A bunch of Atlanta shit
A lil Chicago shit
Some hoodrat shit
A lil drug shit
A little bit of love in this bitch , but most importantly a good ass read.
Kiyari "Kash" a badass female who don't go for bullshit encounters Nahzir "Draco" someone who a...
samariajdavis still as beautiful as ever ! adorefe @samariajdavisyou're the best , glad you're my babies godmommy 💞💞
600marc 💙
notdraco Thank God, know i got you twin❤️ adorefe @notdraco thank you 💞
nunkfrmda6 ^ and Samir always ❤️ adorefe @nunkfrmda6 love you💞
kayobandz Love you adorefe @kayobandz love you too brudder 💞
immessyasf you just woke up from the dead and you still that gurllll load more comments
Feliciti was settling into Marc's house, but the adjustment hit her in waves. The routine with the baby was getting easier, feeding schedules, late-night wake ups, figuring out what each cry means, but her body felt unfamiliar to her. The pregnancy weight never fully dropped, and the softness around her stomach is the first thing she notices every time she looks in a mirror.
She's not falling apart, but the insecurity is real. She pulls her shirt down more, changes in the bathroom instead of in front of Marc sometimes, and second-guesses outfits she used to feel confident in. The pressure isn't from anyone else—it's internal. She wants to feel like the version of herself she remembers.
At the same time, she's learning motherhood on the fly. Samir calms when she holds him. She's patient. She's showing up every day despite still recovering physically and mentally from everything she went through. That contrast—feeling like she should be stronger, while she's actually already doing the hardest work—is what creates the emotional tension.
It was currently around 8 in the morning. Feliciti stood in front of the bedroom mirror, tugging at the hem of her shirt for the third time. The baby was asleep in the bassinet in Marc's room, the soft white noise machine muffling every small sound. She didn't hear Marc step out of the bathroom until he spoke.
"You good?" he asked, drying his hands.
She stiffened. "I'm fine."
He noticed the way she kept flattening the fabric over her stomach. "You keep messing wit' yo' shirt."
"I said I'm fine, Marc." Her tone wasn't sharp, but it was closed , not anger.
He nodded once, backing off a little. "Alright. Just checking."
