Archive of Our Own

Initial notes: We’ve never had a non-binary character around here before, but today we do. Thanks to the dears shessoniceladyyy and Kaw_criaDeZaun for enriching this plot and for making sure I couldn’t think about anything other than MILF Caitlyn <3

My X: XBlackOiran
My Bluesky: BlackOiran

_

P.O.V Violet

The coffee had already gone past drinkable, but I kept holding the mug as an excuse to stay there, leaning against the balcony railing. It was just another hot, dull morning until the sound of wheels broke the silence.

That’s when I saw her for the first time.

A light blue dress, airy, dancing with the breeze. Hair slightly graying at the roots, pinned up in a charming bun, and a fruit basket resting elegantly against her hip. She wore round prescription glasses with a thin, dark frame, and even with the light hitting the glass, I could see her eyes.

Eyes that said she knew exactly where she was and the effect she had.

I followed her movement until she stopped at the gate. Suddenly, she lifted her face in my direction. Saw me. And smiled.

“Good morning,” she said, taking off her glasses for a moment, as if she wanted to see me better. “That attentive stare… neighborly curiosity, or a nosy old man?”

I tried not to stutter.

“An admirer, maybe.”

She raised an eyebrow. That full, well-shaped eyebrow.

“Oh, I see. You’re new around here?”

“Not exactly. I live right next door. But you… I’d definitely remember if I’d seen you before.”

“Oh,” she said, with that effortless charm, “you must be confusing me with someone else. Age makes us resemble half a dozen faces from the past. But it’s my first time living in this building.”

“Impossible to confuse you,” I murmured, more to myself than to her.

She adjusted the basket on her arm and stepped a little closer to the entrance.

“Well then, nice to meet you, neighbor. Caitlyn. I’ve just moved in with the full package: grown children, a small grandson, and a non-negotiable habit of buying fresh fruit every week. It’s a pleasure, dear.”

“Neighbor.” The way she said the word landed differently. I hesitated for half a second. I thought about correcting her. But something in me froze. Maybe fear of breaking the moment. Maybe just cowardice.

“Violet,” I replied, with a restrained smile. “I… like fruit too.”

“What a lovely coincidence,” she said, smiling with her eyes. “I bought some Fuji apples that are sweet like they should be. If you want, stop by 405 later. Just for the fruit, of course.”

She started up the steps, the dress swaying behind her. She stopped on the second one and turned her face slightly.

“And you can bring the coffee mug. I promise something fresher.”

I stayed there, holding the hot cup like it was some kind of amulet. My heart was pounding like I was fifteen again.

“Just for the fruit,” I repeated softly, not believing it myself.

Caitlyn disappeared inside the building.

And I stayed there on the balcony, with a stupid smile on my face and the feeling that I’d just opened the wrong door, or maybe the right one, finally.

After a while, I seriously considered the offer. What did I have to lose? I already had the no. Now it was time to embarrass myself, maybe.

I stood planted in front of apartment 405, hands sweating and a mental apple spinning in my head like a scratched record. I rang the doorbell with my index finger, trying to look like a normal person who wasn’t about to talk to the hottest older woman of his wildest desires.

The door opened with a soft creak and there she was. Round glasses resting elegantly on her nose, a light dress, and a scent of fresh seasoning that felt like it came straight out of a movie where everyone finds love in the end.

Perfect blue eyes.

“Hi, dear,” she said, smiling with her eyes.

I swallowed hard. That had to be illegal.

“Hi… I came for the apples. And for the smell, if there are still portions available.”

She let out a light chuckle and turned on her heels.

“I’m in grandma mode today. Made too much food, as always. Come in.”

I closed the door behind me. The kitchen was organized but lived-in, full of spice jars, floral dish towels, and small details that made everything warmer than the stove.

“I was going to make instant noodles for my little sister, Isha,” I said, eyeing the pots with some embarrassment. “But maybe this will save me from committing a culinary crime.”

Caitlyn turned immediately, hands on her hips, wearing a theatrically indignant expression.

“Instant noodles? For a child?”

“She likes them, I swear! And I’m a disaster in the kitchen, so…”

“A charming disaster, perhaps,” she murmured, grabbing a huge bowl from the cabinet. “But still a disaster.”

She began serving a generous portion of something with vegetables, a divine smell, and… that was what they called care, right?

We sat down. The table was small, tucked into a corner, and our legs almost touched. We ate in silence for a few seconds. I was too absorbed in the flavors and her small smiles to start a conversation.

I subtly noticed that one of her eyes didn’t quite follow the movement of the other and was slightly duller, almost certainly a glass eye. I didn’t comment, didn’t stare for too long.

“You live with your sister?” she asked.

“Yes, two of them. We look after each other,” I said, wiping my mouth with the napkin. “Since our parents… well, long story. But Isha is only seven. I’m kind of everything: sibling, parent, dishwasher, and babysitter.”

She looked at me more closely then. Those blue eyes sparkled as if they’d stumbled upon something.

“Brother, huh?” she asked slowly.

“Ah, yes. It’s just that… I identify as non-binary. Neither he nor she, you know?”

She bit her lip lightly, as if searching for a reference point.

“Hmm. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like that. But… you fit well enough as a young man, at least to me. If you don’t mind, I’d rather stick with the masculine. Out of habit.”

I smiled, not offended at all. It wasn’t every day that someone older made that much effort just to avoid messing up badly.

“It’s fine, you can call me whatever you want. As long as you keep serving this incredible food.”

She let out a soft little laugh, a bit relieved.

“You know you’ve got way too pretty a smile to be fighting over pronouns, right?”

“Now you’re trying to kill me with nerves.”

She got up and came back with two apples. One of them was bruised on one side, but it gleamed under the kitchen light.

“This one’s the sweetest. The bruised ones always are.”

I accepted it like an offering from the sapphic gods.

“Thank you. Really. This… all of this… was way better than I expected when I woke up today.”

“Well, sweetheart,” she said, glancing sideways, “you look like someone who needs real food more than you realize.”

She packed the stew into a huge container, sealed it carefully, and handed it to me along with the apples. Her hands brushed mine for a second longer than necessary. It felt like a small domestic fire.

“Take it to your sister. And try to learn how to cut an onion, for the love of everything.”

“Are you trying to domesticate me?”

“Maybe. Could be my way of saying I liked you.”

I left with a heavy bag, a lighter heart, and a pleasant confusion in my stomach—and it wasn’t just the stew. She was like those stories you start knowing you’re going to suffer, but you keep reading anyway.

And me, of course, I was already turning too many pages.

I practically skipped back to my apartment, like Bambi¹.

The smell invaded the place before I even took the lid off the container. Warm, comforting, full of spices I definitely didn’t have at home — or in life. The kind of smell that hugs you without touching.

Isha appeared first, wearing her shirt inside out and a sock slung over her shoulder, eyes shining.

“Y-y-y-you m-m-m-made th-th-this?”

“Almost. I got it. From the new neighbor.”

She came closer with a spoon in hand like she was approaching a sacred offering.

“W-w-w-who?”

“Caitlyn. Round glasses, beautiful hair, an elegance that makes even an elevator feel like a runway.”

“A-a-a-and sh-she m-m-made it f-f-for m-m-me?”

“For us. But you can pretend it’s just for you if that makes you happy.”

Isha took a spoonful, blew on it carefully, and put it in her mouth. Her face lit up like she’d eaten a piece of sunlight.

“It t-t-tastes l-l-like… m-m-mom f-food!”

I laughed, making room for her to serve herself more.

“Yeah. She’s talented with her hands. And she’s got a smile that would make even a saint sin.”

That was when Powder appeared in the living room doorway, arms crossed, wearing her classic what mess did you make now face.

“Red alert. Violet accepted food from a strange woman upstairs.”

“Good afternoon to you too, middle sister.”

“This smells like a trap. Did she give you a nice container too?”

“Huge. And yes, with a lid. A real one. No chips, no suspicious sauce stains.”

“She might be trying to poison you.”

“I already ate it. With her. I’m very much alive. Unless the poison is charm and maturity.”

Powder raised an eyebrow.

“Oh no… don’t tell me you’ve got a crush on the old lady.”

“First, she’s mature, not old. Second, have you seen the way she raises an eyebrow? That’s art. A monument of a woman.”

Powder pointed at me with a cynical look.

“You’ve got a track record, Violet. And so does your browser. ‘Milf bakery AU,’ ‘movies with strict teachers,’ ‘how to win over an elegant widow’—I’ve seen it, okay?”

“You’re invasive, Powder!”

“You’re predictable, Violet.”

Isha took another spoonful, bouncing with joy.

“I-I-I w-w-want t-t-to e-e-eat th-this e-e-every d-d-day!”

“See? Isha approves. Not every gesture from a beautiful, older woman is a sinister plot.”

“I still think it’s a plan. You’re just rooting for it to work.”

“I am. Obviously.”

Powder sighed and dropped onto the couch.

“I’m just asking one thing. If she starts wearing long skirts and talking about chakras, run. And take Isha with you.”

“Noted. But until then, I’m going to enjoy the seasoning and the sexual tension.”

Isha laughed without understanding half of it, and Powder just shook her head with a small smile.

That night, we ate with real appetite. Even with the teasing, the exaggerated concern, Isha’s cute stutter and Powder’s drama, it was one of those simple moments that felt more right than most things. And maybe, just maybe, I really did have a weakness for women who knew how to use fresh herbs and spoke with a slightly severe tone.
But I swear, it wasn’t just that. She also made a god-tier stew.

Time skip.

I woke up before the alarm, the room still soaked in that blue light that isn’t night but isn’t day either. My breathing was a little heavier than usual. My body was still dreaming, but my mind was already awake — and full of her.

Caitlyn.

The way she adjusted her glasses with her index finger, like she thought a thousand things before saying just one. The home-cooked food, the mature way she looked at people… and the smile. God. That smile had more warmth than any blanket.

Fuck. I’d only seen her once.

I rolled onto my side, trying to ignore the heat building up. Useless. Testosterone had me at a rolling boil. And with her in my head, it was like trying to put out a fire with positive thinking.

