ve wanted you since the day you moved in,” he said quietly. “That’s not anything fucking  new.”

She exhaled, eyes flickering to his lips.

“Then why are we still talking?”

A pause.

A long one.

Then his hand slid to the back of her neck.

His fingers curled there, firm, warm, grounding.

And then—

He leaned in.

But not for her mouth.

Not for the kiss she’d braced for, wanted, needed.

He pressed his lips to her forehead.

Soft. Intentional. Full of everything and still holding back.

She closed her eyes, caught somewhere between surrender and confusion.

When he pulled back, her breath was shaky.

And her heart? Bruised.

Just a little.

“You're tipsy, Aisha,” he said, voice like smoke and silk. “Even if you think you’re good… I want you clear. I want you sure.”

“I am sure,” she whispered, the hurt barely hidden now.

He shook his head.

“I don’t want to be a moment you question in the morning.”

She blinked at him. Her arms, crossed loosely across her chest, tightened.

“So you don’t want me.”

He gave her a look that made her knees weak. That burned.

“I want you more than I should,” he said. “But not like this. Not when I’ve waited months just to get a real conversation out of you.”

Her throat tightened.

The tequila had softened her fire, but his restraint?

That had melted her defenses in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

She stepped back. Just an inch. Just enough.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I get it.”

He watched her, gaze heavy.

She turned, walking back toward the door, heels softer this time.

She paused with her hand on the knob.

Then looked over her shoulder.

“I’m not scared, Terry.”

He nodded once. “Good.”

“Next time,” she said, voice low, “I want you to show me what you’ve been waiting for.”

Then she left.

And this time, he didn’t stop her.

The next morning, Aisha woke up with the crushing weight of regret and dehydration sitting squarely on her chest.

Her mouth was dry. Her head was pounding. And the memory of the night before?

Loud. In 4K.

She groaned, flopping onto her back with the force of a woman whose entire soul had just exited her body. Her silk nightgown was bunched around her waist, bonnet half off, one lash stuck to her cheek like it had tapped out halfway through the night.

She stared at the ceiling like it had answers. It did not.

“Jesus, take the whole apartment,” she muttered. “Just evict me from life.”

Her phone buzzed.

She flinched like it was a gunshot.

Because she already knew who it was.

Her brain, traitorous and dramatic, decided to replay everything on a loop: the bold text, the late-night power walk in heels like she was auditioning for a reboot of Being Mary Jane, the way she’d stood in front of his door like a grown, sensual woman ready to claim what was hers—and

the way he had kissed her on the damn forehead like she was a toddler about to cross the street.

Aisha dragged a pillow over her face and screamed into it.

It was muffled. It was pathetic. It was deserved.

“I am never drinking with Gabi and Summer again,” she declared to the universe.

She peeled herself upright with all the grace of a dying Victorian widow and reached for her phone with trembling fingers.

Terry Richmond – 7:48 A.M.

You like matcha or are you one of those ‘only coffee’ women?

Aisha blinked.

Matcha? FUCKING MATCHA?

This man kissed her like she was a porcelain doll, sent her into an emotional tailspin, and now had the audacity to ask her about her beverage preferences like she didn’t try to climb him like a tree 10 hours ago?

She typed:

Matcha. Extra honey. Light oat milk.

…Sorry about last night.

Paused. Backspaced.

About last night—my bad.

Nope. Deleted again.

Stared into the void. Rewrote.

Sorry if I came on too strong.

Sent it.

Regretted it immediately.

Threw her phone on the bed like it was haunted.

“Girl, you really walked over there like you were starring in a Netflix romance and got forehead-kissed like a youth pastor’s niece,” she muttered to herself. “I should be arrested.”

She shuffled into the bathroom, brushed her teeth with too much aggression, and splashed water on her face like it could wash away her shame. The glow was still there, thanks to serums and expensive moisturizers, but she knew the truth.

She wrapped her robe tighter, padded into the kitchen, and tried to pretend her life wasn’t in shambles.

Then—

Three soft knocks.

She stopped.

Mid-step. Mid-breath.

Peeked at her phone. No new texts. Just the same matcha message staring at her like an accomplice.

She tiptoed to the door, peeked through the peephole.

Terry.

Of course.

Sweatpants. Hoodie. Looking like every mistake she wanted to make twice.

And he was holding a drink tray and a brown bag.

Aisha opened the door halfway, robe cinched like she was hiding state secrets.

“You really love knocking without warning, huh?”

Terry smiled—just the corner of his mouth. Too calm. Too fine.

“I texted. You replied. That counts as a green light.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s in the bag?”

“Peace offering. Bagel with turkey bacon, fried egg, cheddar. Iced Matcha—extra honey, light oat.”

She blinked.

“You remembered all that?”

He shrugged like he wasn’t casually derailing her entire life.

“You said it. I read.”

She stared at him. Then stepped aside without a word, because she wasn’t mentally stable enough to argue while sleep-deprived and wearing fuzzy socks with a satin nightgown.

He walked in, set the food down, didn’t say a word about her bonnet hanging off the side of her head like it was trying to escape this moment.

She unwrapped the sandwich slowly, cautiously, like it might explode and take her dignity with it.

“You okay?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

“Physically? Sure. Emotionally? I’ve decided to leave the country.”

Terry raised a brow. “What country?”

“Embarrassment. Population: me.”

He smirked, but didn’t interrupt.

“I just…” She sighed, chewing her food like it had personally wronged her. “I don’t do that. I don’t knock on doors. I don’t boldly present myself to men like an offering.”

“You were hot,” he said plainly. “Confident. Sexy.”

Aisha froze mid-bite, narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t gas me up. I got forehead-kissed like I was auditioning for a Disney movie.”

“I respected you.”

“I hate that.”

He laughed, soft and low. “Most people like being respected.”

“I wanted to be wrecked, Terry,” she whispered-shouted, gesturing with her sandwich like it was an accessory. “Not respected. At least not first.”

He tried not to laugh again, but failed.

“I wasn’t going to let the first time we touched be something you questioned in the morning.”

She groaned, setting the sandwich down like she’d lost her appetite and her will to live.

“I’m still humiliated. You’re too mature. It’s exhausting.”

“You came over,” he said gently. “You wanted something real. You showed me that.”

She blinked at him.

Then muttered, “Okay but like… what if I trip and fall down the stairs on purpose so we never have to speak of this again?”

Terry just watched her, patient as ever. Like she wasn’t actively spiraling in front of him with a half-eaten sandwich and a robe tied like a life vest.

“You want space?” he said finally, picking up the drink tray. “I’ll give it to you. But I meant what I said. I’m still across the hall.”

He reached the door. Opened it.

Then turned back.

“And Aisha?”

She looked up, still slouched at the counter like a woman defeated.

“You’re not crazy. You’re just finally letting somebody see you.”

Then he left.

And Aisha?

Aisha ate her sandwich in silence. Took a sip of the matcha.

And whispered into her cup:

“Why is he so emotionally intelligent? Who raised him?”

Then she avoided him for three days.

Because forehead kisses linger.

And so does mild, unrelenting shame.

A couple of days had gone by - it was early Friday morning. The sky was brushed in soft gold, the city still stretching its arms as the sun spilled between buildings and caught on dew-wet windshields. But none of that warmth reached Aisha.

