#How do you know how to describe it like that

[diyahatnight]

How they ask for sex

Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, Caleb x gn!reader (Separately)

Warnings: Suggestive, sexual themes, established relationships, minors DNI, 18+

AN: Sorry if any of them are ooc.

Word count: 5.8k

Xavier

Xavier would be the type to tell you straight up, or at least hint at it. They wouldn’t be subtle hints either, he’d be straight up with his hints and make suggestive comments that on the surface don’t seem inappropriate, but most definitely are. Though before he ever gets to say anything, his body always speaks before his mouth.

You and Xavier were laid up in bed together, him behind you spooning you. He held you close to his body, arms tightly wrapped around your waist. He was holding you this close because—right before you both got into bed—you tried to kick him out of your apartment. As a joke, of course. But now he's making sure you can’t sneak away from him.

You assumed he was asleep while you mindlessly scrolled on your phone. Initially, he was sleep, but he had an oh-so-delicious dream about you that woke him right on up. You felt him shift behind you and assuming he was now awake, you spoke to him.

“Are you okay baby?” You asked… but no response. You shrugged it off and continued to scroll on your phone. After a couple minutes, you felt him shift behind you once again, this time pulling you impossibly closer, like he was trying to get in your skin. Or… your clothes.

Xavier waited a bit before loosening his arms around your waist and trailing them lower, finally slipping his hands beneath your shirt. He then pressed his body against your own and that’s when you felt something hard press against your backside. Xavier was rock hard and he wasn’t hiding it, he wanted you to know so you’d do something about it.

“Xav-” You choked out, before he cut you off. “You know, Honey, I’m quite hungry right now, but there’s something specific I’d like to eat and i’m not sure if I can have it.”

Xavier didn’t wait for a response before he started to kiss your neck and caress your body underneath your shirt. You let out a soft hum and bathed in the feeling of his touches before speaking.

“And what exactly are you craving right now Xavie?” He paused his kisses for a moment, before sticking out his tongue and swiping a quick lick from your shoulder to your jawline, and then sucking the area for a bit to leave a nice pretty hickey.

“This food is one of a kind…” Xavier started as he nibbled on your shoulder. “There’s only one in the whole world, you can’t get it anywhere else.”

Xavier started to explain the food he was craving and he described you in explicit detail before saying, “And I’m afraid I need a taste of this food or my hunger won’t be subsided.”

You hummed once again and then softly said, “There’s definitely something we can do about that.” You felt Xavier’s smile on your shoulder and he let’s go of you before getting up and climbing over your body, moving you to lay on your back.

Xavier spreads your legs and settled between them, moving them to rest around his hips. He turned off your phone that’s been sitting there, replaying the same video over and over since he started, and he sat it on your night stand. He leaned down into your neck and whispered into your ear.

“I hope you’re prepared, Honey. Because it’s going to be a longgg night. I’m not letting you go until I’ve had my fill—again, and again." He said before attacking your neck.

Rafayel

I feel like Rafayel wouldn’t be the type to ask you straight up to smash. He’d be a little too flustered to say anything. He expects you to know when he wants to have you. You know him so well right? So read him like an open book. Rafayel is soooo obvious when he wants to have sex.

You and Rafayel went out on a date to the beach. He wanted to collect a bunch of seashells for you and make you something special. But after not even five minutes, the rain started pouring down.

You two were still a twenty-minute walk from your apartment, but you didn’t feel like listening to your fishy complain about walking in the rain. So, you suggested that you both stay at a nearby hotel for the night.

The nearest hotel was a three-minute walk, which he was fine with, even though he complained a bit. You paid for one hotel room for both of you, with one bed and Rafayel thought that this day couldn’t get any better.

After settling into the room, Rafayel told you, “Hey cutie, I’m going to take a quick shower.” He winked as he said it and made his way to the bathroom, hoping you’d follow him. Instead, you told him you’d be back. He turned to you with an offended look on his face.

“What do you mean, you’ll be back?” he asked as if you just told him you ruined one of his paintings.

“I’m just going to the store down the street to get us some clothes to sleep in, I won’t be gone for long.” You said with confusion evident in your voice and a tilt to your head.

For some odd reason he looked even more offended “So you’re saying that you don’t want to bathe with the love of your life?” he scoffed.

You rolled your eyes, “Rafayel I did not say that.” You folded your arms, “Do you or do you not want warm clothes to sleep in?”

“Fine, hurry up.” He said as he shooed you off. You sighed as you walked out of the hotel door, closing it behind you. The two of you had just gotten here and he was already being a brat. He’s gonna get it when you get back.

After a bit, you returned to the hotel room with a bag of clothes and entered the bathroom. Rafayel was standing there in a towel, letting the shower water warm up.

“Took you long enough,” he said with his back turned to you. You rolled your eyes as you put the bag down and started to get undressed. “Rafayel, I was gone for five minutes.” Rafayel took off his towel and stepped into the shower, “Yeah five minutes too long.”

Rafayel watched you get undressed and then step into the shower with him. He turned his back towards you and grabbed a rag, putting soap in it, and began cleaning his body. He didn’t say a thing to you nor did he even offer to help clean your back. He’s usually sassy on the regular, but today in particular he’s being more bratty about simple things.

After the shower, the two of you stood in the hotel room in your towels. You offered to put lotion on Rafayel’s body and he declined. With a sigh, you tossed the lotion on the bed and approached him with your arms folded.

“Alright, what’s your problem Rafayel?” He folded his arms too and turned his head the other way. “I have no problem,” he said matter-of-factly.

Your arms unfolded, and you traced your hand down his torso while quietly speaking, “Come on, baby, you know I know you better than that.” Rafayel grabbed your wrist and guided it lower, letting you feel his hardness press insistently against his towel — practically begging to be let free.

“Well obviously you don’t know me enough, cutie,” he said as he turned his head back to you to watch your hand. You started to rub him a bit while he guided your hand.

“Aw, baby why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you said, while he let out soft sighs at the friction, simultaneously softly grinding his hardness against your hand.

“Well… now you know.” He said as he backed you up until you fell back onto the bed.

Zayne

Like Rafayel, Zayne doesn’t say anything at all. He usually just waits until you feel like you want to smash because he likes to please. But if he’s feeling extra needy and you’re not, you can tell by the way he gets super touchy. When he feels like it’s been a while since he bent you over, he’ll be a little extra clingy, like an extra shadow, but he’s subtle about it. He makes it just the perfect amount of obvious so you’d at least get the hint.