I grabbed my laptop from the nightstand, hesitating. I promised myself I’d only check emails. My hands, however, were not interested in keeping promises.

I opened the browser. And typed, almost embarrassed.

Haha no Tomodachi² online.

I’d known that manga for a long time. Mature women, forbidden relationships, that detailed, almost gentle art style… I flipped through a few pages. The character’s tied-up hair reminded me of hers. The careful looks. The slow dialogue, thick with tension.

It turned me on like hell, and thinking about her came automatically.

My hands slid over my abdomen. It still wasn’t the body I wanted, but it wasn’t the old one either. Firm. Defined. My finger traced the muscles like it needed proof they were real. Like it wanted to know if she’d notice.

I moved my hand lower, slowly, while reading one of the manga’s lines:

“You smell like something good, you know?”

That was something Caitlyn would say. Or think. Or maybe it was just something I wanted to hear in her voice.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and all I saw was her on the balcony, round glasses perched at the tip of her nose.

“You have a charming smile.”

My chest tightened. My body reacted before the rest of me could catch up.

I sighed, deep. And let the sensation take over.

The cursor blinked on the screen as I slowly scrolled down the pages. My eyes lingered on the details of the art, the curve of breasts, the way the older character smiled calmly even in the most intimate moments. It made me think of her — the neighbor from 405. What would her breasts be like? How did she moan? Would she keep that same calm expression while coming hard?

I caught myself biting my lip, body tense, barely moving. My hips wanted something, but my hand still hesitated. My clit was still covered, like there was an invisible barrier between wanting and doing.

I ran my fingers along the edge of my shorts, only feeling the fabric, not crossing it. I opened a few more pages, saw a few images, read a few speech bubbles and then there she was. The character, lying down, wearing that serene expression — so much like hers — eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open, like she was at peace in the middle of chaos.

My chest tightened. My body reacted again, stronger this time. Like some internal dam had cracked. I couldn’t resist anymore.

I let out a sigh, the kind of muffled sound you only make when no one’s around. My hand moved down, slow, caught between curiosity and reverence. The heat was so intense it felt like it was radiating from the screen. Like she was there with me.

And for a few minutes… I let it be.

My shorts were damp, clinging to my body. Every new page seemed to soak the fabric even more, like desire was overflowing before any direct touch. My eyes traced every line, every shadow in the manga, absorbing the details — the kisses, the drawn whispers, the parted lips.

I started to fantasize. Not just about touch, but about textures. Taste. Color. I remembered how lip color often hinted at other places, and my imagination ran far. I thought about Caitlyn’s dark hair, the contrast with her skin, the earthy tone I imagined on her nipples — firm, mature, familiar in desire.

I pulled my shorts aside just enough to reach myself, my center already rigid, vibrating with the intensity of the morning. Hormones had changed my body more than I’d realized, and the touch, even subtle, hit hard. I used my middle finger, precise circular motions. I didn’t need anything more than that. Desire was already doing the rest.

I focused on an image. That expression. The same look she had when she smiled at me through the lenses of her round glasses. My hips started moving almost without me noticing, panting, frustrated by the distance between fantasy and reality. I pictured myself with her. In her sheets. With her in my lap.

The image caught me off guard, a bolder, rawer panel. The manga character had half-lidded eyes, an expression of serene pleasure so similar to Caitlyn’s smile that it stole my breath. A shiver ran down my spine, and my hips moved almost on instinct. The idea of using my packer³, of being inside her, fucking that pussy hard until she came.

I sped up my finger around my clit, pressing harder, feeling the soft texture, the tremors, the wetness. I was right on the edge, all because of her.

My hand squeezed my hot core harder, I held my clit between my fingers and started pumping, and within seconds I felt my body tip into orgasm. Warm liquid coated my fingers, and a sigh slipped out before I could stop it. My heart raced, my body pulsed. And then… the heavy silence.

I stayed there, still slightly curled in on myself, the laptop open with the last image frozen on the screen. Sweat at the nape of my neck, uneven breathing… and that slow wave of guilt seeping in, mixing with the heat still burning on my skin. I didn’t know if she was married. I’d never asked. Did she wear a ring? I hadn’t noticed. And even if she didn’t… was it right to fantasize like that?

I sat up straight, trying to ignore the discomfort of damp fabric in my shorts. I rubbed my hands over my face, stifling a nervous laugh. Fuck. She’d just been kind. Gave me apples, food, and here I was, thinking about… all of this.

But it was stronger than me. The way she spoke, the way she moved. The warmth in her voice, the care in every word. The way her round glasses framed that calm but intense gaze. I was obsessed. And now… a little embarrassed too.

I took a deep breath and closed the laptop.

“You’ve gotta be losing your mind…” I muttered, staring at the ceiling.

But even wrapped in that lukewarm guilt, one thought wouldn’t leave me. What if she wanted me too?

I’d barely finished pulling myself together when I heard quick knocks on my bedroom door.

“Vi! You up already?” Powder’s voice came from the hallway, impatient.

Before I could answer, she pushed the door open with her elbow, balancing a mug of coffee and giving me that look she used when she was analyzing me like I was an overly easy puzzle.

I jumped, yanking the blanket over my lap, heart racing.

“Powder! Knock and wait, at least!”

“I figured you were dead from how quiet it was. But now…” She raised an eyebrow. “My God. Were you… seriously? First thing in the morning?”

“Shhh!” I shoved the pillow over my face, red down to my soul. “Do you have no filter?”

“Violet, it’s eight thirty in the morning! The sun hasn’t even warmed up and you’re already… exploring yourself?”

“It’s self-knowledge, okay? Respect my journey.”

She laughed loudly and dropped into the armchair by the window, crossing her legs with a smug grin.

“Just don’t tell me it was about that milf neighbor with the glasses, because that’d be too much.”

“Powder, shut up.”

“Knew it. Obvious. You can’t resist an older woman with a deep voice and the posture of an erotic-movie librarian.”

“I did not say that.”

“But you thought it. And I bet you’ve got some manga saved on that laptop. I’m betting it’s all milf cowboy stuff.”

“She’s not a cowboy!”

“Not yet. But if she ever shows up wearing a hat and leather boots, that’ll be your fault. You’ll melt in the building lobby.”

I threw the pillow at her, but she dodged easily and laughed.

“You’re unbearable, Powder.”

“And you’re predictable. Any woman with her hair tied up, a pair of glasses, and a serious vibe, and boom, Violet builds a massive fanfic in her head. Just be careful not to take a poisoned apple from the old witch, okay?”

I sighed, covering part of my face with my hand, half embarrassed, half laughing.

She exaggerated. Just a little.

After Powder left, I took a deep breath and went straight to the shower. Hot water running down my neck helped calm the storm that seemed to live between my thoughts and my body. I didn’t like having to get myself off so early in the morning, but sometimes it was the only way to start the day with a clear head.

It was almost a ritual. Masturbate to sleep, masturbate to wake up. My body demanded it, and ignoring it only made everything harder.

I washed my hair, letting the foam rinse away slowly. When I got out, I wrapped the towel around my waist and started sorting through dirty clothes, especially my underwear, hiding everything carefully. Just in case Isha wandered into my room looking for a colored pencil and ran into something embarrassing.

Better safe than mortified.

I chose a plain black shirt, simple and basic. I hesitated before picking up the packer. In everyday life it was usually uncomfortable, sometimes it shifted out of place or showed more than I wanted. But today… today I wanted to feel good about myself. I grabbed the smallest one. I positioned it slightly to the side, then more centered, until I found a spot where it sat snug against my groin. I used a firmer pair of underwear to keep everything in place. I looked at myself in the mirror, adjusting the shirt over my pants.

“Not too much, not too little,” I thought. “Perfect.”

In the kitchen, I put some crackers in a bowl and poured a glass of grape juice, just the way Isha liked it. She appeared soon after, her short curly hair a bit messy, a sleepy little smile on her face.

“G-g-good morning, Vi.”

“Good morning, cupcake. Come on, let’s go down.”

She held my hand as we walked to the elevator. When the doors opened, there she was. Caitlyn. Glasses resting on her nose, a hardcover book in hand, wearing a wine colored knit sweater and comfortable pants. Her hair was tied up in a slightly loose bun.

She smiled as soon as she saw us.

“Oh, Violet. And who is this lovely young lady?”

Isha shrank a little behind me, squeezing my fingers.

“This is Isha, my little sister.”

“Hi, Isha. What a beautiful name. May I say hello?”

Isha nodded shyly and held out her hand, a bit hesitant.

“I-I-I… l-like… b-b-bro… broc-broccoli.”

Caitlyn crouched slightly to get to her level, her eyes lighting up.

“You like broccoli? That’s wonderful! I’m always trying to convince my grandson to eat it, but he turns his nose up. You’re very special, you know?”

Isha smiled, excited by the response, which made her stutter a little more.

“I-I… l-like it… w-with cheese. C-cheese, grated.”

“I think you just gave me a great dinner idea. Broccoli with cheese. Who can resist?”

The elevator doors closed and we went down. I watched how natural Caitlyn was with her. No rush. No discomfort. She listened to every word attentively, respected the pauses, waited for sentences to finish.

“She has such an adorable way about her. And the way she speaks… it has its own charm.”

“She stumbles a bit more when she’s excited. Or nervous. But she always finds a way to make herself understood.”

Caitlyn looked at me over her glasses, smiling softly.

“You’re lucky to be such a caring sibling. It’s beautiful to see.”

“I try. She’s… my weak spot.”

Without hesitation, Isha tugged at my shirt.

“Vi… I-I l-liked her h-h-hair. It’s v-very p-pretty.”

“Tell her that.”

She shook her head, embarrassed, but smiled again.

Caitlyn gently touched her shoulder.

“If you’d like, one day we can braid yours. My hair gets rebellious sometimes too.”

When the elevator stopped, she waved goodbye warmly.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Isha. And seeing you, Violet. I hope we run into each other again. With or without broccoli.”

She gave a small wink before stepping out into the lobby. Isha looked at me like she’d just made friends with a fairy.