Aisha had just gotten off work from the hospital, and her body ached from the inside out. Her scrubs felt stiff, like they were fused to her skin with dried sweat and leftover hospital air. Her grey scrub cap itched at her scalp, and her lips were cracked from twelve hours of dehydration and too many rounds between the ICU and the ER.

She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to see anyone.

Especially not him.

But the universe had jokes.

She’d barely closed her car door when she heard it—those footsteps. Not casual, not neighborly. Heavy. Controlled. The kind of steps you feel before you hear them.

Aisha’s stomach twisted.

She turned, slowly.

And there he was.

Terry.

Fresh from a run, skin damp with sweat, tank top clinging to his chest like it had signed a nondisclosure agreement. His joggers were slung low, his gold chain catching the light, and his face—his face—was set in a look she’d never seen on him before.

Hard.

Tired.

Frustrated.

He didn’t slow down as he approached. Didn’t smile.

“Aisha.”

She stopped walking.

Tried to keep her face neutral. Casual. Like her pulse wasn’t thudding in her throat.

“What.”

His voice was clipped. “You serious right now?”

She blinked. “What are you talking about?”

He huffed—just short of a laugh. But there was no humor in it.

“You’ve been avoiding me since Sunday.”

“I’ve been working.”

“I know you’ve been working. I also know your schedule.” He stepped closer, eyes locked on hers. “You had two nights off. You went to the gym and turned around the second you saw me. You haven’t replied to a single text. Not one. And yesterday, you looked me dead in the face, waited for the elevator doors to close, and walked away like we were strangers.”

Aisha’s fingers curled tighter around her keys. Her throat felt dry.

He kept going.

“You think I haven’t noticed? You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

Her mouth opened. “I’m not—”

“Yes. You are.” His tone sharpened. “And I let it slide. I gave you space. But I’m not gonna stand here and act like this is normal.”

He paused, breathing hard from the run—or maybe from the restraint.

“You pulled up to my door at two in the morning,” he said, voice quieter now, but harder. “Told me you weren’t scared. Let me see you. Let me touch you. And I kissed you like you mattered—because you do.”

Aisha’s chest rose and fell, quick and tight. Her eyes darted to the sidewalk, the brick wall, anywhere but his face.

“And then what?” he demanded. “You disappear. Again. Like I’m a mistake you need to outrun.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” His voice cracked, just a little. “Because I’m starting to feel stupid. Like I’ve been putting myself out there, waiting—watching you walk by like none of it ever happened.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with everything unspoken.

She looked up at him finally. Really looked.

His jaw was tight. His chest still rising fast. But underneath all of that frustration, she saw it—the hurt. The vulnerability. The weight of caring too much, too long.

“You kissed me on the forehead,” she said quietly.

His brows drew together. “Yeah. Because you were tipsy. Emotional. And I wasn’t gonna take advantage of that.”

“I know,” she said, voice cracking. “I know that. But it still felt like rejection.”

He blinked. “You think I didn’t want you?”

“I think…” She swallowed hard. “I think I didn’t know what to do with being wanted the right way. Not when I’ve only ever been wanted for what I could give.”

Terry exhaled. The tension in his shoulders shifted—but it didn’t disappear.

“I’ve been trying to show you that I’m not just here to flirt across the hall. I want you. The whole you. On your worst days. After twelve-hour shifts in baggy scrubs and hospital socks. I want to see what your eyes look like when you’re tired and still fighting anyway.”

Her heart stuttered.

He stepped closer.

“I’ve waited months for you to let me in, Aisha. Months. And you finally did. Then ran again like I wasn’t standing right here.”

She couldn’t look away now.

Her hands trembled slightly, hidden in the folds of her jacket. The tightness in her chest bloomed into something too sharp to hold back anymore.

“I panicked,” she said, barely above a whisper. “That night… I thought you’d take me. And when you didn’t, it made me feel like I was wrong about everything. Like I’d read you wrong.”

“You didn’t.”

His voice was low now. Steady.

“I’ve wanted you since day one,” he said. “But I want it right. I want it real.”

A beat passed. Two.

Then:

“You hungry?”

He blinked. “What?”

She cleared her throat, standing a little straighter. “You like steak?”

He stared at her like he wasn’t sure if this was real.

“Red wine? Mashed potatoes? I can cook.”

“Aisha—”

“I have a test Monday,” she continued. “Pathophys and pharm. So this weekend’s off-limits. But after that?” She stepped forward—just one step. Just enough. “Come over. I’ll cook. We’ll eat. We’ll talk. No running.”

He didn’t speak for a second. His eyes flickered to her lips. Her tired eyes. The tension that was still there—but lighter now.

“You make me steak,” he said slowly, “I’m not going home after.”

She almost smiled. “That’s the idea.”

He stepped closer, brushing one loose curl from where it’d slipped out of her scrub cap.

“Don’t disappear again,” he said.

“I won’t,” she said softly. “Not if you’re still across the hall.”

His eyes searched her face—every flicker of doubt, every ounce of truth.

And then, finally, he nodded.

“I’ll bring the wine.”

Later that night, Aisha’s apartment was dim, lit only by the warm glow above the stove and the muted city lights seeping in through her living room window. It smelled faintly of lavender from the candle she’d burned while showering, hoping it would settle her nerves. It didn’t.

Aisha paced slowly, barefoot on the hardwood, her navy robe tied snug around her waist, damp curls hanging loose around her shoulders. Her skin still buzzed from the hot water, but it had done nothing to rinse off the conversation replaying in her head on a loop.

Terry’s voice.

His face.

The tension in his jaw, the raw edge of his words, the way he’d looked at her like she’d hurt him without ever meaning to.

Because she had.

And deep down, she knew it.

She walked over to the window and pulled the curtain back just enough to see across the parking lot. The street was quiet now. A few cars rolled by, headlights low, nothing urgent. She stared into the night like it had answers.

He’d called her out.

Hard.

Not cruelly, not with bitterness—but with a truth that stung because it had been earned. And she’d stood there, barely able to explain herself, because how do you explain fear when it’s dressed up in logic?

“I’m busy. I’m tired. I’m focused on school.”

All true.

But none of it the reason she kept dodging his messages. None of it the reason she couldn’t meet his eyes when he held the elevator. None of it the reason she turned around and walked away the moment her chest got too tight with wanting.

No.

The truth was simpler. And worse.

He wanted her too gently.

He saw through her too easily.

And that kind of intimacy? That kind of attention?

It terrified her.

Because if she let him in, if she allowed herself to believe that someone like Terry Richmond could want her—not just the version of her that was sexy at night or sharp in passing, but the tired, overworked, emotionally complicated version of her—she’d have to face the possibility that it could all fall apart.

And she didn’t have time for falling apart.

Not now.

Not while she was carrying this much weight on her back just to survive.

She moved to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of chamomile tea. The steam curled against her cheek as she lifted it, the mug warm in her palms. She didn’t drink it right away. Just stood there. Holding it. Breathing.

On the counter, her phone lit up with a low buzz.

Not a message.

Just the time.

11:26 p.m.

She set the mug down and reached for the phone, thumb hesitating over Terry’s name in her recent texts. Their last thread was still open. Her bold dinner invite sat there like a dare—unanswered, but seen.

He wasn’t the one who needed to say something next.

She was.