After a long day at work, Zayne returned home, putting all his stuff down, taking off his jacket, and slipping off his shoes. As he walked further into the house, he spotted you sitting on his couch watching TV and that brought a faint smile to his face.

The night prior, you had spent the night, and in the morning while he was getting ready for work, he suggested that you should spend the day at his house since you have the day off. He’d love to see your face first thing when he gets home, your face makes his day.

Zayne sat on the couch beside you, and before you could even turn and hug him, he pulled you into a hug, burying his face in your hair taking in your scent. He sat there for a minute just breathing you in like you were his lifeline —the very thing that kept him going. Oh, he loved your scent so much… It turned him on after a long day.

He sat there for a long while before you shifted and spoke, “You okay Zayne?” He didn’t respond immediately and lifted his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead and murmured, “Just fine.”

You shrugged it off and pointed to the kitchen, “Well, I made you dinner, you should go eat. It’s in the microwave.” He nodded to your words, before pressing a couple more kisses to your cheek and jawline before getting up.

He returned with the plate of food and sat beside you again, closer this time. He rested his hand on your thigh as he ate, slightly gripping the inner part every once in a while.

After he ate, he put the empty plate down on the coffee table and then brought your legs up to rest across his lap. He caressed and massaged your legs before speaking, “Must have had a long day, you need time to relax.”

You giggled. “Baby, I’ve been relaxing all day.” He hummed, “Mmm, as you should.” his words came out in almost a whisper.

Zayne’s eyes remained solely on those pretty legs of yours, his eyes sometimes trailing up the rest of your body. He continued to massage your legs until he felt your calf accidentally rub against his hardness. The feeling made him shudder and he abruptly stood up.

“I’m going to go shower,” he said, leaving before you could even say anything to him.

Thirty minutes later, he quietly returned, sneaking up behind you on the couch and wrapping his strong arms around your neck. He buried his head into your neck breathing in your scent once again — the sensation traveling straight down to his core.

He started to rub your shoulders, fighting everything in his being to trail his hands down your shirt and caress your chest. Instead, he settled with massaging your collar bones.

“Zayne are you sure you’re alright?” you asked him once again, you knew there was something wrong with him. Still, he didn't answer.

He started to kiss your neck and you felt the couch start to softly rock — he was grinding his hardness into the couch. Soft moans and sighs escaped him, right in your ear.

And finally, he let it out, with a soft audible moan, “Please… I need you so bad.”

Sylus

Would be the type to tell you straight up that he wants to fold you like a pretzel and make sweet, sweet love to you. But instead, he gets a thrill out of making you guess that he wants to smash, and then he twists the narrative and makes you beg for it instead.

There was a little festival going on and you and Sylus were out together. The two of you walked side by side while he watched you with a smirk pointed out different stalls. You wanted to buy little trinkets, play different games, try different foods, etc, etc. You were definitely in your element and that brought a smile to his face.

Even though it made him happy to see you happy, seeing you so giddy turned him on oh so much. It was so endearing, so much so that he was ready to take you to an alley and have his way with you there. But he decided that on this fine Saturday afternoon, he’ll keep it cute for the time being.

You had strayed away from him, trying one of the games at a stall and he approached you from behind, wrapping an arm around your waist and watching what you were doing over your shoulder.

“Having fun, Kitten?” He asked as his hand slightly squeezed your waist and he pulled you a little bit closer to him. He watched you nod your head as you played the game and that made him smile.

After you played the game, you showed him the prize that you won, it was a cute little cat plushy and you wanted to give it to him. He gladly took it from you, when he grabbed it his hand slightly grazed yours, and he realized that you were quite warm. He brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the palm of it.

“Your body temperature is quite high, would you like some ice cream?” he nodded to the ice cream stand not too far away. When you said yes he led you to the stand.

While in line at the ice cream stand, he let you order while he stood directly behind you. You felt him push his body up against you and you turned your head back at him.

“Sylus why are you so close?” You asked, your expression quizzical. He had a sly smirk on his face, “Whatever do you mean Kitten?” he said, but as he did so, he ground his hips against the cleft of your backside and he looked around like he was confused.

“Sylus what the hell-” “Your ice cream is ready.” He cut you off, pointing at the guy holding out your ice cream to you. You scowled at him, before accepting the ice cream from the guy and thanking him, then Sylus paid.

The two of you sat on a bench while you enjoyed your ice cream and he rested his hand on your inner thigh. You felt him keep his hand up every once in a while and you ignored it. Things go away when you ignore them— allegedly.

Sylus noticed that you had ice cream spilling down your forearm and instead of being a normal person and grabbed a napkin. He brought your forearm up to his mouth and sensually licked up the melted ice cream while holding eye contact.

You watched him with your mouth agape and your eyes widened when his lips sealed around the tip of your ring finger, to get the last bit of melted ice cream off. He also noticed the bit of ice cream you had on the corner of your mouth and he leaned in to lap that up too.

You popped him with your hand and he sat back with a smile, oh was he ready to eat you whole. But to his dismay, you turned your back on him, though his smile never faltered.

Later that evening, both of you returned to your apartment. He slipped off his shoes and watched you with a hungry gaze as you took off your jacket. Without warning he walked up to you, pinning you to the side of your couch. He started to kiss your neck, leaving a nice hickey.

“Do you know what I want to do right now, Kitten?” he asked, his breath hot against your shoulder. You shuddered at the feeling and spoke, “What is it Sylus?”

And that’s when he just let go and walked away to the kitchen to wash his hands. You were confused, you were so sure that you and him were about to get down and dirty on the couch, but he just… walked away? You followed him to the kitchen, closing the fridge door on him as he was about to grab a bottle of water after washing his hands.

“What the hell was that, Sylus?!” you scoffed. “What are you talking about?” he said seemingly unbothered. You frowned at him and folded your arms before speaking again. “You can’t just... do that and walk away.”

Sylus smirked when he heard you say that, and he slowly approached you, backing you up against the fridge. “What do you want from me, baby. Tell me, I’m all ears,” he said as his eyes raked over your face, he was ready to pounce, but he was waiting for you.

“Just… please Sylus, don’t do this to me,” you said, but in an instant, you were picked up and placed on the kitchen counter.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he started as he began to slide off your shirt. “You know closed mouths don’t get fed, Kitten.”

