I used to be ashamed of the scars—the ones on my hands from my first shitty kitchen job, the ones on my knees from scrubbing floors. I thought they were proof of what we'd lost. But now? When I trace them in the shower, my fingers drifting lower, I don't think about the pain. I think about his hands, the callouses that tell the same story of survival. I imagine him tracing these scars with his tongue, worshiping every mark our struggle left on me before he flips me over and fucks my ass raw, claiming every part of me that's been hardened by this life. Our poverty didn't break us; it forged us together in fire. And I'd let him burn me alive if it meant feeling his cum inside me. #ForgedInFire #HisToClaim