She owed him that much.

She opened a new message. Stared at the blinking cursor for longer than she wanted to admit.

Typed.

Thank you for what you said this morning. I heard you.

Deleted “what you said.” Rewrote it.

Thank you for being real with me.

Still not right.

She took a breath, tried again.

Thank you for being honest with me this morning. I needed that.

Paused.

Then added:

I meant it about dinner. I’ll text you after the test.

She stared at the message. Simple. Sincere. Still guarded—but it was something.

A step.

She hit send.

The message floated into the quiet, the soft ping echoing in her chest.

She set the phone back down and leaned her hip against the counter, letting the silence settle over her. The tea was still warm. The room was still dim. But something had shifted.

Across the hall, the lights in 308 flicked off.

Aisha watched the window for a long moment before finally walking to her couch and curling up against the throw pillows. She tucked her legs beneath her, robe gathered around her like armor.

She wasn’t ready for everything.

Not yet.

But for the first time in days, she wasn’t trying to convince herself she didn’t care.

She did care.

And maybe… that was the beginning.

Across the hall, Terry was still up when he received her message.

The room was dark, lit only by the soft blue wash of his TV screen. Some nature doc was playing on mute—ocean waves crashing into cliffs, birds soaring over empty beaches—but Terry wasn’t watching it.

He was leaned back on his couch, still in his sweats from earlier, shirt tossed over a kitchen chair, muscles taut from the run—and from the conversation he hadn’t been able to let go of all day.

Aisha.

Fuck.

Even now, hours later, she was still under his skin. Wrapped around his mind like smoke.

Her voice. Her scent. The way her eyes shifted when she was about to bolt.

And her body?

God.

He’d tried to stop thinking about the curve of her waist in that blue dress, the way her lips parted when she was flustered, the heat in her voice when she finally stopped fronting and asked him to stay. But it was too late for trying.

She was in his bloodstream now.

And she had no idea what she’d done to him.

He exhaled slow, letting his head fall back against the cushion, trying to find focus. Trying to pull his mind out of the gutter.

But it was useless.

Because the more he tried to shake it, the clearer the memories got.

Aisha at 2 a.m., standing in his doorway in that tight dress, curls wild, lips pink and parted, chest rising with something between fear and fire.

The softness in her eyes when she said she wasn’t scared.

The whimper she made when he touched her face, kissed her forehead, and told her he wanted more than just a moment.

He could still feel the tremble in her breath.

Still see the way her lips pouted—like she’d wanted to be kissed somewhere deeper. Harder.

Next time, she’d whispered.

And he’d been thinking about that “next time” every damn day since.

His hand drifted to his stomach. Rested there. Then lower.

He hissed softly when he brushed the growing ache beneath the waistband of his joggers.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes closing.

He wasn’t even trying to imagine her naked.

He didn’t have to.

He remembered.

The way her body curved beneath those scrubs she pretended weren’t sexy.

The way her hips swayed even when she wasn’t trying.

The way her mouth moved when she was annoyed—fast, sharp, a little cruel. And the way it softened when she said his name like a secret she wasn’t ready to give away.

Terry…

He wrapped his hand around himself, slow.

Groaned.

His cock was already hard—had been since she walked away that morning, leaving him standing in the damn parking lot like a man trying not to beg.

He pumped once. Twice.

Thought of her lips.

Thought of that damn blue dress.

Thought of how she looked curled on his couch with chocolate on her spoon, licking it slow, teasing without even meaning to.

His grip tightened.

He could still smell her.

Still feel the ghost of her thighs in his lap, her nails in his shoulder, the warmth of her breath on his neck when she said she wasn’t scared anymore.

God, he wanted her.

Not just to fuck her. Not just to watch her come apart on his hands, his mouth, his cock.

He wanted her undone. Vulnerable. Open.

He wanted to hear her whisper his name while clinging to his chest.

He wanted to see her face when she came. Lips parted. Eyes glassy. Bare.

He wanted to be the one who made her fall apart—and then held her through the wreckage.

His chest rose fast now. His strokes harder, slicker, the image of her body burned into the back of his eyelids.

“Aisha…” he groaned, low and guttural, head falling back.

Just then—his phone buzzed.

He stilled.

Breath caught in his throat.

He reached for it with his free hand, thumb swiping up.

Aisha Ali — 11:28 P.M.

Thank you for being honest with me this morning. I needed that.

I meant it about dinner. I’ll text you after the test.

Terry exhaled slowly.

It wasn’t steamy.

It wasn’t flirty.

But it was her. Reaching back. Choosing to stay present instead of disappearing again.

His hand fell away from his cock.

He stared at the message for a long moment, pulse still racing, need still throbbing, but heart settling—just a little.

She hadn’t run.

And that?

That turned him on more than anything.

He leaned his head back again, wiped a hand over his face.

“Monday,” he muttered.

Then smiled.

“Alright, Ali. Let’s see if you’re ready for what you asked for.”

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[writingsbytee]

Do It Scared.

Aaron Pierre x Reader

Summary: Aaron left your shared apartment in New York three months ago to film the biggest movie of his career, and every day since, the distance between you has grown. When photos surface of him looking a little too comfortable with an actress at an event, you hit your breaking point and decide to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Warnings: smut

Note: Partially inspired by a Terry fic I read on here recently. Link at the end <3

Word Count: 8.5k

The silence in your apartment feels heavier these days.

It used to be filled with his voice—his deep, warm laugh echoing through the space, his teasing remarks as he stole bites of whatever you were cooking.

But now, it’s just you. Just the quiet hum of the city outside your window, the occasional vibration of your phone lighting up with a text that never seems to be from him.

Aaron has been in L.A. for three months now, filming the biggest project of his career. A high-budget action film that is officially making him a "household name" in Hollywood according to the press.

And you? You’re still here in New York. Still in your shared apartment, still going through the motions of your life as an interior designer, still waiting for some sign that you belong in his world now.

You’ve supported him through everything—the auditions, the rejections, the near-misses. You were there when he was barely making rent, when he was working odd jobs between gigs, when he questioned if this dream was even worth it.

Now he’s finally getting everything he ever wanted.

And you’re not sure where that leaves you.

You don’t want to be that girlfriend. The one who demands answers, who needs reassurances, who can’t handle a little distance. But this feels different.

You thought he’d at least ask you to visit him by now. Thought he’d tell you he missed you so much that he couldn’t take another night apart.

Instead, he’s been busier than ever, responding to your texts hours later and giving you clipped responses during your phone calls.

You understood that he was under an immense amount of pressure, trying to carry a film on his back for the first time in his career. You tried your best to not add to his stress by not complaining about any of it.

Your phone vibrates on the kitchen counter, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Aaron.

You let it ring twice before answering, not wanting to seem like you were waiting for it. You know it’s silly this far into your relationship, but you do it anyway.

“Hey,” you say, keeping your voice light.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rich, deep—but tired. He always sounds tired when he calls now. “What are you doing?”

You glance around the kitchen, where your laptop is still open from the project you were reviewing. “Trying to be a responsible adult. What about you?”

Aaron exhales a small laugh. “Trying to not lose my mind, memorizing all these lines.”

You smile despite yourself. “How was set today?” you ask.

“Long,” he sighs. “Good, though. Just… a lot.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t press. He never used to be like this. Before, he would tell you everything—the directors he liked, the actors who annoyed him, the lines he struggled with.