Caleb

I actually don’t know how Caleb would ask for sex. I feel like he’d say it straight up but he’d mainly wait for the natural progression of sex to happen. When he’s feeling needy, he’s going to kiss you like he needs you oh so desperately and then let everything else smooth sail. (I will be feeding into pantie sniffer Caleb allegations.)

Caleb was over at your apartment fixing a plumbing issue that you’ve been having for the past couple of days. Yeah, you could’ve fixed it yourself but you loved seeing Caleb play big provider man… it turned you on. So you saved something that he can fix, just so you can watch.

After fixing the plumbing issue, he came into your room to let you know that the issue has been solved, “Hey, Pip. The issue has been fixed, your sink should be working just fine now.”

Aw, he fixed it too fast, you were just wondering if you should go out there while he lies on his back, working under your sink and ride him, for moral support… of course.

You sat up off the bed with a sigh, “Thank you for your hard work Caleb, are you thirsty?” you said, as you got up and walked your way to the kitchen and he followed you.

“If you’re offering, then yeah — I am,” he said, all too giddy.

As you got to the kitchen, you opened the cabinet and reached for a glass. Caleb’s eyes locked on your midsection — the way your shirt slightly rose, exposing your pretty skin to his hungry gaze.

The shorts you wore sat low on your hips, and when your shirt lifted just a bit more, he caught a perfect glimpse of your panties.

Freshly worn panties… mmm perfect for a sniff, he thought. He knows you smell delish, good enough to eat. His mind started to drift, daydreaming, wondering if you’d let him smell your panties while they were on you.

His nose pressed against your mound getting a good whiff, while fighting the urge to lick. Oh, the things he would do for that right now.

“Earth to Caleb,” you called out to him, waving a hand in his face. “Oh sorry, Pip Squeak, I was just thinking about how… nice the sun is today,” he said, subtly angling himself so you wouldn’t notice he was completely hard from his daydream.

Curse those stupid tight pants he decided to wear today. He knows how much you like his butt, so when you called him to come fix your sink, he put on the tightest pair he owned to make it look extra plump for you.

You nodded at his response and poured both him and you a glass of apple juice. He took his with a quiet “thank you” and looked around awkwardly as he sipped it.

Then his eyes landed on you once again, and widened the moment he saw a drip of apple juice trickle down your face and chin. He swallowed hard holding back a moan at the sight and the way his hardness jumped in his pants.

He choked on his drink and immediately you turned to him, grabbing a napkin, putting down your drink, and cleaning his face. “Oh my gosh, Caleb are you okay?” you asked concerned as you cleaned juice off his face. All he did was nod in response.

“Let’s go shower, babe,” you said, as you led him to the bathroom by his arm. While in the bathroom you started the shower and then turned to Caleb to help him remove his clothes. He immediately stopped you and told you that he could take care of it.

You shrugged your shoulders and undressed yourself then hopped in the shower. After a couple of minutes, he joined you and you noticed that he was (attempting), to cover himself and you raised a brow.

“Why are you covering up? You act like I’ve never seen before,” you said with a smirk on your face. A pink hue dusted his cheeks, and he changed the subject: “Would you like me to help you clean yourself?”

You said sure and passed him your rag after pumping soap into it. He took it and began cleaning you up. After a bit of time, it started to feel like he was just fondling you, well he definitely was.

“Caleb, what are you-” he cut you off by smashing his lips with yours, dropping your rag to the floor. He kissed you like a man starved and that he needed this to survive.

Caleb picked you up, wrapping your legs around his hips as he pressed your back against the glass door of the shower. He started to grind his thick hard on against your tummy, moaning into your mouth as the heat between you built.

Absolutely no words needed. You know what he wants…

[em1i2a3]

My Favourite Game

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Inexperienced!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You haven’t had much luck when it comes to dating and sex which has inadvertently placed you in a position of being wholly inexperienced with the whole scene in general. But when your long time friend Rhett Abbott offers you a way to experiment safely to figure out what to do, you immediately jump at the opportunity–desperate to learn and get more experience.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers? Hell yeah! Reader is inexperienced and actually has a safe space to actually experiment. The dynamics between Rhett and Reader are extremely comfortable (they talk about a lot of personal things), They’ve been friends for a while (high school acquaintances turned adult friends), Mentions of Violence (kind of vague as well), Rhett is Mentioned to be Protective

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all…), Oral Sex (fem! And male! Receiving), Fingering, Biting (leaving marks), Dirty Talk, Hickeys and Love Bites, Cum Play, Swallowing, Hair Pulling, Choking, Overstimulation, Semi–Public Sex (Truck Sex y’all wahoooo lol), Handjobs, Riding, Making Out, Thigh Riding, Praising/WorshippingTeasing (physically), Begging, Reader is described as being inexperienced they have had sex though, just really bad sex, Very Soft Dom and Sub dynamics that switches, Finger Sucking, Gagging (very brief moment, nothing extreme), Good Girl is used.

Author’s Note: Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of smut warnings lol. I loved writing this, I buy into the friends to lovers trope so much, but I also enjoy the ‘I’m teaching you new things about yourself and we’re slowly falling for each other’ trope lol. Did I go off on this and have to change my keyboard midway through because the A, D, F and G keys break? Yep. But holy hell did I enjoy writing this new segment of RAF and I’m so excited to keep writing for this man!

Word Count: 13,962

It was painfully evident that you didn’t have much luck with men. You used to think maybe the first one was just a fluke–that one high school boyfriend who didn’t know the first thing about tenderness and treated you like a friend more than a lover. But as the years went on and the faces changed–first dates, flings, those awkward two-month situationships that ended with unread messages or cold shoulders–it became harder and harder to ignore a simple, infuriating truth:

You attracted a certain type of guy, and unfortunately, that type of guy brought on heaps of trouble to you.

Rhett had told you as much–in different ways, tones, and situations.

”I can tell just by lookin’ at ‘em,” He’d mutter over his beer, eyes narrowed at whoever was looking at you, or whoever had come to pick you up from his ranch when you would hang out, “Ain’t no way that one’s gonna treat you right.” But you never listened to him. You had told him–and yourself–multiple times that he was just being overprotective, and looking too deeply into things.

But the truth was, he was right, you weren’t being treated right. Not even close.

