Settling in for Nighttime Tiny Terry chapter 2 by KoroKoroAi

After a long day of… Whatever giantess-dominated incidents happened today, Terry was exhausted from the constant terror and humiliation of this world not built for him, and the powerful gigantic women who mostly did whatever they wanted to him. Just another day in the life.

Now, it was nighttime. The house was quiet, save for the distant hum of the dishwasher and the soft staticky murmur of the TV from the living room. Terry stood in the center of the massive kitchen table, waiting.

Jenna’s soft footsteps approached. She loomed in the doorway, backlit by the hall light, a silhouette of curves and flowing hair. She smiled with a warm, tender expression.

“It's bedtime, my adorable little hero,” she whispered. Her hand came down with her palm open. He stepped onto it, the lines of her palm looking like a vast spiderweb beneath him. It smelled strongly like peaches - the scent of her hand soap.

She carried him through the dim house, past the living room where Hazel and Kayla were watching a movie on the colossal screen. Hazel blew him a kiss. “Goodnight, lil bro!” She waved. Kayla didn’t look away from the TV.

At the pantry door, Jenna paused. She lifted him to her face, her breath a warm, minty breeze. She'd already brushed her teeth. Her eyes, each one a vast, sparkling ocean of affection, stared at him like he was some kind of precious jewel.

“You were so brave today,” she whispered. “My strong, smart, handsome little man. Don’t you ever forget how special you are.”

She nuzzled him gently with the tip of her nose, a gesture that sent him tumbling onto his back in her palm. He lay there, sprawled and blushing furiously.

“Mom, please…”

“Shhh. Mommy knows how much you love her.” She righted him with a careful finger and opened the pantry door. The familiar scent of dry goods and his own tiny space washed over him. She placed him gently on the shelf next to his matchbox bed. “Sweet dreams, my tiny treasure. Dream of big things.” She giggled.

She leaned in and blew a kiss at him. Then she began to swing the door shut, cutting off most of the light from the hall. “Goodnight, little Terry. I love you.”

The door clicked. Dim darkness enveloped him. The thick wood muffled the sounds of the house as his mother walked back upstairs. He was alone in his tiny pantry kingdom. If only he was strong enough to open one of the boxes of gargantuan snacks.

Terry let out a long, shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The trials and tribulations of the day crashed over him in a hot wave. The feeling enveloped him as he got ready for bed.

He pulled off Hazel’s doll clothes and put on his sleepwear: a strip of soft, grey fleece cut from Mom’s old sweatshirt, sewn into a long tunic of sorts. He pulled open his matchstick bed and collapsed into it, staring up at the faint, almost imperceptible grain of the wooden shelf high above.

Eventually, the house settled into deeper silence. The TV turned off. The dim light from the living room was flicked off, and Terry was in pitch black darkness. Footsteps echoed down the hall, and doors closed. Terry’s eyes grew heavy. The emotional exhaustion pulled him under faster than any physical fatigue ever could.

But just as he was drifting off, a sound jerked him back to awareness.

Shrrr-kk.

The sound of the pantry door knob being turned gently.

Creeeak.

The pantry door’s hinge, opening very slowly.

A sliver of faint light cut through the darkness, painting a thin line on the shelf above him. Someone had opened the door. Just a crack.

Who is it?