Now, it’s just good, though.

“What’s new in the life of America’s Newest Obsession?” you ask, holding up a copy of GQ with his face on it. You couldn’t resist buying it when you came across it at CVS earlier that day.

Aaron groans, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t start.”

“What? You’re the one out there in L.A. making the whole world fall in love with you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—softer—“Only care about one person being in love with me.”

“Smooth,” you murmur, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips.

“I try.” he teases.

You shake your head. God, you miss him. But you don’t say that, either. Instead, you exhale, glancing at the time. It’s late for him, even with the three hour time difference. His call time is usually 5:00 am.

“You should get some sleep,” you murmur.

Aaron hesitates. “You trying to get rid of me?”

You chuckle. “Just trying to keep you on track as always.”

A beat. Then—“I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone. You know he means it. But missing someone and making sure they don’t feel forgotten aren’t the same thing.

“I miss you too,” you admit softly.

Another pause. This one longer.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Aaron murmurs.

You nod, secretly wishing he would ask you to stay on the phone or tell you more about his day. “Okay.”

And then, just like that, the call ends.

You set your phone down on the counter, staring at it for a long moment.

Waiting for the heaviness in your chest to pass.

It doesn’t.

--------

You knew this would happen eventually.

Aaron has always been desirable. He’s talented, charming, and now—famous. The kind of famous that has the internet scrutinizing his every move, every glance, every woman he so much as breathes near.

You’re sitting on your couch, wine glass untouched, staring at the screen.

It’s everywhere.

Aaron, seated next to Emilia Stark at an award show.

She’s beautiful. Confident in a way that commands attention. They’re leaning in close, talking, laughing, her hand resting lightly on his arm. The cameras captured it all.

The headlines are already writing the love story for them:

"Hollywood’s Next Power Couple?"

"Aaron Pierre and Emilia Stark Spark Dating Rumors at Award Show."

Your stomach twists as you scroll through the comments, knowing you shouldn’t, knowing you’re going to hate every word.

You close the app, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts from spiraling.

You’re his woman. Have been for four years. But no one knows that.

Because Aaron wanted privacy. Because you both agreed it wasn’t the world’s business. Because he didn’t want everyone scrutinizing your every move.

But now, with the world watching, you wonder if privacy was just another way to keep you out of his new life.

Aaron doesn’t call that night.

He always calls.

Even when he’s exhausted, even when he’s jet-lagged, even when he’s drunk from whatever post-event party he’s forced to attend. He always finds time for you.

But tonight? Nothing.

You stare at your phone, the screen dark, taunting.

Your stomach is in knots, your mind looping through the possibilities like a film reel stuck on repeat. Did he talk to her all night? Did he think about calling you and decide against it? Did he take her home? Did he notice the internet already crowning her his queen and think—

You squeeze your eyes shut, banishing the thought before it can finish forming.

You shouldn’t feel this way, but you do.

------

The next morning, you wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing against the nightstand.

You scramble for it, heart hammering against your ribs when you see his name on the screen.

Aaron.

You hesitate—just for a second—before answering.

“Hello?” Your voice is steady, but your fingers grip the phone tight, waiting.

He exhales, slow and groggy. “Hey, baby.”

Baby. The word should soothe you. But it only makes you feel sick.

Because he says it like nothing happened. Like the whole world didn’t spend the last twelve hours pairing him up with someone else. Like he didn’t go radio silent on you for the first time in years.

You swallow, your voice even. “Hey.”

There’s a pause, long enough for your chest to tighten.

Aaron sighs, his voice laced with exhaustion. “Didn’t mean to disappear last night. Got home late, crashed right after.”

That’s it. That’s all he says. No mention of the photos. No mention of her.

Your fingers tighten around the phone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s just another day. “You good?”

Am I good?

The words sit heavy in your throat.

You could say yes. Pretend you didn’t see. Pretend you’re not questioning every single thing. Pretend you’re not wondering if he was out all night with someone else.

But you can’t.

You sit up in bed, your free hand pressing against your temple. “I saw the pictures.”

The line goes dead silent.

And just like that, your entire body tenses.

“I figured you would.”

Your stomach drops.

That’s it? No denial, no immediate reassurance, no baby, it’s nothing.

Just I figured you would.

You exhale sharply, swinging your legs out of bed, your heart pounding against your ribs. “And you weren’t going to bring it up?”

“I—” Aaron sighs, slow and measured. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

A bitter laugh pushes past your lips before you can stop it. “Oh, it doesn’t matter?” You shake your head, pressing your palm against your temple. “Well the entire fucking internet thinks you two are Hollywood’s new power couple, and I can’t even blame them with the way you’re whispering in her ear and letting her put her hands all over you.”

Aaron groans. “Come on, it’s not like that.”

You push up from the bed, pacing the length of your bedroom. “Then what is it like, Aaron?”

“Jesus.” His voice drops lower, frustrated now. “It’s a fucking seating arrangement. She was next to me, we talked, cameras flashed. That’s all.”

You clench your jaw. “You definitely seemed to be enjoying yourself with her.”

He exhales, like he’s struggling to stay patient. “I was being polite. What was I supposed to? Just ignore her while she's trying to speak to me? It’s not that deep.”

You scoff. “Right. Gotta keep her comfortable. Wouldn’t want to be rude.”

Aaron exhales sharply. “Are you serious right now?”

Your jaw tightens. “Forget it.”

“No, really.” His voice is sharper, cutting through the phone. “You think I’m—what? Cheating on you?”

You exhale, voice light, careless. “Aaron, I said forget it. You’re a grown man, do what you want.”

Aaron exhales sharply. “Come on, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like this suddenly isn’t bothering you. I’m trying to talk to you.”

You tilt your head. “You’re right. I was annoyed. And then I realized how stupid it was to waste my energy worrying about things I can’t control.”

Aaron scoffs, his frustration bleeding through. “That’s a real poetic way to say ‘I don’t trust you.’”

You smile tightly, even though he can’t see it. “I trust you to do whatever you want to do.”

Aaron lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Wow. Got it.”

There’s a long pause.

Then, quieter, almost like a plea—“I need you to talk to me, baby.”

Your throat tightens, but you force your voice to stay light. “I am talking.”

“No, you’re shutting me out.” His voice is strained, low. “You do this every time.”

You swallow hard, keeping your expression neutral, even though there’s no one in the room to see it. “Aaron, I promise you—I’m fine. Seriously. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Another silence. This one feels heavy. Frustrated.

Then, voice tighter now—“Fine.”

“Good.”

A pause. Then—“Are we good?”

You hesitate.

Then, carefully— “We’re good. Have a great day.”

Aaron exhales, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he knows you’re just saying what you think you’re supposed to say.

You hear him shift on the other end of the line, like he wants to say more, but you don’t give him the chance.

“I’ll talk to you later,” you say, already pulling the phone from your ear.

Aaron exhales sharply, but before he can respond, you hang up.

---------

You know it’s toxic. You know.

But desperation makes you reckless.

You don’t trust words—you never have. Promises are just sounds strung together, and you learned a long time ago that actions hold all the weight. And Aaron? He hasn’t done anything to prove you’re still the woman he’d go to war for.

So tonight, you need to know.