“She’s b-b-beautiful, Vi. And s-sm-smells…”

“Smells good. I know. I noticed too.”

After the one single, completely useless college class of the day, I decided I wasn’t going to waste anything else. I picked Isha up early from school and, since Powder was going out with her wannabe-poet boyfriend, I thought, “Perfect. Free night. Just us.”

We got home and went straight into chaos. Shoes off, I messed up Isha’s hair, threw on a comfy hoodie, and turned the speaker up to a volume that would’ve gotten me grounded if my mom lived with us. Everything was playing. Old pop, old-school forró, funk, and even a song from the Encanto soundtrack⁴ that Isha loved screaming during the chorus.

We danced with a pack of crackers in one hand, guaraná in the other, Isha’s laughter echoing through the apartment.

Everything was perfect… until the doorbell rang like someone was trying to break the door down with their finger.

I went to answer, already preparing to apologize, but when I opened it… it was her.

But not the elegant elevator neighbor. This was an alternate version, some kind of multiverse Caitlyn.

She had hair rollers in her bangs. Yes, rollers. She was wearing a worn-out sweatshirt, an unlit cigarette between her lips, and holding a crying baby in her arms, the grandson she’d mentioned. The crying wasn’t just the baby’s. Hers looked like it wanted to come out too.

“Is this a rave daycare or a sound check for a parade truck?! I have a child inside my house, you know?!”

“Good evening to you too, neighbor,” I replied with a sarcastic little smile.

“Good evening my ass! I’ve changed three diapers, burned the rice, and now this kid is in vuvuzela mode. Want to know why? Your little party. The MUSIC. The CHAOS. And this one?” She pointed at Isha, who looked at me with Shrek’s Puss in Boots eyes, clutching a stuffed toy. “Is she old enough to be dancing to Calcinha Preta* at this hour of the night?!”

“First, it was Xand Avião*. Second, she’s happy. And you’re looking like Meryl Streep in the ‘haven’t slept in three days’ edition.”

“Oh, wonderful, now I’m Meryl Streep. All I’m missing is an Oscar for putting up with noisy neighbors!”

“Are you always like this after seven, or is it a side effect of geriatric diapers and sleep deprivation?”

She looked at me like I’d insulted her mother.

“And that cigarette, ma’am? What is that? The nineties?”

“It’s not even lit, Sherlock. It’s psychological. Just like your common sense.”

Isha tugged on my shirt.

“Vi… the lady is m-m-mad.”

“She’s not mad, cupcake. She’s just… an emotional grenade with hair rollers.”

Caitlyn huffed, pulled the roller out of her bangs with one hand, stuffed it into her hoodie pocket, and adjusted her grandson in her arms.

“Just turn the volume down. Or I’ll be back at seven in the morning with a loudspeaker blasting Irmão Lázaro⁵. To exorcise all that bad energy in there.”

“That’s war.”

“That’s a warning.”

She turned on her heel and left with questionable dignity, considering she stepped on her flip-flop and almost left it behind on the hallway rug.

I closed the door, leaned back against it, and let out a muffled laugh. Isha looked up at me.

“I liked her anyway.”

“Yeah… me too. Just not today.”

In the days that followed, things between Caitlyn and me settled into a strange rhythm… comfortable.

She kept that slightly grumpy air of someone who always wakes up before the sun, but she was careful, kind, in her own way. She brought me things from the street market, invited me to watch soap operas with her, and in return I fixed small things around her apartment. A faucet that wouldn’t close properly, a window latch that squeaked, even the little cabinet door that kept swinging open on its own like a haunted soul.

Miguel was always around, of course. A three-year-old with curly hair and a suspicious look, as if he were silently judging the world at all times. Caitlyn said he was picky with food, but he ate my rice pudding like it was magic. She laughed once and said maybe I had powers.

“He only eats what isn’t mine,” she commented. “Typical of the men in my life.”

That day she was sitting on the couch, hair tied up any which way, wearing an oversized T-shirt with the name of some old band I didn’t even recognize. The soap opera was on TV, but I had no idea what the characters were doing anymore. My eyes kept drifting back to her.

She took the rollers out of her hair while letting a cigarette rest in the ashtray on the coffee table.

It was the details. The way she frowned at a badly written line, how she ran her finger along the rim of her coffee mug, the long lashes and the soft wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Beautiful in a way that didn’t ask to be noticed.

Her story came out slowly, always dropped casually, like she was trying not to sound nostalgic.

“My husband died five years ago. Heart attack,” she said one day without taking her eyes off the TV. “The three kids are grown. They work too much. Gave me a grandson and disappeared. Miguel is my little anchor. But… I don’t complain, you know? I just get tired. My body isn’t the same anymore.”

I didn’t know what to say. I just stayed close. I was always close… and what a body.

Then, one night when her grandson fell asleep early, she offered me tea and a piece of corn cake. We sat on the couch with the lights low, the soap opera ending with a finale I didn’t even remember the beginning of.

“You have a curious look,” she said suddenly.

I turned my face toward her.

“Curious how?”

“Like someone who looks at the world with hunger. Not just for food, but for living things.” She smiled slightly. “Or maybe you’re just looking at me too much.”

I swallowed hard. My voice didn’t come right away. She was so close.

“Maybe I am,” I replied quietly.

She looked at me. The TV light flickered in her eyes. One second of silence. Two. Three. The tension between us was electric, like a wire about to spark.

“I shouldn’t,” she murmured, but she didn’t move away.

“Neither should I,” I answered, my heart pounding up in my throat.

The kiss started slow, hesitant. My face tilting toward hers like the universe was pushing us. Our lips touched softly, a test, a risk. But that first contact was enough to set everything on fire.

She held my face with both hands, pulling me closer. My whole body reacted, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. The kiss deepened, hot, filled with a hunger that wasn’t just desire, but lost time. Accumulated need and longing.

She tasted like coffee with sugar and a past that weighed too much. And still… she kissed me like she was remembering how it’s done. Held me like she was coming home.

I slid my hand along her waist, feeling the subtle curve of her belly, her fingers gripping the back of my neck, our bodies fitting together to the rhythm of a soap opera that had already ended.

Our tongues tangled deliciously, she teased with hers, pulled my lips and bit just enough to make me want more.

And in that moment, nothing else existed. Not neighbors, not time, not judgment. Just the sound of her breathing between kisses and her taste in my mouth.

I gripped her firmly by the waist, fingers sinking into soft flesh as I pulled her closer. She let out a rough gasp, almost a low moan, slipping free as if her body had surrendered before her mind did.

“Can I keep going?” My voice came out low, rough.

She didn’t answer with words. She simply settled herself more firmly on my lap, legs strong on either side of my hips, fingers digging into my shoulders as if searching for balance in the middle of the storm. I felt her body mold against mine, like it had been made for this.

My packer was there, in place, warm against me. Without the rod⁶, but firm enough to provoke her. She shifted unintentionally, and the bulge pressed between her thighs. Her response was immediate. A caught breath, her pelvis pressing back instinctively.

“Is that…?” she murmured, surprised and breathless, her gaze lost somewhere between desire and curiosity.

“It’s just so you feel good,” I whispered against her neck, kissing slowly while my hands slid up her back, pulling her even closer. “There’s no rush. I just want to feel you like this…”

My hands moved slowly upward, sliding along her ribs until they reached her breasts. I held them firmly, feeling their soft weight against my palms. Calmly, I freed them from the fabric. The shirt slipped down, revealing warm skin.

They fell perfectly. Symmetrical, nipples slightly darker, already hard, like they’d been waiting for me.

My gaze lingered there, unhurried. Like someone contemplating a monument. And she was one. Every curve, every detail, a living sculpture made just for me.

“Tell me…” I murmured, my voice low and rough, touching more than my fingers ever could. “Show me how you like it. Guide me.”

She looked at me, eyes drunk with desire and a hint of shyness, as if she still couldn’t believe she was being seen like that. Wanted.

I brought my mouth to the base of one breast, pressing warm kisses along the curve before letting my tongue trace a path up to the nipple. But I didn’t insist. I waited.

“Like this?” I asked between kisses, my whisper brushing her skin. “Or do you want it firmer? Slower?”

My hands stayed there, supporting every movement she made. Her broken breathing was answer enough, but I wanted to hear it. I wanted to learn every detail her body hid.

“Rougher…” she whispered, almost through her teeth.

The way she asks makes my entire body throb.

Her hips move, rubbing firmly against the bulge of the packer, searching for more, pressing with intention. I let out a low moan, the sound caught in my throat.

“I’m without the rod that makes it hard…” I admit, between one hot breath and the next. “So it’ll have to be… the old-fashioned way.”

She smiles, surprised and excited, a spark in her eyes that cuts straight through me. She nods eagerly and settles herself better on my lap, fitting against me as if that were exactly where she belonged.

And it was.

I grab her breasts firmly, just the way she showed me. They mold into my hands like they were made to fit there. Warm skin, stiff nipples between my fingers, and the sound she lets out—a short, intense moan—makes me lose control for a second.

“Like this?” I ask as I squeeze harder, letting my thumbs play with the sensitive tips.

She arches her body against mine, fingers digging into my shoulders, and her hips don’t stop seeking friction. The heat between us is intense, and even without the rod, every movement feels like it’s setting us both on fire.

I feel her warmth against the bulge, the layers of clothing becoming almost unbearable, and everything in me wants more.

“Use me,” I ask, my voice deep, resting my forehead against hers. “Any way you want.”

I yank the fabric of her panties aside roughly, desperate for it as soon as possible. She doesn’t resist at all. My fingers finally touch her, firmly, directly against her wet heat.

“Inside?” I ask, my voice hoarse with desire.

She looks into my eyes, an almost imperceptible smile on her lips, and answers softly,

“Yes, darling…”

Without hesitating, I do exactly what she asked. The movement is rough, driven by a deep need, warm skin and slickness wrapping around us, creating a closeness that’s almost unbearable.

She hugs me tightly, fingers digging into my back, pulling me even closer, like she doesn’t want any distance left between us.

“Move your hips,” I ask, my voice rough and tense, trying to control the desire building inside me. “Set the rhythm.”