In bed, it was glaringly worse. You didn’t come first–literally or metaphorically. The guys you saw acted like just showing up was enough, like their presence alone should’ve sent you spiraling into pure ecstasy–like you were supposed to be grateful that they were blessing you with the experience of having them between your legs.

You definitely weren’t. Not even once.

You could actually count on one hand how many times you’d almost felt an orgasm building. And the only time someone even offered to go down on you–and even then, he was half-assing the job, and made it feel like a formality rather than something he actually wanted to do. You barely felt his mouth. But you pretended it was good, just so it wouldn’t be another disappointment.

For a long time, you thought maybe something was wrong with you, that maybe your body was broken or maybe you were just one of those people who didn’t get much pleasure from these types of things and needed simpler acts to truly experience something even close to sexual pleasure. So. You stopped trying, stopped dating, and stopped chasing what felt more like punishment than passion.

And within the quiet that followed your dating celibacy, you had found yourself spending more time with Rhett.

Neither of you were truly close with each other before that.

Sure, you’d gone to the same high school, crossed paths in hallways, shared the occasional class where you’d borrow a pencil or flash him a smirk when he got caught nodding off mid-lecture. But he ran with the rodeo kids, and you–well, you drifted between circles, kept mostly to yourself, caught up in extracurriculars and jobs and the kind of boys Rhett always ended up warning you about years later.

It wasn’t until a spur-of-the-moment decision–one boring Friday and a reckless text to your old classmate–that you ended up at one of his circuits. You hadn’t seen him ride since high school, and you figured, why not?

You didn’t expect much.

But then you saw him in the dirt and the dust, bronzed under the stadium lights, laughing with his hat tipped back and his knuckles split open. And something shifted.

You stayed longer than you meant to that night. Helped him limp back to his truck. Got late-night fries together. Talked about everything and nothing, just like people who didn’t know yet that they were about to become each other’s person.

After that, it became a routine. A quiet, natural rhythm. The two of you set aside one day a week for bar hopping–usually Tuesdays, when the crowds were thin and the drinks were cheap. But when you gave up on dating for a while, something in that rhythm expanded.

You weren’t just hanging out once a week anymore. You were showing up at circuits again, slapping the rusted fence rails as he rode past, grinning like you were seventeen again and seeing him for the first time. You started meeting his friends. Familiarized yourself with his family again–Amy’s quiet greetings, Perry’s tired but kind nods, Cecilia’s slightly surprised but not unwelcome smiles when you appeared in their kitchen one Sunday morning, still rubbing sleep from your eyes in Rhett’s oversized hoodie, and Royal’s glares that he shot at Rhett.

You became a fixture in his life. A known presence.

Especially after long nights of drinking, where you’d inevitably end up back at his place, curled up on his bed groaning because a headache was already brewing.

And with that bond that grew came something that bloomed slowly but powerfully: his protectiveness.

It had always been there–coiled beneath the surface, stitched into the way he watched you, waited for you, walked you to your door even when he was half-asleep himself. But when he started to piece together the kind of experiences you’d had–the disappointments, the lack of care, the way men made you feel like an afterthought–it shifted.

It changed the way he looked at you. Like you were fragile, but not weak. Like he wanted to wrap his hands around every bad memory and crush it.

He never said much when you opened up about it. Didn’t need to. The silence was heavy enough.

”You don’t deserve that,” He said once, soft as gravel, not looking at you. It had hit you harder than you expected. Not because of the words–but because of how he said them.

When you broke it to him that you were taking a break from dating, he didn’t even hesitate before saying “Me too.” You hadn’t expected that. You had laughed, asked him why– saying you’re Rhett Abbott, don’t you have girls throwing themselves at you every other week?–but he just shrugged, scratched the back of his neck, and muttered something about solidarity.

What you didn’t know though was that Rhett Abbott was relieved by this news.

It meant peace. No more stepping in between you and men who didn’t deserve to speak your name. No more black eyes or busted knuckles or security dragging him out of bars with the same tired “Abbott, we warned you.” No more cold rage coiled in his chest when you came to him with a new dating story.

But more than all of that–it meant he had more of your time again, and that you were his once more.

Not in the traditional sense. But in the quiet, easy way where he got to have you beside him. In his truck. At his kitchen table. Laughing on his porch. Falling asleep in his living room. Talking to him about things you didn’t tell anyone else.

He got to watch you laugh with his family. Got to listen to you hum in the passenger seat. Got to see you when you weren’t trying anymore–when you were just being you.

And lately, Rhett had been thinking about things. Dangerous things.

About what it would feel like to be the one to show you what good could be. About how his hands would never treat you like an obligation. About how he’d never rush you, never expect anything, never make you fake a damn thing.

He’d been thinking about you in ways he shouldn’t. Imagining things he wasn’t proud of. But he never said it. Never crossed that line.

Not until you did.

——————————

The bar was louder than usual, the kind of noise that sank into your bones, all thudding boots and clinking glasses and low country twang pouring from speakers that surrounded the walls of the drinking areas. You and Rhett were squished together in a booth that barely had enough space for one of his thighs, let alone two. He was pressed against your side, the warmth of his arm brushing yours every time either of you reached for the second pitcher of beer you’d ordered.

You’d been sipping slowly at first–well, pretending to–but somewhere between your third and fourth shared laugh, the drinks started going down faster. Something about being shoulder-to-shoulder with Rhett always loosened you up. Maybe it was the way he leaned in when he talked. Or the way his voice dropped just slightly in the middle of a crowd, like everything else was just noise unless you were listening.

By the time the second pitcher was empty, your head was spinning, your cheeks hot, and Rhett was nudging you with his knee.

“Guessin’ it’s time we call Perry?”He suggested, raising an eyebrow and pushing his light brown hair out of his face. You groaned.

”Can’t we just sleep in your truck?” And he let out a small laugh, shaking his head slowly.

”You’re too pretty to get eaten by coyotes, sweetheart. C’mon, I’m sure my place is more comfy than the leather seats of the truck.” He teased, as he pulled out his phone.

You both slurred your way through the call–Rhett taking the lead while you giggled beside him, repeating his name like a chant until Perry muttered, “Jesus Christ, I’m on my way.”

The drive back to the ranch was a blur. You’d nodded off on Rhett’s shoulder. He smelled like leather and dust and whatever cologne he always swiped across his throat before circuits. He didn’t say much on the way home, but his hand never left your thigh–more because in his drunken stupor, all he wanted to do was feel your skin against his, even if it was seen as an accident.