You put on the shortest dress you own, something sleek and black that hugs every curve just right, and when you step into the club with your friends, you make sure to look happy. Carefree. Like nothing in the world is eating at you.

The second you walk in, the music vibrates through your bones. Your friends lead you to the VIP section, and within minutes, drinks are flowing, bodies are moving, and the night is alive with laughter.

You pose for group pictures with your friends and some of their male friends. Nothing explicit, nothing outright disrespectful, but just enough. Enough for someone to wonder. Enough for Aaron to see.

You don’t post them yourself. That would be too obvious.

Instead, you make sure your friends do, knowing damn well that Aaron—or someone who knows him—will find them.

And then?

You wait.

You sip your drink, lean into the music, and try to ignore the way your stomach churns with nerves. Because if this backfires, if Aaron doesn’t react at all—

That will tell you everything you need to know.

*One Hour Later*

Your phone vibrates against your thigh.

You knew it was coming.

Still, when you glance down and see Aaron’s name lighting up your screen, a sick sort of satisfaction curls through your chest.

You don’t answer.

He calls again.

Then again.

Then—

Text message after text message.

Aaron: Where the fuck are you? Aaron: Who are these fucking guys? Aaron: You think this is funny? Aaron: Answer your phone.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He’s pissed.

But that’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?

You: No thanks. You: Have a great night :)

You lock your phone before he can respond.

Then, you take another sip of your drink, letting the fire burn all the way down.

Your phone vibrates again. Another call.

Aaron’s name glares up at you like a warning.

You let it ring.

Your best friend, Camille, leans in, eyes flicking toward your still-ringing phone. “Are you gonna answer?”

You scoff. “Nope.”

“Seriously, though,” Camille presses. “What’s your endgame here?”

You open your mouth to respond, but your phone dings again—a text.

Aaron: Pick up the fucking phone.

Your stomach clenches.

Camille lets out a low whistle. “Damn. He’s mad mad.”

You roll your eyes, feigning nonchalance. “He’ll get over it.”

Another text comes through.

Aaron: You want my attention, sweetheart? You’ve got it.

Your breath hitches.

Then—one more.

Aaron: Let’s see how you feel when I give you a taste of your own medicine.

Your grip tightens around your phone.

Shit.

Your phone buzzes again. Aaron.

You swipe to accept the call, pressing a finger to your other ear to hear better over the pounding club music.

“You think this is funny?” His voice is low, sharp.

You blink, acting confused. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he mutters. “You’re out at a club, with a bunch of guys around you, drinking, posting shit all over the internet—”

You roll your eyes. “Are you serious? I'm out with my friends for the first time in months. That’s not a crime.”

A harsh exhale. “You didn’t tell me.”

Your brows knit together. “Since when do I have to?”

Aaron lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Since I’m your boyfriend.”

You pause. Your stomach clenches at the word. He’s never been the type to throw that around like a trump card.

“So let me get this straight,” you say, voice cold now. “You can be at all these events and parties every week, surrounded by famous women in gowns, but I can’t go to a club with my friends?”

“That’s different,” he finally says.

You scoff. “How?”

“I don’t go to clubs,” he snaps. “I don’t get drunk out of my mind. I go to work events that I'm contractually obligated to attend. There’s a difference.”

You bite your lip. Because that part is true. You’ve never seen Aaron out at clubs. But who would have the energy to go clubbing after the lineup of events he attends every week?

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” you say. “Those are Camille’s friends, they’re just at the table next to ours.”

Aaron exhales sharply. “I’m sending you a car.”

Your breath catches.

“What?”

“A car,” he repeats, voice tight. “An Uber. A driver. Whatever the fuck you want. Just go home.”

You blink. “Aaron—”

“I mean it,” he says roughly. “I don’t want you there anymore.”

You feel a flicker of irritation. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

His voice is deadly quiet. “No, but I can tell you that I don’t like this. And I know you don’t either.”

You hesitate. Because he’s right. You don’t even want to be here anymore.

Aaron exhales. “Go home, baby.” His voice is softer now, more like himself. “Please.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything for a long moment.

Then, finally—

“Fine.”

A slow, relieved exhale. “Good girl.”

And with that, he hangs up.

-------

You curl into yourself under the covers, your phone screen still glowing in the dark.

Aaron: Your driver’s outside. Let me know when you’re home.

You never responded.

Now, lying in bed, staring at your ceiling, your chest feels tight, like something is pressing down on it. You hate this. Hate that you feel like you’re losing him.

You squeeze your eyes shut. You won’t cry again.

But then your phone vibrates. The screen lights up.

A FaceTime call.

Aaron. Shocker.

Your fingers hover over the screen, your heart pounding. Then, before you can second-guess yourself, you answer.

Aaron’s face fills the screen. He’s leaning against the headboard, one arm resting on his knee, his expression unreadable. But the moment he sees you, his brows pull together.

"You been crying?"

Your stomach clenches. You hate how well he reads you.

You let out a small scoff, rolling onto your side. "What? No."

Aaron exhales, tilting his head, studying you through the screen. His jaw is tight, his blue-gray eyes sharp and searching.

"You’re lying," he murmurs.

You force a small smile. "I’m just tired."

His lips part slightly, like he wants to push, but instead, he sighs.

"You didn’t text me when you got home," he says.

You shrug. "I forgot."

He doesn’t believe you. You can tell by the way his fingers twitch where they rest on his knee, the way his jaw tenses like he’s biting back a hundred things he wants to say.

Aaron licks his lips, sighing. "You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?"

You keep your face neutral. "Likewise."

Aaron chuckles softly, shaking his head. Then, after a moment—

"What’s going on with you?"

Your breath catches. "Nothing."

His voice is rough now, insistent. "I can tell when something’s wrong. So tell me."

You chew your lip, staring at the screen, at the way his eyes are burning into you. "I just—" You hesitate. "I don’t know."

"Try," he presses.

You swallow hard. "I just feel… weird lately."

Aaron exhales. "Weird how?"

You don’t know how to answer that.

Weird because he’s suddenly everywhere. Weird because for the first time in years, he feels just out of reach. Weird because maybe he was never really yours to lose, and that realization is eating you alive.

Instead, you just shake your head. "I don't know."

His voice is sharper now, more impatient. "You always make me pry everything out of you."

Your throat tightens. "I don’t—"

His voice is insistent. "You’re clearly upset. And I don’t know why. And you’re not gonna sleep tonight if you don’t say it out loud, so—say it."

You shake your head. "Aaron—"

"Say it."

You swallow, staring at him through the screen. He’s watching you carefully, waiting, giving you that look that always makes you fold.

Your chest tightens.

"I just feel like we're drifting apart."

The words slip out before you can stop them.

Aaron stills. His expression doesn’t change, but something shifts behind his eyes.

"You’re in LA," you continue, voice barely above a whisper. "You’re at these big events, with these big names, and I’m here—alone. And it just..." You exhale sharply. "It feels like you’re leaving me behind."

Aaron’s jaw tenses. His fingers twitch slightly where they rest on his knee.

Aaron exhales, rubbing his temples. "Baby..."

"I see the pictures, Aaron," you cut in. "I see how good you fit in there. And I just…" You blink rapidly, fighting the burn in your eyes. "I don’t know if I fit in your life anymore."

Aaron’s face hardens. "Don’t say that."