My thumb works her clit while I keep pressing inside her.

She looks at me, eyes burning with intensity, and starts to move slowly, as if feeling every motion, every touch. My fingers move in and out of her, exploring her with a growing urgency, consumed by a desire that’s had me since the first moment I saw her.

I feel the softness of her skin when I squeeze her ass, and she responds by settling more firmly against me. Her nails rake my shoulders as she moves, finding the relief we’re both chasing.

Cait grinds deliciously on the thick knuckles of my fingers.

She asks for more, her voice low and needy, and I take in her partially bare body, her breasts slightly fallen, something that’s always fascinated me. Her eyes are closed, her face faintly flushed, like every movement pulls her deeper into ecstasy.

Her moans grow louder, more intense, and every time I push into her, her reaction consumes me even more. Her pussy clenches nonstop, tightening and releasing with every rough thrust of my fingers.

Without thinking, I lean in and kiss her, muffling the sounds with a gentle touch. The kiss deepens, and I feel every breath of hers in my mouth, every tremor of the body wrapped around mine.

The sound of us fills the room, and when she notices the noise, she lets out a laugh. I laugh too. She braces herself on the couch, settling even more onto me, and starts to move in a delicious rhythm, following my fingers.

“More…” she asks, her voice low, almost a plea, and I give her exactly that.

The movement becomes smoother, every sharp thrust echoing through the room, the tightness around my fingers narrowing quickly as she whimpered sweetly.

“Don’t go so fast,” I murmur in her ear, my voice low. “I still want you like this longer, all soft for me.”

She looks at me with a mischievous, wicked expression, but doesn’t comply. She keeps asking for me, whispering my name, begging for more, more, more. Her body, hot and sweaty, moves over mine, and I hold her tight, feeling the smoothness of her skin against mine.

Without wasting time, I take one nipple into my mouth, stimulating two places at once, a touch that seems to ease the rising tension between us. But soon she warns me, her breathing heavy.

“That… that’s my limit.”

“You’re going to come, aren’t you?” I ask, my voice rough, desire almost unbearable.

She looks at me and nods, not stopping her movement for a single second, feeling every touch of my fingers inside her.

I press her sweet spot hard, every movement of hers setting me even more on fire. The heat, the wetness, everything blurs into one moment, and nothing else seems to matter except that instant.

She calls my name out loud, her voice trembling, and that’s when I feel the first contractions, still faint but unmistakable. I press my hand more firmly against her ass, prolonging the touch, the motion. I feel her give in, coming hot against my hand, each wave of pleasure spreading between us.

She moans, satisfied, letting the air out in a long sigh as she hugs me tightly, her face hidden in the curve of my neck, where her heat still pulses against my skin. I pull out slowly, and she lets out a frustrated sound, a small muffled whine.

Without saying anything, I bring my fingers to her mouth, still wet, and whisper in a low voice,

“Taste how good you are.”

She obeys with half-lidded eyes, lips parted to receive my fingers, and the moment becomes even more intimate, like nothing else exists but us right there.

She licks my fingers slowly, as if savoring every trace, until there’s nothing left. Her eyes stay locked on mine the entire time, and that completely undoes me.

Unable to wait any longer, I kiss her right there in the middle of the living room, with her still a little undone, the dress awkwardly riding up her thighs, her own taste still fresh on her tongue. The kiss starts slow, but quickly turns urgent, like we’re trying to cling to each other from the inside.

The doorbell rings, abrupt, and she startles.

“It’s one of my kids… darling…” she says, already getting up in a hurry, her clothes slipping messily down her thighs as she tries to pull herself together.

I sigh, frustrated, and start fixing myself too. I help her with her clothes, smoothing the wrinkled fabric with hands that are still shaking.

Before she leaves, she grabs my arm, eyes shining, breath still uneven.

“One of these days I’ll return the favor, exactly how you want it…” she whispers, with a crooked smile.

She gives me a quick, almost stolen peck and disappears down the hallway.

I laugh silently to myself, my body still warm. I slip out through the window quietly, climbing back to my room with my heart racing, not just from the effort, but from the indecent promise she made me.

Time skip.

It had been a few days since the last time Caitlyn and I really touched each other. My body still remembered her. The delicious pressure of her hips, that ass, that warm pussy, the rough care, the shy touch she never admitted out loud.

I missed her, and not just the touch. I missed her. Her way of being.

Her breasts… Grrr…

That Sunday, I went to her place earlier than planned. She was preparing a small family gathering, and I offered to help. Any excuse to see her again. I brought an apple cake, my best smile… and, well, the packer rod. You never know.

When I arrived, she was wearing a tight dress and her hair half tied up, too focused on cutlery and colorful ribbons to notice the way my gaze stuck to her. It was impressive how, even distracted, she managed to be so… her. And beautiful.

“Brought everything this time,” I commented quietly, with a half-smile.

She turned her face quickly, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. When it sank in, she laughed, a little embarrassed, and shook her head.

“You’re impossible, boy…”

But she didn’t say she didn’t like it.

While we set the table, our fingers brushed lightly. I didn’t pull away. I wanted to see how far she’d let it go. She hesitated, like she always does, but kept the contact. Every time our skin brushed, the tension grew. And I could’ve sworn she was about to pull me closer at any moment.

When she bent down to grab a ribbon, I stepped in to help. I stood too close on purpose. My chest brushed lightly against her back. She turned slowly, and our faces were just inches apart.

“You’ve been looking at me like that since I got here…” I teased, my voice low so only she could hear.

“And you’ve been touching me like that since you arrived,” she shot back, with that crooked little smile.

I let out a short, confident laugh and let my gaze sink into hers. She tried to resist, but couldn’t. She grabbed my hip with a firm hand, and our lips met like they’d never been apart.

“It’s been days…” she murmured against my mouth.

“I know. My body counted every one of them.”

Her hand slid up my back and I fit myself against her better. If it weren’t for the distant sound coming from the gate, I think we would’ve gone all the way right there, between ribbons and the smell of freshly baked cake.

“The party’s about to start, Vi…”

“Then pretend we’re just warming up,” I whispered, my forehead resting against hers.

She let out a muffled laugh, eyes closing for a second as she took a deep breath. Almost like she was trying to convince herself to stop.

“You really brought the…?”

“Mhm. This time… I want to make you feel really good.”

Her gaze darkened. And I felt that if we’d had one more minute, she wouldn’t have hesitated.

But real life knocked. Literally. One of her brothers had arrived, and we heard footsteps in the hallway.

Caitlyn sighed and pulled away reluctantly, adjusting her shirt.

“You’re going to kill me, you know that?” she said, fixing my shorts.

“One of these days… I’ll return the favor. Exactly how you deserve,” I murmured, giving her a quick peck before turning to help with the cups.

She didn’t answer, but she smiled. That smile only she had. The one that came from deep inside, even when she tried to hide it.

The party went by calmly, with laughter and light conversation filling the apartment. I helped serve snacks, exchanged complicit smiles with Caitlyn whenever our hands crossed, and kept up appearances as best I could. But inside, all I could think about was the way her eyes had devoured me earlier. And what might come next.

When the last guests started to leave, Caitlyn exchanged a few quick words with her brother at the door, hugged a cousin, laughed softly with her mother… and then looked at me. It was a direct look. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Without saying much, she came closer and took my hand naturally. Guided me down the hallway with light, careful steps, almost feline. When the bedroom door closed behind us, everything seemed to go quiet. Like the whole world had been put on mute.

She made me sit on the edge of the bed with a firm, calm gesture. Stood in front of me, eyes shining under the soft light of the bedside lamp.

“It’s going to have to be… discreet,” she said with a little smile. “We’re going to fuck, darling.”

I just nodded, my heart already racing. The silence between us was full of good tension. This time it wasn’t urgency. It was care. It was contained desire finally being given room.

Caitlyn knelt slowly in front of me and ran her fingers over my knees, moving upward calmly, as if reading every signal from my body with her eyes closed. I felt myself lean forward, almost begging for her to touch me again. In the way only she knew.

And there, in the calm after the party, she seemed more in control than ever.

She looked at me like she wanted to memorize every expression, every breath. Then, with a light touch on my chest, she asked in a low voice,

“With this… can you feel me?”

I nodded with a small smile, the kind that fades quickly because my body was already trembling with anticipation. She seemed satisfied with the answer and brought her hands to the hem of my shirt, undressing me carefully, like she was unwrapping me.

Her eyes traveled over my bare chest for the first time. I watched her reaction with my heart pounding. She didn’t pull back. Didn’t hesitate. She just smiled. A mischievous, curious smile, like the mystery of my body fascinated her. I’d never seen anyone look at me like that, with that mix of tenderness and desire.

She devoured me with her eyes. Soon she would with her mouth.

She traced the contours of my chest with her fingers, testing my sensitivity, the soft touches turning into firmer caresses. I found myself arching slightly under her hands, letting out small sounds I barely recognized as my own.

“Can I pull your pants down?” she asked, already knowing my body was answering before my mouth could.

“Only if you take that dress off too,” I whispered, challenging her with my gaze.

She laughed softly and then, without looking away from me, brought her hands to the straps of the dress, letting it slide off her shoulders, falling little by little until it revealed the skin I already knew but never stopped admiring. We undressed as if each piece of clothing removed also took a little fear with it.

Her body was perfect in the soft late-afternoon light filtering through the curtain. It lit up her pale skin like a wicked invitation. Her breasts with the natural weight that drew me in so much, the full curves of her belly and hips, so real, so alive. Small stretch marks traced paths my eyes followed with devotion. There was something deeply beautiful about seeing her like that, unhidden.

When her eyes dropped to the bulge under my underwear, she hesitated for a brief second. But then, overcoming the hesitation, she reached out and touched me there. I gasped, surprised by the intensity of the shiver that ran through me. Her touch, even subtle, set everything in me alight.

The ridges of the packer, especially with the rod I’d brought this time, pressed exactly where my desire centered. I was already sensitive, and now, with her touching me with that curious care, the world seemed to fold into heat and expectation.