When Perry’s truck pulled up to the house, it was as if your bodies had already memorized the path inside.

You and Rhett stumbled up the steps, bumping into one another in the narrow hallway, muffling your laughter behind lazy hands and hushed voices. His hand settled low on your back, fingertips resting just under the hem of your top, warm and heavy with quiet intention–though he played it off like it was nothing. Like he always did.

His legs bumped into the frame of the hallway table and he cursed softly, grabbing onto your arm to steady himself.

“Shh,” You whispered, glancing behind you, “You’re gonna wake your parents.” He waved his hand.

”It’s okay,” He murmured, his breath brushing your hair slightly, “I’m sure they’re used to it by now.” You reached his room like it was second nature–your bodies moving together in a practiced rhythm, like you’d done this dance before. And you had, in bits and pieces. Just not like this. Not with this kind of tension buzzing just beneath your skin.

You practically fell through the doorway first, catching yourself on the edge of his bed with a half-giggled groan. Rhett followed close behind, his shoulder knocking lightly into the doorframe before he caught himself and dragged it shut behind him with a soft click.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the pale moonlight bleeding in through the slatted blinds. Familiar shadows painted across the floorboards and the messy sprawl of his clothes on the chair. The scent of him clung to the room–warm skin, worn flannel, the faint tang of sawdust and leather.

You kicked off your boots, one thudding softly against the wall, the other tumbling onto its side. He mirrored your movements, stepping out of his own boots with less precision, letting out a groan of relief as he did so. You tossed your clutch onto the side table–just beside the lamp he never used–and sank onto the edge of his bed with a quiet sigh.

“Here,” Rhett said, reaching for the top drawer of his dresser, “Take these.” He tossed a soft, well-worn T-shirt your way–gray with faded black lettering you didn’t bother reading–and a pair of boxer shorts that still held the shape of his body in their fabric. You caught them against your chest, fingers curling over the cotton, the residual warmth of his drawer somehow sinking into your skin.

”I’m gonna go grab some water,” He added, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice low, but clearer now–more focused, or sobered up, “You get changed.”

Then he disappeared down the hall, the sound of his footsteps padding softly away as the door swung gently shut behind him.

You sat in the quiet for a moment, the distant hum of the house settling around you. Your pulse felt louder than it should’ve. Your fingers trembled slightly as you peeled off your tank top, the material catching on your shoulder before slipping free. You dropped it beside your clutch, then shimmied out of your jean shorts–tight and damp from the heat of the night, catching slightly on your thighs before falling to the floor.

The air kissed your bare skin, cool in contrast to the heat that had begun to build in your chest.

You tugged Rhett’s shirt over your head. It was too big, the hem falling just below your hips, the neckline gaping enough that the slope of your collarbone peeked out. You ran your fingers down the faded cotton, breathing in the faint scent of him lingering in the fabric–clean, woodsy, unmistakably him.

The boxers came next, soft and worn from a thousand washes. You slid them up your legs, the waistband resting low on your hips, baggy and comfortable in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once. You folded your other clothes neatly into a pile beside the bed, then sat back on the mattress just as the door creaked open again.

Rhett stepped in with two glasses of water, his knuckles curled tightly around the rims to keep them steady.

He paused when he saw you.

There was nothing particularly sexy about it, nothing overt or posed. Just you sitting on the edge of his bed in his boxers and his old shirt, legs bare, hair a little messy, your lips parted slightly as you took in a few deep breaths from the buzzing that tingled over your skin, and the shift in energy that floated through the room.

But something in his expression changed. His jaw flexed, and his eyes softened–the tension in his brow melting away the more he looked at you.

”Got you some water,” His voice was quieter now, more rough. You reached for one of the glasses, your fingers brushing his as you took it, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

”Thanks.” You took a sip of the water, the coolness of it sliding down your throat and settling somewhere just above your ribs. You sighed through the swallow, then leaned back slightly on one hand, blinking slowly at the ceiling as your head gave the first warning pulses of what would no doubt be a brutal morning.

“Jesus,” You muttered, placing the glass on the floor beside the bed, “I can tell I’m gonna have such a bad hangover in the morning…My head is already pounding.” Rhett hummed in agreement, moving toward his dresser again.

”Wouldn’t doubt it,” He mumbled, “I feel it too.” You watched him open the top drawer, his back partially turned to you. He didn’t say anything else–just reached in for another t-shirt. Then, without warning or hesitation, he grabbed the collar of the one he was wearing and tugged it off in one smooth motion.

And just like that, your breath caught.

You’d seen Rhett shirtless before. Once, maybe twice–at the lake, when his whole family had piled into trucks and driven down with coolers and towels and floating chairs. But those times had been quick, and you’d always looked away out of caution. Too many watchful eyes, too much risk of your gaze being caught. Too much danger in what you might feel if you stared too long.

But now?

Now there was no one watching.

No one except him.

And he wasn’t looking at you.

He stood a few feet from the bed, half in shadow, and your eyes swept over the length of his bare back, over the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the slight arch of his spine as he leaned forward into the drawer. You barely breathed.

His skin was pale where the sun hadn’t kissed it, but scattered across his chest and along his ribs were bruises–real ones. Deep and blooming like brushstrokes of ink and wine. Purple that melted into faded yellow. Green along the edges. Some were new, still fresh and angry. Others had already begun to fade, ghosting into the gentle gold of healing. They streaked across his ribs in uneven patterns, coiling beneath the planes of lean muscle, dipping into the shadows of his collarbones and clinging to his hips like the remnants of a war.

It was violent. And somehow, beautiful.

Because it was him.

It was the proof of everything he did, everything he gave. The risk. The pain. The stubborn pride that kept him getting back on the bull even after it had thrown him into the dirt. You’d heard the groans he swallowed, watched him limp back to the chute with blood on his jeans and dirt on his teeth, but you hadn’t seen this. Not up close.

Not in the quiet.

Your eyes traced the line of one particularly stark bruise that stretched from the edge of his left pectoral down to his ribs. The skin there was darker, tight. Raw. And still, your gaze followed it like your fingers wanted to.

And God the urge to touch him was burning through you.

You wanted to trace every edge, every mark, every scrape and wound. You wanted to know if his skin was as warm as it looked. If his chest would rise faster beneath your palm. If he’d shiver when you pressed your lips to that bruise just below his ribs.