"But it’s true," you murmur, swallowing the lump in your throat. "And it scares me."

Aaron’s expression softens, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Then come here."

Your breath catches.

"What?"

"Come to LA," he says simply.

You stare at him through the screen, your pulse hammering in your ears.

"Aaron…"

"You don’t have to decide to stay right away," he presses, voice rough. "Just come. Let me prove to you that you belong with me, no matter where the fuck I am."

Your throat tightens. "No."

Aaron’s brows furrow. "No?"

You shake your head. "You’re only asking me because you feel bad."

Aaron’s jaw clenches. "That’s not—"

"It is," you say, voice quieter now. "If I hadn’t said anything, you wouldn’t have asked. And I—" You exhale sharply. "I don’t wanna come because you pity me, Aaron. I wanna come because you want me there."

Aaron’s eyes darken,"You think I don’t want you here?"

You don’t answer.

Aaron swallows, staring at you for a long moment. Then, voice raw—

"I fucking hate that you feel like this."

You inhale shakily.

Aaron leans in slightly, his face inches from the screen. "You think I fit in here? You think I want to be at these parties, talking to people I don’t give a fuck about?" He exhales sharply. "I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner."

Aaron studies you, his eyes scanning your face. Then, voice softer, "Just tell me what you need. from me."

You swallow hard. "I don’t know."

Aaron exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Okay."

Silence.

Then, after a long pause, his voice barely above a whisper—

"I love you."

Your breath catches.

"I love you, and I’m not leaving you behind," he murmurs. "You belong with me. Always."

Your throat tightens, your vision blurring.

You bite your lip, nodding slightly. "I love you too."

Silence stretches between you as you drift off to sleep.

And for the first time in weeks—you finally feel like you’re not alone.

--------

The next day, your phone buzzes with a text while you're trying to sleep your hangover off.

You groan, blindly reaching for it, already knowing who it is.

Aaron: Check your email.

You swipe out of your messages, opening your inbox. A new email sits at the top of your screen.

You click it, eyes scanning over the subject line.

A flight itinerary.

Your stomach drops.

You scroll, scanning the details—first class, a direct flight to LA, departing tonight at 7 PM.

You barely have time to process before your phone buzzes again.

Aaron: Pack a bag.

Your pulse spikes.

You type quickly.

Me: Are you insane?

His response is immediate.

Aaron: Sometimes.

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Me: You really think this is gonna work?

Aaron: Yes.

You shake your head.

Me: What part of “I don’t want to come just because you feel bad” are you not understanding?

Aaron’s typing bubble pops up, then disappears, then pops up again.

Then, finally—

Aaron: If I wanted you here just because I felt bad, I would've just accepted your answer last night.

Your hands shake slightly as you type.

Me: This is crazy.

Aaron: So is pretending we’re fine like this.

You swallow hard.

Aaron: Baby.

Your heart stutters.

Aaron: Please.

Your throat tightens.

You don’t respond.

But you do start to pack.

You could keep fighting this. You could tell him you’re not ready, that you need time, that he needs to earn this.

But then what?

You’d go to bed alone again, your phone face-down on your nightstand, staring at the ceiling, missing him so much it feels like a physical ache in your chest.

And for what?

For pride?

For the illusion of control?

Aaron is home. And the truth is—you just want to go home, too.

-------

LAX – 11:42 PM

You step through the terminal, nerves buzzing under your skin.

Aaron told you he’d send a car. Told you to text when you landed.

But standing here, scanning the crowd—

He’s here.

No car. No driver. Just him.

Black hoodie pulled over his head, hands stuffed in his pockets, leaning against a pillar like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

Your breath catches, heart hammering against your ribs as his gaze locks onto yours.

He pushes off the pillar, walking toward you—slow, easy, certain.

"Hey, baby," he murmurs when he reaches you, voice low and warm.

You swallow hard. "Hey."

Aaron tilts his head, eyes sweeping over you. "Missed you."

You scoff, shifting your weight. "Yeah, well. You’re annoying."

His lips twitch. "So are you."

You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

Aaron steps closer, voice dropping. "You know what I think?"

You raise a brow. "Do I want to?"

He smirks. "I think you got on that plane because you couldn’t stand another night without me."

You cross your arms. "I think you should shut up before I get back on another plane."

Aaron chuckles, shaking his head. Then, softer—"Let’s go."

Your chest tightens, the fight in you crumbling piece by piece.

He reaches for your bag, pulling it off your shoulder before you can argue.

You should protest. You should roll your eyes and tell him to quit being so smug.

Instead, you let him take your bag.

And you let him take you home.

The ride to Aaron’s Airbnb is quiet, but the air is thick—heavy with something unspoken.

Your body is still tense, your mind still reeling. The past twenty-four hours have been a whirlwind of emotions. Aaron unlocks the door, stepping inside first, flicking on a few lights.

You hesitate.

This is his space. You’ve never been here before. The place he’s been living while you’ve been in New York, wondering if you even still fit into his life.

Aaron turns around, eyes catching yours. His brow furrows slightly, reading you instantly.

He steps forward, his voice softer now. "Come here."

You don’t move.

So he closes the space himself.

One hand reaches for your wrist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulls you inside, closing the door behind you.

And then, before you can say a single word—

His hands cup your face, his lips crashing onto yours.

Finally.

You gasp into his mouth, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he devours you, like he’s been waiting for this for months.

Aaron presses you back against the door, his body solid and warm against yours, his grip possessive as his fingers tangle in your hair.

"You have no idea," he murmurs against your lips, voice rough, needy, "how much I fucking missed you."

His mouth trails down your jaw, his breath hot, sending a violent shiver through you.

"You could’ve just asked me to come," you manage, barely above a whisper.

Aaron huffs a quiet laugh, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. "And miss the part where you tried to pretend you didn’t want to?"

You pull back just enough to glare at him. "That's not funny."

He smirks, thumb brushing over your cheek. "You still mad at me?"

You let out a breath, trying so hard to stay indignant, but he’s right here, touching you, kissing you—

And you’ve wanted this too much to stop now.

You forgot what it felt like to be with him.

To be wrapped in him, to feel like this was yours and no one else’s.

Your nails graze his scalp as you sigh against his lips. The past few months of distance, of doubt, of letting your own pride keep you from him—it all feels so stupid now. You hate how easily other women get to be around him, touching him, laughing with him, making the world believe they have a shot.

His free hand roughly palms your breast, kneading the soft flesh as his thumb circles your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. He can feel it pebbling under his touch, betraying your body's eager response to him.

"You can't resist me, can you, love?" he purrs, nipping at your earlobe. "No matter how mad you are, your body remembers who it belongs to."

"Don't be so sure of yourself," you pant, even as your back arches, pressing your breast more firmly into his palm. "I'm still pissed."

But your words lack conviction, undermined by the breathy quality of your voice and the way your thighs tremble, opening slightly in invitation. Aaron notices, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Really?" he murmurs, low and dangerous. In one swift motion, he hikes up your skirt and pushes your panties aside, his thick fingers caressing your folds. "Then why are you so wet for me already, hmm?"

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your hips buck. "Stop lying to yourself, love."

Two long fingers suddenly plunge knuckle-deep inside you, curling to stroke that sensitive spot. "Tell me how much you've missed this, baby."