Caitlyn wrapped my hand with hers. She looked at me with those piercing eyes, and a low laugh slipped from her lips before she asked,

“Can you feel my touch?”

I tried to answer, but my voice failed when she carefully pulled her bluish hair back. She leaned in closer, her words soft.

“I’ll show you how good it can be.”

The air around us was thick with anticipation. She touched my jaw with the tips of her cool fingers, tracing a path down to my neck, and whispered with a playful smile,

“Don’t you think you should show me what you feel too?”

My heart beat faster, the tension between us tightening. I didn’t know what to say, but the way she moved, how her touch seemed to root itself into me, was overwhelming. I managed to murmur, searching for words,

“I feel… everything.”

Caitlyn let out a soft laugh, like she’d read me completely. Without another word, she crouched in front of me with disarming calm, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Gently, she wrapped her hands around the packer, her fingers soft and careful. Her touch was meticulous, like she was exploring new territory, but with undeniable confidence.

She took her time, unhurried, making every second stretch. Her eyes never left mine as she took it into her mouth, and with a slow movement, she let the tip slide until it was wet, as if the simple act of touching it with such care was her way of making me feel every inch of her desire.

I couldn’t control my breathing anymore, the mixed feelings of desire and vulnerability spreading through my entire body.

“Can you handle foreplay, Mrs. Kiramman?” I teased, a smile on my lips.

She let out a muffled laugh, looking away for a moment as if trying to keep her composure, but ended up shaking her head in surrender.

“Obviously not,” she murmured, desire plain in her eyes. “I’m here. I need you inside as soon as possible.”

I didn’t need to hear anything else. I pulled her firmly, making her sit on my lap. Her body fit against mine like it had been made for it. I slid one hand to her waist, guiding her movements, while the other gripped her thigh firmly.

Without delay, I brushed the wet tip of the packer against her entrance. She gasped, her hands gripping my shoulders tighter.

She was already wet.

“Ah…” she moaned softly and looked at me. “Give me more, please. Fuck me deep, darling…”

But I didn’t give in. I stayed right there, only on the outside, teasing her with a slow, torturous back-and-forth. The heat between us grew with every second.

“You like this, don’t you?” I whispered against her ear. “Feeling just the tip? Staying right on the edge.”

She bit her lower lip, her body writhing slightly in my lap. Her nails lightly scratched my skin, impatient.

“Caitlyn…” I said her name firmly. “Look at me.”

She obeyed, her light eyes shining under the dim bedroom light, breathless.

“Ask me properly.”

She swallowed hard, then smiled, surrendered once again.

“Fuck me, please. Stop teasing me…”

I answered without further delay, thrusting into her in one fierce motion. The heat of her body welcomed me with almost audible relief, a broken sigh escaping her lips.

“Ah…” she moaned, adjusting herself better in my lap, arms around my neck, searching for stability. “It’s so good… to feel you like this… inside me.”

“You squeeze me so well… fuck, that’s hot…”

The words came out between breaths, like she needed to release pleasure along with speech. Her hips moved in an instinctive rhythm, and I guided them with both hands firm on the perfect swell of her waist, like her body had been molded to fit between my fingers.

I braced myself there, gripping her firmly, controlling the motion with calm presence. It was a steady, deep, rhythmic back and forth. The sound of our bodies filled the room, muffled only by low moans and the wet, almost obscene noise.

“Like this…” she murmured against my skin. “Just like this… don’t stop…”

Her body responded to mine, making me lose all sense of time. With every thrust, she fit me even better, like she wanted to keep me inside her. Her heat, her voice, her goosebumped skin. Everything conspired to make me stay.

“You’re perfect,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss her bare shoulder. “So beautiful like this… sexy as hell.”

She kept that sweet, almost protective tone with me, even as her body arched in pleasure in my lap. Her fingertips traced my face tenderly, and for a moment I felt safe in that gesture. Then came the counterpoint.

“You can be rougher with me…” she whispered, almost like a sacred request, eyes half-closed, voice hoarse with desire. “I want to really feel it… mark me, make me remember this tomorrow when I can’t sit down.”

“Fuck, don’t say that…”

Her gaze begged for something rawer, more intense. She grabbed my shoulders firmly and rolled her hips with a boldness that stole my breath. The way she swallowed me, pulled me in with such hunger, was hypnotizing. She was entirely in me, and I was in her.

I brought my hand down to her thigh firmly, and when I slapped it. Not violent, but hard enough to echo against her skin. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering in my lap.

“That… just like that,” she panted. “Don’t stop, use me your way…”

I gripped her waist harder, burying my fingers into the perfect curve, squeezing like I wanted to keep her there, marked, present. I controlled the rhythm precisely while she took her own relief on me, satisfying herself, taking me with movements that didn’t ask permission. They demanded surrender.

One, two, three, countless sharp slaps against her ass.

She sank down slowly and rose quickly, moaning against my neck, biting her lip, whispering through clenched teeth,

“Vi, make me yours…”

I couldn’t take the provocation. The way she moved, the way she looked at me, the way she took me completely. It was too much.

I grabbed her waist hard, fingers sinking into the soft flesh I adored so much. I squeezed firmly, like I wanted to engrave every curve, every part of her that was mine in that moment.

She moaned loudly, her breasts rising and falling in sync with the frantic rhythm of our bodies, bouncing with the force of every thrust. The wet sound of our fit and the muffled noise of our breaths filled the room like music composed just for the two of us.

I pushed in deeper, all the way, feeling her grip me inside, hot, tight, perfect. The packer pressed exactly against the spot where I was most sensitive. Every drive pulled another shiver from me, another moan stuck in my throat, a heat that bloomed low in my belly and spread like fire.

“You feel it?” I whispered breathlessly, my mouth pressed to the curve of her neck. “My whole cock inside you…”

She could only nod, eyes rolling back as she rode me with more urgency, her breathing uneven.

“Squeeze me more…” she asked in a thread of a voice. “Hold me… don’t let me slip away…”

I was at my limit. The heat in my body pulsed with every movement she made, and the packer pressing against my center only intensified everything, pushing me to the edge of control. But she could still take it. More than that, she wanted more.

She bounced hard, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the room. The frantic rhythm, the weight of her pleasure written all over her face, skin shining with sweat and desire. Then, breathless, she looked at me and warned in a hoarse voice,

“In this position… I’m going to have to brace my heels on the bed… and hold onto the headboard.”

I nodded, understanding. I held her waist firmly, giving her the support she needed, fingers digging into soft flesh. She set her feet on the bed, heels planted, leaned forward, and grabbed the headboard tightly.

The new position made everything even more intense. The deep fit, her arched body, her moans ringing free. She started to move with fury, accelerating to her own limit, hips slamming into my lap.

“That’s it… yes…” she panted between moans. “I’m almost…”

And I was there, holding her, buried deep, entirely inside her, feeling every contraction of her interior pulling me in, provoking me without mercy. The heat between us was almost unbearable, like the room was about to explode with pent-up desire.

She began opening and closing her legs in a nearly hypnotic rhythm. Like the fluttering wings of a butterfly⁷, but firm, showing me all her intimacy, all the wetness spilling. Every movement pulled me deeper, trapping me more fully inside her.

And then, in one final impulse, she squeezed me hard against her, like she wanted to keep me there, fused to her body. The muscles tightened around me in a delicious grip, and her eyes met mine with an intensity that made me tremble.

There were only a few, fast ones — raw, desperate thrusts — and then she came, fully, on top of me, arching her back and letting out a moan that sounded more like a release than a sound of pleasure.

I could barely breathe, feeling her orgasm pulse against the packer, stimulating me so intensely that I lost control.

“Keep going…” I asked in a nearly broken whisper, my hands gripping her waist, my eyes wet. “For me…”

And she did, even trembling, even almost out of strength, riding me with whatever energy she had left, just for me.

That was my limit.

I felt my whole body pulse, slicking the packer, the heat mixing with hers in an overwhelming way. My chest rose and fell fast, sweat gluing our bodies together, making everything feel even more real.

I looked at her, pleading, my eyes begging without needing words. I held her firmly against me, not letting her pull away for even a second.

“Stay…” I whispered, almost begging.

She understood. She tightened her thighs around me, adjusted herself better on my lap and, still panting, kept going.

It was there, with her on top, with the weight of her surrendered body over mine, that I finished — full, whole, trembling. A long, dragged-out moan slipped from my lips as I came apart beneath her.

She collapsed onto me, breathing heavily against my chest, blue hair damp with sweat against her forehead, her heart pounding so hard I could feel it against my skin.

We stayed like that, stuck together, breathing as one, as if the world outside had stopped existing.

The affection felt good. Her hands wandered lazily over my back, soft kisses spread across my collarbone. We stayed there for a while, just feeling each other’s presence, our bodies still warm and pressed together.

But it didn’t last long.

With that way that was uniquely hers, eyes half-lidded and a smile that still carried hunger, she murmured against my neck.

“I want a little more…”

Her tone was sweet, but there was a latent desire there. Before I could respond, she slid her fingers down my arm and asked softly.

“Take me to the edge of the bed… with pillows underneath… I want to feel you again.”

I nodded with a light shiver, my body reacting before my mind did. We helped each other reposition — her settling face down, supported by a few pillows that lifted her wide hips, leaving them perfectly on display, and me positioning myself right behind her, already feeling the heat radiating from there.

The view took my breath away.

The curve of her waist, the marks on her skin, the perfect fit calling to me again.

“Like this?” I asked, sliding my fingers from the base of her back to the tops of her thighs, the touch light, reverent.

She only arched a little more, offering herself, and whispered,

“That way, Violet. Make me yours again. Fuck me good, boy.”

Looking at that body — marked by the age I so deeply revered — there, offered to me, was overwhelming. Every line, every curve, every mark on her skin told stories that only made me want her more. Wetness was dripping from her beautiful pussy, evident, glistening in the soft bedroom light. It was beautiful. A sin, she was so perfect.

She adjusted herself, resting her head on a pillow and burying her face there, bluish hair spread out like a restless sea. Then, slowly, she brought her hands behind her back, offering her wrists to me.