Your thighs pressed together slightly, feeling your stomach tighten as you began to flush under the confines of your own thoughts.

Rhett tugged the fresh shirt over his head and ran a hand through his light brown hair, slicking it back out of his face before finally turning back to you. His eyes flicked up–just for a second–and he caught your transfixed gaze.

“You okay?” He asked softly, voice thick. You cleared your throat, heat climbing up your neck as you dropped your gaze for a moment, pretending you hadn’t just been caught practically devouring him with your eyes.

“Yeah…Totally fine,” You muttered, fingers fumbling for the glass on the floor, bringing it back up to your lips. You took a long sip–longer than necessary–as if the coolness of it might extinguish the warmth that was flooding your chest. Or the way your thighs were still shifting together beneath his boxer shorts like they had a mind of their own.

Rhett didn’t move, and didn’t say anything for a second, his blue irises scanning over you for a moment, seeing the little movement that your thighs were making, a little tell that he had seen before from other women. He licked his lips slowly, like he could still taste your gaze on him. His voice dropped just a little as he said it–casual on the surface, but thick beneath. Heavy with the kind of tension that had been building between the two of you for months.

“You were starin’.” Your breath caught in your throat, and you looked down instinctively, the corner of your lip twitching with something between embarrassment and defense. Still, you shrugged like you could play it off.

“Well…It’s kind of hard not to when you’re all bruised up from the bull,” You murmured, trying to keep your tone light. “Didn’t know they were that bad.” He hummed at that–low and dry, like he didn’t quite believe your answer.

“You’ve seen ’em before,” He said, voice gravel-thick, head tipping slightly. “Shouldn’t be a surprise to you at this point.” You lifted your glass again to stall, sipped slower this time, letting the water cool the heat that was quickly rushing to your cheeks. Then you glanced at him again and gave a one-shouldered shrug.

“I think you’re making it a bigger deal than it actually is, Rhett. I think the beer is getting to you.” That made something shift behind his eyes. He tilted his head a fraction, just enough to cast a slanted shadow along his cheekbone.

“Really now?” He murmured as he stepped closer, the floor creaking faintly beneath his weight. “You’re gonna tell me that I’m not seein’ straight?” He asked, pointing at himself. You nodded, your laugh shaky but still defiant.

”That’s exactly what I’m saying, Rhett.” He didn’t reply right away. He just stared down at you, long and quiet. Then, wordlessly, he stepped the rest of the way to the bed and placed his fist down–slowly, deliberately–on the mattress beside your thigh.

He didn’t touch you.

But the air between you shifted.

His knuckles were close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension in his arm. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes followed the shape of his forearm, the way the muscles tensed beneath the skin, until they traced up to meet his face again.

You tilted your head up to look at him, and he was already there–already watching you.

His gaze locked with yours, blue eyes shadowed and steady, but flickering with something sharp, something knowing. Your stare skimmed over the details of his face–so close now, you could count the flecks of gold in his irises. The stubble along his jaw. The faint creases near the corners of his eyes that deepened when he laughed. The way his bottom lip jutted out just a little more than the top one, wet from where he’d just licked it.

“You’re a little liar,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching into a slow, crooked smirk. “I can see it in your eyes.”

The words hit low in your stomach.

You wanted to deny it–wanted to scoff, roll your eyes, tell him he was being ridiculous–but all you could do was hold his gaze and feel the heat crawling higher in your cheeks.

Still, you stayed composed. Barely.

“I think you need to sleep off your drunken stupor, Rhett,” You commented, chin tilting upward in subtle challenge. “You’ve got beer goggles on, and you really are seeing things now.”

He didn’t back off.

Instead, he leaned in closer. Slowly. Deliberately.

His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath warm and smelling faintly of beer and mint as it fanned over your lips. Your lashes fluttered, but you didn’t look away. You didn’t move. Not even when your breath caught slightly in your throat.

You just kept your eyes on him.

“…Guess I really do need some sleep,” He murmured after a beat, his voice quieter now. Rougher. But when he pulled back, he was grinning.

Cocky.

Like he knew you weren’t as unaffected as you were pretending to be.

Then he straightened, turned slightly toward the dresser again, and asked casually, “You stayin’ in the bed with me? Or you movin’ to the spare room?”

Your lashes fluttered quickly, and you swallowed hard before clearing your throat.

“I’ll stay here,” You said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though your entire body was still tense from how close he’d just been. “Probably won’t make it to the spare if I get up.” He nodded once, like that was the answer he expected, then reached for his belt buckle

“Alright,” He replied. You quickly looked away as his fingers moved to undo his belt, the subtle clink of the buckle sending another unwanted jolt of heat through your chest. Before your mind could wander any further–before you could accidentally lock eyes with the line of his hips or the way his thumb hooked into the waistband of his jeans–you padded toward the head of the bed.

You placed your water glass beside your clutch on the nightstand with a soft clink, keeping your movements slow, and controlled. Like that would help rein in the sudden buzz running beneath your skin.

The sheets were cool as you slipped under them, the scent of his laundry soap mingling with the lingering smell of him on the pillow. You shimmied slightly to get comfortable, dragging the duvet up to your waist and tucking one arm beneath your head, the other laid loosely across your stomach. You stared up at the ceiling.

Behind you, the sounds of him undressing were harder to ignore than you’d hoped.

A soft rustle of denim. The unmistakable swish of fabric sliding down over skin. A low breath–just a little ragged, like maybe even he was feeling the same pressure you were. You swallowed.

Then the mattress shifted.

He moved carefully, like he didn’t want to jostle you, but you felt him all the same. The bed dipped slightly with his weight, and the warmth of his body immediately spread beneath the covers, replacing the cold air you’d just tucked yourself into.

He settled on his side–close, but not touching. Or at least, not exactly. His arm stayed to himself, his shoulders turned slightly away, but your legs…Your legs brushed.

Bare skin to bare skin. Just barely.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. Not anymore. It was full of tension, sure–but there was something else in it too. Something gentle. Something known.

“G’night,” He murmured, voice low and sleepy, already starting to sink into the mattress.

You turned your head a little, just enough to look at the back of his shoulder, then whispered, “Night.”

Your eyes lingered there for a moment. On the curve of his neck, and the slow rise and fall of his breath.