You gasp sharply, head falling back as Aaron's fingers fill and stretch you so perfectly. "Fuck, Aaron…"

Your inner walls flutter and clench around the intrusion, drawing him deeper. "I-I've missed you so much." you admit.

He curls his fingers just right, rubbing insistently against your G-spot as his thumb flicks rapidly over your clit. "I know, baby."

You moan wantonly, grinding down onto Aaron's fingers as they work magic inside you. "Ahhh…f-fuck, just like that…"

He growls lowly as he suddenly withdraws his fingers, leaving you aching and empty right as you were approaching your release. "Not yet, love. Did you think I was gonna let you come that easily after what you pulled last night?"

In one smooth motion, he scoops you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you to his bedroom, and puts you down next to his king sized bed. "Strip for me. Nice and slow."

You slowly remove your disheveled clothing, revealing your curves inch by tantalizing inch. You keep your gaze locked with Aaron's, a defiant glint in your eyes despite the blush coloring your cheeks.

He unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans, freeing his throbbing erection. He strokes himself slowly as he watches you strip. "Fuck, look at you… so fucking sexy. You drive me crazy, you know that?"

He climbs on the bed and leans back against the headboard. Stroking his dick slowly, eyeing you with intense desire and a hint of challenge. "Come here, baby. Show me how much you missed this dick."

You straddle Aaron's lap, positioning yourself over his throbbing erection. You tease him, rubbing the tip along your slick folds. "Like this, baby?"

You sink down slowly, inch by delicious inch, until he's fully seated inside your tight heat. A low moan escapes your lips at the feeling of being so perfectly stretched and filled after so long.

He groans deeply as your tight walls engulf him, gripping his shaft like a velvet vice. "Fuck yes, just like that."

He grips your hips tightly, guiding your movements as you start to roll your hips, riding him slowly. "That's it. Show me how bad you needed this dick."

Your hands rest on his broad chest for leverage, nails lightly scraping his skin. "Mmmnh… I did need this… needed you so badly…"

He grunts and thrusts up into you, meeting you stroke for stroke. One hand moves to your ass, gripping and kneading the soft flesh as he guides your movements.

Your breasts bounce enticingly with each movement, nipples hardened into stiff peaks. You throw your head back in ecstasy, lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly filled and pleased. “Ahhh... fuck Aaron... I missed you so much...”

He groans appreciatively as he watches you lose yourself in pleasure, reveling in the sight of your body moving so beautifully above him. “That's it, baby... let go for me.”

He leans up to capture one of your bouncing nipples in his mouth, suckling and nibbling the sensitive bud as his hand snakes between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. “Cum for me, darling.”

You cry out sharply as Aaron's skilled fingers find your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Ahhh... fuuuck... I'm gonna cum!”

Your movements become erratic, chasing your impending release. Tears of overwhelming emotion prick at the corners of your eyes. Despite your reluctance to express your feelings, you cant help but say, “I love you. I never want to be apart from you again.”

With a final roll of your hips, your orgasm crashes over you. Your inner muscles clamp down rhythmically on Aaron's dick. “FUCKKK!”

With a few more powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his own release overtaking him.

He holds you tightly against his chest as he pulses and throbs within you, filling you with his hot seed.

Panting heavily, he presses fervent kisses along your neck and jawline, each one searing with need, but also with something else—something deeper, something he’s been holding onto for too long. “God, I love you so fucking much... Never doubt that, okay?” His words are rough, filled with raw emotion, and they send a wave of warmth and longing rushing through you.

He cups your face tenderly, his fingers tracing the delicate contours of your skin, his gaze intense and unwavering. His eyes shine with adoration and lingering passion as he gazes at you, making you feel both vulnerable and cherished in the same breath. “We’re in this together, always. I promise.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, like a rush of relief flooding through your chest. His sincerity washes over you, but you can’t stop the overwhelming emotions threatening to spill out. You pull back slightly to meet his gaze, needing to look him in the eye as your own shimmer with unshed tears and raw emotion.

“I’m sorry I have such a hard time expressing my feelings, I don’t know why I’m like this,” you whisper, the words slipping from your lips before you can even think about holding them back.

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he wipes a stray tear from your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across the skin, his touch soft, yet grounding. He studies your face with that same loving gaze, his expression soft and understanding, but there’s a hint of something deeper—concern, perhaps, or even a touch of hurt.

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, his voice a whisper that feels like the calm after a storm. “I do wish you felt safe enough to tell me anything after all these years. I want to be the person you lean on when you’re struggling with your feelings.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly you’re flooded with guilt. You knew how much he cared, how deeply he loved you, but hearing him say it, hearing him speak of his own pain at the wall you’ve built between you—it hurts. You feel like you’ve let him down, like you’ve betrayed the very trust he’s shown you. He’s right. He’s always been right. And still, you kept walls up like he was the enemy, when he’s only ever reached out with open hands.

You’re horrified that he thinks he doesn’t create an emotionally safe environment for you when that’s so far from the truth. “It’s not your fault at all,” you say, your voice cracking slightly, “I’ve always been this way. I’ve always been so scared of being vulnerable, scared of needing someone too much.” You feel the weight of those words as they leave your mouth, and a part of you knows they’ve been trapped in you for so long that it’s finally time to let them out.

Aaron watches you for a long moment, his thumb still brushing softly across your cheek like he’s trying to calm something in you that’s always been just out of reach.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he says. “You don’t even have to be ready. But you do have to let me in. That’s the only way this can work.”

You look away, jaw tightening. But he doesn’t let you escape into silence this time.

“Don’t do that,” he says gently. “Don’t shut down. Not now. Talk to me. Say what you’ve been wanting to say since I left.”

You bite your lip, your throat tight.

“I hated waking up alone every day,” you admit. “I hated not knowing if you were thinking about me, not knowing if I still mattered in a world that suddenly couldn’t get enough of you. I hated seeing your name in headlines next to someone else’s face. I hated that I couldn’t tell anyone you were mine. I hated that you didn’t seem to care.”

You pause, breath shaky.

“I used to wait for your name to pop up on my phone like it was oxygen. And when it didn’t... I’d lie to myself. I’d tell myself you were too busy. That I was being needy. That this is what I signed up for. That you already had so much on your plate.”

Aaron’s expression doesn’t waver. He doesn’t flinch or deflect or turn away.

He listens.

And then, he speaks—voice low but firm.

“You should’ve told me all of that the first night you felt it.”

“I know,” you whisper.

“I should’ve done better,” he says. “I should’ve made sure you never had to wonder if you still mattered to me.”

“I got caught up in it all,” he admits. “The press, the schedule, the pressure. I kept telling myself you understood, that you were strong, that you’d wait for me to get my shit together.” His eyes find yours, full of something honest and unguarded. “But that wasn’t fair to you."

You look down, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know how to ask for more without feeling like I was asking for too much.”

His hand lifts to your cheek, tilting your face gently back to him.

“You’re never too much,” he says, his voice soft but laced with that familiar teasing edge. “I love knowing how obsessed you are with me.”

You roll your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching despite the weight in your chest. “You make it hard to stay mad.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

There’s a silence that settles between you then—not empty, but full. Heavy with all the things that no longer have to be said in the dark, or buried beneath pride.

“I don’t want to live in separate lives anymore,” he says after a beat.