“Hold me…” she asked in a muffled thread of a voice, vulnerable and strong at the same time.

I wrapped my hands firmly around her wrists, feeling her body align even more under my touch. I positioned myself close, feeling her heat call to me again, and took her fully — in a single precise, deep motion, as if my body already knew the exact path.

The sound of the impact was muffled by the pillow where she hid her face, but I heard her rough, urgent moans, almost like whispered prayers. Holding her wrists, I pulled her gently with each thrust, guiding the rhythm with precision, making her wide hips crash back against mine.

It was a wet sound. I tightened my grip on her wrists a little more, and she warned me she was about to come. With strength, I gave her exactly what she wanted, and she came, needy and soft.

It was a damp, almost primal sound — desire consuming the space between us. I tightened my hold on Caitlyn’s wrists, feeling control and surrender blend together. She, panting, almost whispered to me, her voice loaded with urgency.

“I’m going to…” she warned, her body writhing under the weight of the pleasure overtaking her.

I was already on the edge of my second peak, every movement more intense, every thrust deeper. The pressure of the moment built, but I knew exactly what she wanted. And with a subtle, almost instinctive force, I did what she asked, guiding her past the point of no return.

The more I fucked her, feeling the delicious grip of her pussy, the harder my hand slapped against her ass, already flushed pink from the firm smacks I’d given her. She moaned loudly, arching her body intensely, and shot me a look over her shoulder — the most wicked and provocative look I had ever seen.

The room filled with the wet, indecent sound of our bodies, drowning out everything else around us.

She came, needy, her moans of pleasure slipping out between soft, broken breaths. I felt every part of her body, every reaction, and it consumed me in a way I couldn’t control. We were so immersed in each other that the world outside that moment felt insignificant.

“Make me have one more,” she said, her voice thick with urgency, then added, her eyes burning with desire, “Let me come with you.”

I could no longer contain the growing pressure inside me. The urge to satisfy her, to lose ourselves together, took over completely. With a firm movement, I lifted her a little more, quickening the pace, more intense now, feeling her body give in to desire.

My cock slid hard inside her. One hand held her wrists while the other slapped her ass hard, and every time I went in and out I could see the subtle movement of her anal opening.

I couldn’t take it. I wet my middle finger and, without any warning, pushed it all the way into her tight ass. I was starving. She arched her back like a cat at the peak of heat.

“Fuck, like that… right there, fuck…”

She came quickly, with a muffled moan, her body arching against mine, the intensity of the pleasure consuming her in a way that made me lose control too. The connection between us was so deep, so tangible, that in a single moment we both arrived together, without words, just the sound of ragged breathing and bodies giving in to each other.

She practically gushed onto the sheets, gripping me tight inside her.

I spilled with a heavy sigh, feeling the pressure of everything we had shared finally dissipate. I supported her against me so she wouldn’t fall, keeping her safe, feeling the heat of her racing heartbeat still pulsing against my chest.

I slipped out of her slowly and heard her gasp, a mix of frustration and lingering need still palpable in her body, which contracted involuntarily. It was as if her energy was still right at the surface, still searching for more, but I knew the moment had shifted.

With a sigh, I removed the packer, the sensation of relief and discomfort mixing in a single motion. I lay down beside her, feeling her heat still burning, the sweat covering her shoulders reflecting the intensity of what we had just lived. She was there, next to me, her warm body against mine.

I nestled closer to her, feeling her uneven breathing against my skin, and wrapped my arms around hers, as if trying to make up for something she still felt was missing. The warmth of her body brought me comfort, but also a need for closeness, for giving her more than I knew was still lacking.

Caitlyn caressed me, running her hand gently through my hair, and her touch calmed me, bringing a sense of safety and closeness. I stayed there, feeling the warmth of her body, the relief her presence gave me. In the silence, only the beating of our hearts filled the space between us.

Suddenly, something occurred to me, and I couldn’t help asking, curiosity taking over.

“And your eye, Cait…” I began, hesitant, still gentle. “How did it happen? What happened to it?”

She paused for a moment, her fingers stopping in my hair before continuing with a soft sigh. She looked at me, her eyes lit by the soft light of the room, and then spoke with a calm I couldn’t ignore.

“I lost it when I was very young,” she explained, her voice steady, but with a touch of melancholy. “For a while, I wore an eye patch, but later on, more recently, I got the glass eye. I started using it mostly when my grandson was born, because I thought it might scare him, you know?”

I listened carefully, taking in every word, and she kept stroking my hair, the feeling of her hand giving me immense comfort.

“You’re incredible, you know?” She smiled, and the expression on her face carried a mix of lightness and pride. “I always want to repeat the dose, okay? Mrs. Kiramman.”

I felt a smile spread across my face, a warm sensation taking over me.

I admitted it with a light laugh, not hiding what was on my mind.

“Caitlyn… you’re my MILF crush from the building,” I said, the words coming out spontaneously.

Time skip.

The fever was hitting hard. I felt like I was burning from the inside, my body exhausted. College had been a mess. The looks, the disguised jokes, everything I didn’t need to hear at that moment. I just wanted to disappear. And the only thing that came to mind was looking for Caitlyn.

I arrived at her door, and she opened it immediately, as if she had already been expecting me. No questions, no rush. She just welcomed me with that hug that always seemed to have the answer to everything. She laid me down on the couch, covered me with a warm blanket, and I already felt safer. Then she brought me tea with honey, which honestly felt more magical than any medicine.

“How are you feeling?” Caitlyn asked, with that calm voice, checking my fever with the palm of her hand on my forehead.

I closed my eyes, a little dizzy, and just sighed. I didn’t want to explain everything, but I knew she already knew. I just wanted to feel better, without the ghosts college had left in my head.

She stayed there, by my side, patient, unhurried. Just waiting.

“What happened?” she asked, calmer now, when she realized I wasn’t saying anything. I just gave a slightly crooked smile.

“Ah, you know how it is…” I began, trying not to make it sound too heavy. “When you finally start feeling okay with yourself, society insists on shoving you into boxes that don’t fit. I’m non-binary, Cait, but it feels like some people think they have to label me no matter what. Or worse, some people think I’m not ‘enough’ of something. I don’t know… sometimes it’s like they’re telling me, ‘You have to be more like this, or more like that.’ And honestly, I’m kind of tired of it.”

She looked at me with that calm expression, as if she’d heard this a thousand times before. And she probably had.

“I understand, sweetheart. Society has this habit of trying to fit everyone into standards, of wanting to define people by what they ‘should’ be. And you don’t fit into any of that. You’re you, and that’s what matters.”

I smiled a little more, feeling the lightness of her words. But I was still tangled up in it all. The fever was making me groggy, and I just wanted to distance myself from everything else.

“And, look, do you realize that the accessible bathroom⁸ at college is, like, the perfect place when you just want a break from everyone?” I said, trying to change the subject with a smile, even if it was a crooked one. “It’s discreet, nobody questions you, and honestly, sometimes the privacy there is better than anywhere else. When it comes to just getting some relief, that bathroom is basically a secret refuge.”

She laughed, and the sound was like a balm. I was starting to feel lighter, as if the tension were slowly loosening.

“I’ll remember that tip. Who knew accessible bathrooms could be the best escape route, right?” Caitlyn joked, still smiling, her voice soft and welcoming.

I let out a quiet laugh, feeling the discomfort that had been eating at me begin to fade. The fever was still there, but being there with her, being listened to without judgment, gave me a calm I hadn’t known I needed.

She leaned a little closer, her look serious but full of care.

“Violet, you’re stronger than you think. What matters is how you feel and what you know about yourself. You have to be true to that. You don’t need to please anyone, just yourself, sweetheart.”

I looked at her, feeling her words sink in exactly where they needed to. Yes, sometimes the world is a mess and understands nothing about who we are, but there, in that moment, with Caitlyn, I knew I wasn’t alone.

“Thank you, love. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I said, the lightness finally returning to my body.

She smiled at me, a smile full of confidence and support.

“You won’t have to do anything alone, Vi. I’m here, and I always will be. And of course, if the accessible bathroom keeps being your secret spot, you know you can count on me.”

The fever seemed determined to wage war inside my body. I tried to eat what Caitlyn put on my plate, a fragrant soup made with so much care, but I could barely lift the spoon to my mouth. I was sweating like I’d run a marathon, even though I was just sprawled on the couch with my forehead pressed to the pillow. Everything hurt. Everything spun.

She watched me with a worried look, her lips tightening in an almost imperceptible motion. Without saying anything, she grabbed a clean towel, fresh clothes, and helped me up. I didn’t have the strength to protest. I just trusted her.

She left me standing in the bathroom, patiently. Her fingers worked slowly to remove my soaked T-shirt, and I felt the cool air against my sweaty skin. When the fabric slid away, I felt her eyes on me, not with desire, but with care. With respect.

For the first time, Caitlyn truly saw my body.

My torso was broad, solid. Defined muscles in my shoulders and arms, the result of testosterone and hours of training. My pale skin was dotted with faint freckles and covered in thick ginger hair, especially on my forearms, chest, and trailing down my stomach. The main tattoo dominated my back, a set of black, angular lines that resembled industrial structures, concrete, steel, and tension turned into art on skin.

There were also my breasts, smaller now from time and effort, but still there, survivors of a biography I carried with both pride and conflict. My ginger hair thickened on my stomach and spread down over my groin, coarse and alive, like fire growing without pruning.

She didn’t look away. There was no shock. Only acceptance.

When she lowered my pants, sliding the fabric down with the delicacy of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing, my vulva was exposed, surrounded by more dense ginger hair. My body was a collection of traits that followed no one’s rulebook. I was, at the same time, raw strength and bare vulnerability.

Caitlyn filled the bathtub with warm water and cleaned me carefully. Every movement was patient, as if she understood that touch is a language, and my native one had always been distrustful.

The towel slid over my neck, my broad shoulders, my tattooed, wet back. When it passed over my stomach and between my legs, her eyes remained gentle, attentive, steady.

“You’re beautiful,” she said softly, as if sharing a secret.