And maybe you were imagining it–but his leg seemed to press a little firmer into yours.

A quiet, tentative contact.

And neither of you pulled away.

——————————

You woke up to your alarm going off like a goddamn air raid siren, the high-pitched chime echoing through the quiet room like it had been waiting to give you a heart attack.

Your eyes shot open.

A groan ripped from your throat as you reached blindly for your clutch, limbs still tangled in the sheets and your brain pulsing with a headache that had already staked its claim behind your eyes. The light from the phone screen stung, but you silenced the alarm with a few taps, your movements sluggish and mechanical.

From behind you, Rhett let out a muffled groan of his own.

“Who the hell sets an alarm on a Saturday?” He mumbled, voice gravelled and sleep-heavy.

You ignored the ache in your skull long enough to fish out the familiar blister pack from the depths of your clutch, thumb already popping the next pill loose. You brought it to your lips and dropped it onto your tongue, reaching lazily for the lukewarm water glass on the nightstand.

“It wasn’t to wake us up,” You muttered, taking a small sip and swallowing. “It’s my birth control reminder.” The bed shifted behind you. A soft rustle. A new weight.

“Birth control?” Rhett’s voice had sobered slightly, still low, but laced with something else now. Confusion, maybe.

You placed the glass back on the table and rolled onto your side, glancing over your shoulder–and promptly noted two things: one, he’d taken his shirt off during the night, and two, he was looking right at you.

His eyes were a little narrowed. Brow furrowed. His hair was a mess, and his voice hoarse.

“Yeah…Birth control,” You replied slowly, letting the words hang in the air as you watched his expression closely. “You know…The thing that women take to help their periods and prevent pregnancy?” He rolled his eyes, though the motion lacked bite.

You raised a brow. “So what’s with the third-degree, Abbott?”

He shrugged lazily and turned onto his back, his arm behind his head, jaw tight. “Didn’t think you were on it, that’s all. Never seen you take it before.”

You smirked. “Well, I’m usually out of your house by this time. Or I’m in the bathroom and take it there.”

And that was all it took.

That one sentence cracked something open in his chest and sent his thoughts freefalling.

You were on birth control.

The implications settled into him like wildfire. No condom. No consequences. Just skin to skin, you wrapped around him, begging, whispering–he could come inside you and not think twice, could bury himself so deep you’d feel it for hours. He could grab your hips and pull you down hard against him, his hands splayed over your stomach as he fucked you slow and steady until you were begging him to finish. No pulling out. No holding back. No guilt.

He wanted to kiss your thighs open, drag his tongue along your folds, taste every part of you while you whimpered into his pillow. He wanted to hear your breath hitch when he whispered let me do it right this time, to watch your expression when he sank in–slow and thick and deep–and told you how tight you were, how good you felt, how he’d dreamt of this.

He wanted to mark you up. Leave bruises on your neck, your hips, your thighs. Paint you with proof that someone finally gave a damn.

He’d be quiet about it, though. You’d both have to be quiet.

His parents were probably still in their room. Hell, Perry might be awake. So you’d press your mouth to his shoulder, muffle your moans against his skin, and Rhett would whisper filth in your ear with every lazy roll of his hips, voice ragged and barely restrained, telling you not to stop squeezing him like that. Not unless you wanted him to come right then and there.

His cock twitched against his thigh–sudden and sharp under the weight of his boxers.

Shit.

He shifted slightly under the blanket, adjusting himself, trying not to groan at how sensitive he suddenly felt. But the mattress wasn’t forgiving, and the movement wasn’t subtle.

“You alright?” Your voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. Curious. Careful. “You’re all red.”

He cleared his throat. A little too quickly.

“Mhm. I’m okay.”

You turned toward him more fully, propping yourself up slightly on one elbow, your hair flattened on one side from where you had slept on it. Your eyes narrowed, playful. Familiar.

And then–your voice softened to a whisper, full of teasing promise. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were staring at me.”

He blinked.

You were close. Too close. Your face inches from his, lips parted slightly, breath warm against his cheek. It mirrored what he’d done to you last night, except now the tables were turned–and he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself.

“I’m not,” He said quickly, voice cracking.

But you didn’t back off.

You just tilted your head slightly, and then–without meaning to–your thigh brushed his, and you felt something.

You stilled.

Your breath caught.

And your eyes went wide.

“…Oh,” You breathed, heat crawling up your neck.

“Sorry,” You whispered a second later, but your voice was breathy and full of implication.

Rhett swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared at the ceiling. “It’s alright,” He said, quietly. Voice a little higher now. Tight.

The tension between you thickened like syrup, slow and sticky and impossible to ignore.

Neither of you looked at each other at first. It was safer that way. Eyes stayed on the ceiling, the far wall, anywhere but the quiet place in the middle of the bed where everything had shifted. Where your thighs had brushed, where your breath had caught, where Rhett was still hard and trying to will himself down with a silent prayer and clenched jaw.

But then you shifted again.

Not a lot. Just enough that the blankets rustled and your voice came out–low, almost shy.

“Do…Do you want some help with that?”

His eyes snapped to you like a whip. His entire body went rigid.

“W-What?” The word cracked in the middle, like it hit the back of his throat too fast to smooth out. His brows pinched together, mouth parted, lips dry as hell.

You sighed–soft and nervous–and pushed yourself up a little more, bracing your weight on your elbow so you could look him in the eye.

“I said,” You repeated, quieter now, more deliberate, “Do you want some help with that?” Rhett sat up a little too–mirroring you without realizing it, like his body needed to be closer. His face hovered just inches from yours now, the tension rolling off him like heat off pavement.

“Are you bein’ serious?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded slowly, searching his face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His gaze darted away for the briefest second, scanning the room like it might offer him a better answer than the one sitting right in front of him. But when he looked back, his expression was tight. Unreadable. Barely holding something back.

“Well, I mean…We’re friends…”

You raised your brows, your face still close, voice low but firm. “And we haven’t really been going out with other people. And sexual frustration is a thing, Rhett.”

He squinted slightly, more in thought than judgment. “You’re the one that said you wanted to take a hiatus from dating and stuff. I thought that meant physical things too.”

You shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That was more meant for me because I really don’t feel much when…Y’know…Things are happening.”

Rhett stilled.

His lips parted just slightly, his breath hitching. Then his jaw flexed and he leaned in even closer, until the space between your mouths was damn near nonexistent.