Your heart skips.

“I want you here,” he says. “Permanently. Let’s find a place that’s ours. Start fresh. I know it’s a lot to ask—starting over, uprooting your life. But I’ll support you. If you want to work, work. If you want to take your time, do that too. I just want to know that I get to come home to you.”

You let out a slow breath, all your old defenses still rising like reflexes—but you push through them this time.

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “Do it scared.”

You let out a breath that feels like it’s been caught in your chest for months. “We're being so fucking dramatic right now. Have you been stealing lines from your scripts again?”

He chuckles, sliding his arms around your waist again. “You say that like you didn’t just admit you waited for my texts like oxygen.”

You bury your face into his chest, groaning. “Can we not bring that up ever again?”

There’s still fear threading through your chest, still questions and doubts lingering in the corners of your mind. But for once, they’re not winning. Because he’s here, and you feel something you haven’t in months.

Home.

Not a place. Not a plan. Just him. Just you. Still choosing each other.

Even scared. Especially then.

------

A/N: Here is the story I mentioned earlier that inspired the club scene a bit: Read Here.

[writingsbytee]

Mrs.Officer

~~~~~

One Shot | Terry Richmond x Fem!Reader | Smut 18+

Yeah, doin' a buck in the latest drop I got stopped by a lady cop, haha She got me thinking I can date a cop, haha Cause her uniform fit her so tight She read me my rights She put me in her car, she cut off all the lights She said I have the right, to remain silent Now I got her hollering, sounding like a siren

Description: As a joke you fake arrest your husband Terry and things get just a tad bit heated.

Warnings: Fuckin tbh, just two folks fuckin :/

~~~~~

This day honestly couldn’t get any more boring. You’ve been at work since 6am and now it’s 8pm. You were supposed to BEEN off but your shitty coworkers don’t know how to come to work and that’s your problem because…oh okay.

The sun was long gone, no lights, no sign of life, no nothing. The world just seemed at peace when the night hit. You’re job of course had you patrolling the one street in town that nobody drives in after 7pm but of course, anything for the safety of the citizens. At this point you just wanted to get home lay with your husband and sleep. The thought of laying in your bed after the day sounded heavenly.

-

Once 9pm hit it was nearly impossible to keep your eyes open. You could feel yourself fading in and out. You reached over and cracked a redbull open before downing it and one go. You had to stay up. You picked up your phone and looked for the music app pushing shuffle on your rap along playlist.

The introduction to ‘Mrs.Officer’ by Lil Wayne started playing and you grinned. This was your jam. It was ironic and you loved the connection you could make to your life. It was a good song to get out of your sleep deprived funk.

Yeah, doin' a buck in the latest drop I got stopped by a lady cop

You started bobbing your head and drumming your fingers on the wheel to this beat. Finally getting some type of entertainment on this boring night. But of course as always something had to ruin your mood. A car speeding by coming out of no where. With a sigh you flipped your lights and sirens on and pulled behind the driver.

Looking closer you realized you didn't need to run the plates, you knew the car. Goddamn Terry, you shook your head at the reckless behavior your husband was showing but then you realized you could have little fun with this. Might as well not lose the only entertainment you have for the night. Right??

She got me thinking I could date a cop

You put the car in park and walked to the driver side window; Terry's eyes widen when he realized his wife just pulled him over. You adjusted your glasses lower for some added drama and lowered your voice.

"Evening sir" you said in a comically low tone. "Do you know how fast speeding just now?"

Sensing the playful energy radiating off of you he smirked leaning forward. "Um definitely the legal speed limit."

You scoff at his audacity. "Uh huh license and regulation please."

Cuz her uniform fit her so tight

He laughs while handing the items over. "You're not gonna arrest me are you love?" He asked while chuckling while looking you up and down in your uniform; he always loved how you look in it.

You ignored him and proceeded to make a look or recognition at his ID picture. You dramatically grabbed your radio. "Dispatch I have eyes on the suspect. I repeat I have eyes on the suspect."

She read me my rights

"Sir you're gonna have to come with me" you stated while taking out your handcuffs.

He laughed playing along. "Alright alright, I'm coming" He steps out the car and puts his hands up. You cuffed him and began to walk to your cop car. Jokily shoving him to walk faster.

She put me in the car, She cut off all the lights.

You lead him to the cruiser and put him in the backseat. After making sure he was comfortable you went up front to turn off the lights leaving you in semi darkness but you caught snippet of the song playing on loop. And lets just say; well you got a few ideas on how to pass the time.

She said I have the right, to remain silent.

You went back to the back door and opened it getting in the backseat with a still handcuffed Terry. "You have the right to remain silent and blah blah blah." You trailed off as you embraced him in a slow kiss. Terry attempting to deepen it but failing. Sensing your change in energy he turnt to pleading.

"Come on mamas uncuff me so I can at least have a chance." You pretended to think. "Hmmmm I don't think so." you playfully responded.

Now I got her hollering sounding like a siren Talking' bout (wee-oh wee-oh wee)

His lips pound yours again and you responded in a steady rhythm. Both your tongues darting out attempting to deepen the kiss. Without breaking the kiss you palmed him through his jeans, Terry released a low moan causing you to pull back and smirk at him. He gulped at how bold you were being and sorta regretted not trying to convince you harder to take the cuffs off. You were going to be the death of him. It would be a pretty death. He couldn't help but to take in your beauty. Even in times like this he liked to sit and appreciate what life gave to him.

"You are truly out our this universe my love." he confessed. You loved how reassuring your husband was in times like this it made it all the while better. It was sweet and romantic but y'all didn't have time for slow. So you'd have to do with sweet sensual fuckin.

With one hand you gripped and rubbed the tent and with the other you caressed the sides of his face and neck. There was no time to take off anything that wasn't necessary. What y'all were doing was risky and it had to be done quick. But that doesn't mean you couldn't enjoy yourself the entire time.

You reached down and unbuttoned his pants. He lifted his hips while you pulled it and his boxers down in one go before reach for your own pants and pulling it down and moving your panties to the side. There was time to fully take anything off. Knowing you were already wet you hurried with taking his dick in your hand and guiding it to your pussy.

You rubbed his dick on your clit before slowly entering his tip. You pressed a kiss to his lips and took him in in one go.

"Fuck" You both cursed and gasped. You started fucking yourself on him fasting and faster. You grabbed his jaw forcing him to look up at you. Watching him fall apart purely through his eyes. You quickly peck his lips before reach behind him and undoing his cuffs.

He sprung into action grabbing your hips and slamming you back down on his length repeatedly. The next so much deeper than the previous.

"Fuck Terry, fuckin' me so good right now." You placed both of your hands on each side of his head and kissed him.

"Damn right, look at you creamin on this dick. Marking it as yours." He mumbled into your ear. You can feel his heavy breathing on the side of your face but it only turns you on further knowing you can get your man breathless like this.

Other than that the sound of skin smacking is the only sound that reaches your ears. You wrapped your arms around him when you felt yourself getting close. Sensing it his grip on your hips tighter and his thrust gets faster. You're sure you're gonna have a bruised pussy and body, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

With a cry both you you both climaxed together. Both shuddering at the intensity of it.

After we got done, I said..

After a moment of silence Terry broke it with a joke."Baby what's your number?" You snorted and responded "911".