I closed my eyes. It was a simple compliment, but coming from her, it felt enormous. Like it washed away the shame that sometimes clung to me like a second skin.

She left me clean and comfortable, dressed me in a loose T-shirt that smelled like her, lavender. Then she settled me back on the couch, adjusted the blankets, placed a cool cloth on my forehead, and sat beside me, not leaving.

I felt her warmth even with my eyes closed. I felt the respect, the tenderness, the acceptance. There, whole as I was.

After the improvised bath and the soup I barely managed to finish, Caitlyn dragged me back to the couch, tucked me under the blankets, and turned on the TV.

A melodramatic soap opera was on, full of shouting and people slamming doors. She lit a cigarette with all the class in the world, took a deep drag, and exhaled the smoke like an old movie diva. Not wanting to be empty-handed, I pulled my vape out of my backpack.

I barely put the thing to my mouth and took the first puff when she turned her head and raised an eyebrow so high I thought it might take flight.

“That is a personal offense, Violet,” she said, her voice dripping with fake drama. “In my house? Puffing on tutti-frutti vapor?”

“It’s mint, have some respect,” I muttered, laughing, still a bit fever-dazed.

Caitlyn took the vape from my hand like she was confiscating a dangerous weapon and handed me her pack of cigarettes, as if she were saving me from eternal embarrassment.

“Smoke like a grown-up. Come on,” she said, with that crooked, slightly bossy smile.

I obeyed, of course. Lit one of her cigarettes, took the first drag, and coughed like a doomed person.

“Now that’s more like it,” she laughed. “My little ginger man.”

“Little man is your grandma,” I shot back, half laughing, half still coughing.

We settled into the couch while the soap opera chaos played on the TV. She curled up sideways in my lap, her head resting against my chest, checking on me from time to time, pressing the back of her hand to my forehead, frowning, murmuring “still warm,” and settling back in like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I smoked my cigarette, trying to pretend I wasn’t completely, hopelessly in love at that moment.

When we finished smoking, she crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and stared at me. A look that was half pure tenderness, half pure sin.

“You know I’m basically a nurse now, right?” she said, pretending to be serious.

“Nurse and cigarette dealer,” I added, winking at her.

She laughed softly, sliding her hand slowly along my thigh, like someone who had absolutely no hurry.

“Careful,” she whispered. “My treatment is very… intensive.”

“If I’m going to die, let it be like this,” I muttered, already unable to hide the silly smile.

She lifted her face and gave me a light, quick kiss, just to prove she could make me even more feverish — this time, her fault.

The truth was I was completely wrecked. Feverish, weak… and without the packer.

That detail didn’t even cross my mind until Caitlyn slid her hand along my thigh again, under the blanket. When I realized I was wearing only the oversized shirt and nothing else besides the thick blanket between us, it was already too late.

She stopped the movement, raised an eyebrow in a way that made me sweat more than the fever ever could.

“Nothing underneath?” she murmured, her voice low, rough, so full of mischief I almost melted. “I like that.”

“You’re the one who didn’t give me underwear, remember?”

I got so hot with embarrassment I thought I might evaporate right there. Before I could come up with any flimsy excuse, she was already leaning in, her look predatory and affectionate at the same time.

“I wanted you like this,” she whispered, as if confiding a dirty secret.

My entire body vibrated. It felt like even the hair on my arms stood on end.

She leaned in, and the kiss came hot and urgent, our mouths fitting together with raw hunger. Our tongues searched for each other, starving, mixing with the bitter taste of nicotine still lingering on our lips. Her touch was hungry but careful at the same time, as if she knew exactly how much I needed to be touched like that.

The shirt I was wearing — already loose on me — still outlined every shiver. I felt the fabric cling to my hard nipples, giving away just how much my body was reacting to her closeness. Caitlyn ran her hand slowly along my side, lightly scratching with her nails, lingering at the curve of my waist.

She looked at me like she was seeing the eighth wonder of the world.

“You’re so beautiful…” she murmured, her voice heavy with desire. “I really want to taste you.”

My heart jumped, off-beat. The way she said it, eyes locked on me like I was the most delicious thing ever created, made me forget the fever, the exhaustion, the entire world.

I smiled, still a little dazed, pulling her closer.

“Then come on, Dr. Kiramman… save me for good.”

She laughed softly, and the sound was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.

And this time, she was the one who needed healing.

And I was going to let her.

I had never been touched like this.

It wasn’t just the way Caitlyn’s hands wandered over my warm skin, it was the way she looked at me, as if every part of me was worthy of being adored. As if I were precious, cherished like never before.

The mouths that had touched me before had been hungry, yes… but it was a selfish hunger, one that left me emptier than full. With Caitlyn, it was different. She wanted to make me feel good. She wanted to excite me. She wanted to take care of me.

Her kisses traveled from my face down to my neck, light and unhurried, pulling sighs out of me that I didn’t even know I’d been holding. Then she moved lower, spreading kisses along my shoulders, over my tattoos, as if every line etched into my skin mattered.

When she reached my chest, she hesitated.

“May I?” she whispered, her voice rough but full of tenderness.

My body answered before I did, arching toward her mouth in silent permission. Still, I whispered—

“All yours… if you want me too.”

Her smile took my breath away. A beautiful smile.

She leaned in and kissed my chest slowly, letting her warm breath tease my exposed nipple beneath the thin shirt. I shuddered completely.

“I’ve never really done this right, you know?” she confessed softly, between one kiss and another. “When I was younger… no one taught me how to truly touch someone. I want to do this right with you.”

Her confession pulled a sweet, foolish smile from me.

“I’ll guide you,” I promised, threading my fingers into her hair. “Just listen to me, Cait.”

She murmured something that sounded like “always” before taking my breast into her mouth with a gentleness that almost made me forget how to breathe. The contrast between the softness of her mouth and the roughness of my own skin, thick with hair, sent shivers from head to toe.

It wasn’t just pleasure.

I called out softly for her, my voice thick with desire as I felt her warm tongue play with my nipples. It was a delicious sensation, so new and yet so right, that it made me arch beneath the blanket.

My legs spread by reflex, exposing more than just my sweaty skin — exposing the raw want running through me.

Caitlyn paused for a moment, eyes attentive, as if waiting for instructions. And I smiled, foolish and eager.

“I like it…” my voice came out shaky but sure. “I like being touched the way you’re doing it. Slowly… without rushing.”

She nodded, her mouth still dangerously close to my skin.

“And where else?” she asked, her voice rough, mischievous, and respectful all at once.

I took a deep breath, unashamed.

“I like it when my chest is touched, but I also like it…” I slid my own hand down my stomach to the base of my belly “…when your mouth goes here, slowly going down.”

Caitlyn followed the gesture with her eyes, as if every word I said were sacred.

“Tell me everything,” she asked, leaning in to place a light kiss near the line of my ginger, soft hair at my groin. “I want to give you as much as I can.”

I let out a small, nervous, excited laugh.

“You don’t need to worry about finding a ‘right way,’” I said, touching her hair and tugging lightly so she’d look at me. “Let your chin, your lips… touch however they want. I feel so much more when it’s natural, when it’s your touch.”

She smiled against my skin.

“And what if I want to use my hands too?”

I shivered.

“I want that,” I replied firmly, my whole body vibrating. “I like it when they slide slowly over my hips… my thighs… but with intention, you know? You can squeeze.”

She left a wet kiss on my stomach.

“Firm is kind of my specialty, boy.”

I laughed softly, the sound broken with pleasure, and whispered,

“You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about you sucking me just right… no idea how many times I’ve come imagining your mouth on me.”

Caitlyn lifted her face and looked at me with so much tenderness my chest ached.

“You’re perfect. And that’s exactly how I want to taste you.”

Before I could answer, I felt her tongue slowly slide over my belly, moving lower and lower… exactly the way I’d taught her.

And for the first time, someone was truly listening to me, even with their body.

I let out a sigh, gently pulling her by the nape of the neck, guiding her movements with care.

“The clit…” I murmured, my voice rough with desire. “More here than at the entrance.”

Caitlyn looked up, her light eyes attentive, silently asking me to be honest about what I needed.

I ran my hand through my own ginger hair, still trembling, and with my fingertips I found the center, pulling back the skin that covered it.

“See?” I said, breathing deeply. “This skin is normal…” I laughed softly, a little shy. “It grew more because of testosterone. It looks different, but—”

Caitlyn moved closer, the warmth of her breath making me shudder.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured sincerely, without the slightest hint of discomfort.

That almost undid me.

“I want to feel you the right way,” she added, and I smiled, pulling her closer.

“Then…” I guided her lips carefully to my core, my fingers shaking with anticipation. “Suck gently. No need for force, just… good pressure. And sometimes… alternate with the tip of your tongue.”

She obeyed without hesitation, placing a lingering kiss before sucking delicately, just like I asked.

I gasped loudly, my hips reacting on their own.

“Yes… just like that,” I moaned, my eyes closing as a warm wave ran through my entire body.

She started to get the hang of it, alternating soft suction with gentle strokes of her tongue, attentive to every sigh, every tremor I let slip.

I held her hair, encouraging the rhythm that stole my breath the fastest.

It wouldn’t take long. I felt it in my body, in the hot shiver running up my spine every time her tongue slid between my skin and my sensitive clit.

Caitlyn seemed to guess every nuance of what made me lose myself. She traced slow circles, teasing in a way that sent me up to the clouds and back without warning, like the ground had vanished beneath my feet.

I let out a rough moan, warning her with a broken voice,

“Cait… it’s coming… I’m going to come.”

She, as if she’d been waiting for that, sucked harder, looking up at me with those blue eyes full of mischief and tenderness mixed together.

The tension in my core was so intense I could barely breathe. I was shaking, spreading my legs even wider, silently begging for more.

Caitlyn carefully licked the exposed tip, feeling my intense reaction.

“Are you going to finish, baby?” she murmured against me, her mouth still warm on my body. “I want you to come in my mouth.”

I nodded with difficulty, my breath failing, pleasure already ripping through me like a lightning strike about to explode.

I felt her hands gripping my thigh firmly, pulling me even harder against her mouth. A decisive, possessive gesture, like she wanted to keep me there until she drew every sigh, every tremor out of me.

On impulse, I pushed her head deeper into me, desperately chasing that final wave. And when it came, it hit true. A strong contraction.

“Cait!” I cried out, my voice thick, mixing desire and relief.

She didn’t pull away right away. She let her tongue slide gently down to my entrance, sending sweet shivers through me that almost made me shake all over again.

Then she pulled her face back just enough to admire what she had caused: my uneven breathing, the flush spreading across my chest, the way my legs were still trembling, parted for her.

“So beautiful…” she murmured, wearing that smile that seemed to melt the soul.

Caitlyn didn’t rush. With a calm that only made me burn even more, she cleaned every drop with her tongue and lips, as if she didn’t want to waste a single part of me. Her eyes looked up at me, filled with a gleam that set me on fire from the inside.

Then, without saying a word, she slowly began to lift her own dress. The fabric rose, revealing her skin piece by piece. Warm, mature, beautiful.

“Let me help you,” I murmured, my voice hoarse with surrender.

I sat up just enough to pull the dress over her head. When I saw Caitlyn completely naked in front of me, the air fled my lungs.

Her body was simply the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Generous curves, full breasts that seemed to invite my hands, strong thighs, and skin that told stories in every line, every mark.

She had aged like a fine wine, and my desire for her only grew.

“I wanted to do this the old-fashioned way,” she said with a crooked smile, before leaning down to kiss me.

The kiss was hot, full of hunger and tenderness. I pulled her on top of me, feeling her body fit against mine as if it had always been made for it. Our vulvas met after a few attempts, and when she slid against me just right, a low moan escaped from our intertwined mouths.

The heat, the contact, the friction. Everything seemed to spark beneath our skin.

She moved slowly, creating a dance that was ours alone. Every time she brushed my hardened clit, every pressure increased the tension in a delicious way. My hips followed her rhythm naturally, seeking more of her, more of us.

She leaned closer with a shy smile.

“I’ve always wanted to do this, you know? When I was younger, I used to imagine what it would be like,” she said, her voice low and sincere.

My heart tightened at her confession. I wrapped her in a firm embrace, making her feel safe, and answered with a soft smile.

“You can come however you want… I’ll be gentle.”

I pulled her closer, guiding her movements carefully. When she began to move, I let the connection between us flow naturally, encouraging her to feel her own body, to explore with confidence.

I could see the size of my clit rubbing firmly against hers, so delicate. The image almost sent me spinning. I tried to keep up with her rhythm, but it was hard.

“That’s it, slower… really feel my skin…” I whispered, my voice full of affection.

The friction there, against her, was visible every time she came closer. The wetness of her vulva, my hair contrasting with hers, our swollen cores slowly seeking each other.

“I… I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold back much longer,” I said, my voice rough.

She looked at me, her eyes shining, and with a gentle smile, narrowed her gaze.

“Me neither… come with me.”
I held her tightly, and she came apart over my pussy, which followed right after, our fluids mixing and soaking her couch.

I let the sensation linger for a few seconds, feeling her trembling, surrendered to pleasure, while the moment seemed to stretch in time. Her breathing was irregular, and I could feel the intensity of every tremor, every sigh.

It was the most sublime climax I had ever experienced with a woman in my entire life.

I could still feel the warmth in my body, my breath unsteady, but at the same time there was a sense of calm. What we shared was unique, something that went beyond simple pleasure. It was as if, for a moment, the world had disappeared, and there was only her and me, understanding each other without words.

I nestled against her, feeling the warmth of her body, the comfort of her touch. The fever was still there, but her presence brought me relief, more than any medicine ever could. Caitlyn’s fingers slid gently through my hair, as if she wanted to soothe me, make me feel safe, like there was nothing left to fear.

“After you take the fever reducer, you’re going to sleep a bit, okay?” Her voice was soft, as always, full of care.

I nodded slowly, more because of the comfort her voice gave me than anything else. I didn’t want to pull away from her. I wanted to stay there, in that small space where everything felt so right, so perfect. And in truth, the fever was easing, but it was the moment we shared, the affection, the care, that truly made me feel better.

“I… I think what helped with the fever was more what we shared…” I said, my voice still low, as if the lightness of it all was something I didn’t want to break. “I feel so good here, with you.”

I saw her smile. I knew she understood. I knew she felt the same. She hugged me tighter, and I felt safe in that gesture. It didn’t matter what had happened before. It didn’t matter about the fever or the fears. With Caitlyn, everything felt easier. I could relax, let go without fear, and in that moment, I felt more whole, more myself than I ever thought possible.

I was nestled against Caitlyn’s breasts, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin against my face. We were lying there on the couch, the silence broken only by our calm breathing. Then I heard a sweet, slightly playful voice from above.

“Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?” Caitlyn said with a touch of irony, and I lifted my head to look at her, surprised.

She looked at me with a cute pout, clearly joking, but with a hint of concealed jealousy.

“First you say ‘hi’ to my breasts, but when it’s time to say ‘hi’ to me properly, nothing.” She pouted like a sulky child. “You know I’m more than just a pair of boobs, right?”

I widened my eyes, completely speechless. I was still pressed against her, that mischievous smile on her face, making me feel like I’d committed a terrible mistake. I let out a nervous laugh, not quite knowing how to respond.

“Oh, it wasn’t on purpose!” I tried to explain, but my voice came out completely soft and unconvincing. “I just… I was already so comfortable here…” I glanced at her breasts with an awkward smile, trying to ease the playful tension. “You know how much I like… being right here between them…”

She laughed, a soft, contagious laugh, and pulled me back into her embrace.

“I like having you like this too,” she said, winking playfully. “But it’s okay, I’ll let it slide. Just don’t do it again, alright?”

“I promise!” I replied quickly, making an exaggerated face of repentance, and placed a little kiss on her chest as my “pledge.”

Time skip.

The smell of barbecue mixed with the sound of children running through the shared area, and Powder’s scandalous laughter as she argued with Isha about how done the meat should be. It was Sunday, late afternoon, and the sky looked custom-made for us. Orange, pink, with touches of gold that made everything feel like a good memory in the making.

I was sitting on the wooden bench, Caitlyn’s little grandson in my lap, gently rocking him. He was small for a four-year-old, sleeping peacefully, as if nothing in the world could touch that moment. The Flamengo shirt I was wearing was oversized — on purpose. It was old, smelled like soap, and I loved wearing it.

“He only wears that shirt on Sundays,” she said beside me, her tone half indignant, half amused.

I turned to her, unable to hold back my laugh.

“It’s tradition, okay?”

“What tradition? The one about suffering with Mengão?”

She scoffed, but smiled. And she kissed my forehead like someone thanking you for something they don’t quite know how to say out loud.

The child stirred in my arms, and I held him even more carefully. He wasn’t mine, but the affection was. It felt like, in that messy space full of laughter, I had found an extension of what we had built together.

After a while, my girlfriend caught my eye and called me over with a look. We stepped aside a bit, going closer to the railing of the party area’s balcony, where the breeze hit our faces cooler. The sky looked even more beautiful from there.

She draped an arm over my shoulders and pulled me in gently, fitting me against her with an automatic gesture, so intimate it almost hurt because it felt so good.

“If someone had told me a few months ago that I’d be here… with you…” she said, laughing with that tender disbelief I knew so well.

“And I’d be blushing all the way to my ears,” I replied, resting my head on her shoulder. “But look at us.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, as if feeling every word before speaking.

“Unlikely, but solid.”

I smiled.

“Two families that turned into one. A little messy, but they work.”

“They work because we choose it. Every day.”

I turned my face toward hers, and she kissed me — a calm kiss, very much like her. There, with the sun slowly saying goodbye, the sound of the grill in the background, and her grandson asleep in my arms… I knew.

We were possible.

_

Final notes: Dear ones, Violet’s pronouns are ALL of them. Anyone who wants to complain, please do so in the comments <3

About the extras for all the one-shots: they’ll be released in the second half of this year, following the order of publication.

Non-binary slays:

¹Bambi: an animated film released by Walt Disney Productions in 1942, based on the book Bambi, a Life in the Woods (1923) by Felix Salten.

²Haha no Tomodachi: This story follows a peculiar group of characters in absurd everyday situations, including family dilemmas, unexpected romances, and, of course, a healthy number of plotlines involving charismatic mothers.

³Packer: an object used by some transmasculine people, trans men, and non-binary people to create the appearance of volume in the genital area, helping with gender affirmation and bodily comfort. There are different types of packers, ranging from simple fabric or silicone fillers to models with specific functions, such as allowing the user to urinate standing up.

⁴Encanto: an animated film by Walt Disney Animation Studios, released in 2021, which tells the story of the Madrigal family, gifted with magical abilities, living in an enchanted house in the mountains of Colombia. The film is recognized for celebrating Latin American culture and for addressing themes such as family expectations and personal identity.

⁵Irmão Lázaro: a Brazilian singer who became widely known in both gospel and mainstream music. Before his religious conversion, he was part of the band Olodum, an Afro-Brazilian music group from Salvador, Bahia.

⁶Vertebra: Some packers include a “vertebra” or internal structure that allows the attachment of a device, usually called a “topper,” which enables use during sexual activity.

⁷Paraguayan butterfly: a sexual position in which one person (usually the woman) lies with their legs open while the other person (usually the man) is underneath. The position is called “butterfly” because the open legs resemble butterfly wings, either from the front or the back.

⁸PCD: Pessoa com deficiência in portuguese -> Person with a disability.

*Xande Avião: A northeastern Brazilian singer of electronic forró, known for being one of the main figures of Aviões do Forró before pursuing a solo career. He built an image associated with large-scale shows, popular repertoires, and strong stage presence, and is now a central figure in contemporary commercial forró.

*Calcinha Preta: A band from Sergipe considered one of the biggest icons of romantic forró. They shaped generations with powerful vocals and a theatrical aesthetic that became their trademark. Despite frequent lineup changes, they remain relevant and maintain a loyal fanbase.