“You what?” He asked, barely above a whisper. His voice sounded gutted–like it hurt him to even imagine it.

You swallowed thickly, heart rattling inside your chest. “I…I don’t feel much when I’m being intimate with someone.” There. It was out. A truth you rarely admitted out loud, even more rarely to a man.

Rhett’s jaw tensed. His throat bobbed. Something wild flickered in his eyes–something that looked a lot like heartbreak, but deeper. Protective. Personal.

“…How about I make you a deal,” He said suddenly, his voice husky and serious.

You tilted your head slightly, cautious. “What kind of deal?”

“Let me try somethin’,” He murmured, watching your expression with unshakable intensity. “And then you can do whatever you want to me after. Or nothin’ at all. You don’t owe me a thing.”

Your lips parted. “W-What do you want to do?” He reached up slowly–like he was afraid to spook you–and let his fingertips brush beneath your chin, giving you the softest touch he could with the calloused pads of his fingers.

”Lay back,” He whispered, “And I’ll show you.” You stared at him for one long, charged heartbeat–your skin prickling, your thighs already pressing closer, the ache in your core blooming slow and warm at the tone in his voice.

Your face burned as soon as the word left your lips.

“Okay.”

It was soft, nearly swallowed by the quiet tension in the room–but Rhett heard it. His eyes didn’t leave yours. Not for a second. His hand drifted from your chin to your shoulder, then eased you gently back onto the pillow. The mattress dipped beneath the shift of your weight, the sheets cool against your skin–but Rhett’s hand never stopped touching you. He moved with patience. With care.

And then he did something unexpected.

He slipped his arm under your neck–not in a way that caged you in, but cradled you. Like he wanted to hold your head up, protect it. His fingers curled gently into your hair, and his thumb brushed over your cheek. Slowly.

His voice came next, low and laced with something close to a smile.

“Remember that time…In high school, when we ended up kissing in Marley’s closet during seven minutes in heaven?”

Your stomach flipped violently, a swarm of butterflies bursting awake.

You narrowed your eyes. “You said you’d never bring that up.”

He chuckled, soft and rough. “It’s been long enough that I think I’m allowed to bring it up.” His thumb grazed your cheek again, and you swore it soothed something in you you hadn’t known was wound tight. “But anyways…Remember when you said you were nervous? Because you didn’t know what to do?”

You nodded slowly, your voice nearly a whisper. “Yeah…”

“And I told you to just breathe. Don’t even think about what was happenin’. Just breathe.” Your lips parted a little, your heart thudding louder.

“Yeah,” You whispered again.

His gaze held yours, warm and steady. “Well… Just do that again, alright? Just breathe. Think about something else. Got it?”

You hesitated. Swallowed.

“Rhett…Are you sure you want to do this? It’s going to be a waste of your time.” Your voice cracked near the end, thick with embarrassment and doubt you’d carried for too long.

His expression shifted. Not angry. Just…Struck.

He leaned down slowly, and before you could say anything else–before you could panic or second-guess–he kissed you.

It was soft. Just lips brushing lips. But it stunned you all the same.

You gasped faintly into the contact, breath hitching, body going still under the gentle pressure of his mouth on yours. He lingered for only a second before pulling back, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours again.

“I’m positive,” He murmured, voice low and resolute. “Now just relax, okay?” You nodded, even though your heart was pounding. You let your hands rest by your sides, fists curled lightly in the sheets as Rhett shifted closer, keeping his arm under your neck, still holding you, still touching your cheek.

His other hand drifted down. Slow.

He didn’t go for the obvious. Didn’t grab. Didn’t grope. Instead, his fingertips brushed along the hem of the shirt you wore–his shirt–lifting it just a few inches before slipping beneath. You shivered instantly, the cool air meeting your heated skin, and then–

His fingertips touched your stomach.

Barely there. Like the ghost of a thought.

They dragged gently across your skin, dipping just beneath your ribs, pausing, then continuing downward. Featherlight. Reverent. You sucked in a breath as goosebumps erupted along your arms and legs, your thighs pressing closer together as he traced the soft curve of your waist with maddening patience.

“Still alright?” He asked, his voice low, lips brushing your temple now. You nodded quickly, breath stuttering. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

His hand moved again–back up first, over the flat of your stomach, the pads of his fingers gliding like silk. He circled your navel once, slow and hypnotic, then dropped lower again.

And lower.

Until he reached the waistband of the boxer shorts.

His fingertips paused there, resting lightly on the elastic band.

He kissed your temple. Then murmured against your skin: “Can you lift your hips for me?”

You did–slowly, your legs tensing slightly as you pushed up just enough. Your breath hitched as the cool air rushed between the fabric and your skin when Rhett tugged them down, slow and smooth, watching your face the entire time. Your body sank back down onto the mattress as he pulled the boxers down your thighs, past your knees, until they slipped off entirely.

Rhett paused for just a second, the boxer shorts now discarded somewhere at the foot of the bed, the room still and warm as his gaze settled on you—completely bare in the soft hush of the early morning light.

His eyes traveled up your legs, over the subtle dip of your hips, and down again to the place between your thighs–and the air left his lungs like he’d taken a punch to the gut.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of it. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You swallowed hard, your eyes still locked with his, every inch of you humming beneath the heat of his gaze. The sincerity in his tone–thick, reverent, gutted–made your breath catch.

Then, slowly, Rhett reached out. One of his hands cradled your knee, coaxing your leg outward, and he shifted down the bed as he gently murmured, “Spread your legs for me, Y/N.”

Your heart thudded. You hesitated—but only for a beat. Then, you nodded, slowly letting your legs fall open, nerves twisting in your stomach like warm thread as cool air hit you, followed almost immediately by the heat of his body slotting between your thighs.

His skin was warm against the inside of your legs—his shoulders wide and strong, his bare chest brushing the backs of your thighs as he settled in. You saw his eyes trail up your body again—slow, careful, like he was trying to memorize you. Then he looked up.

You’d closed your eyes.

Breathing slowly. Deeply.

Trying not to shake.

“Hey,” Rhett said softly, and you felt the mattress shift as he reached for you. His hand found yours where it lay clenched beside your hip. He interlaced his fingers with yours carefully and held on tight.

Your eyes fluttered open just as he leaned forward–and kissed the inside of your thigh.

A soft press. Then another. And another. Working slowly upward, like every inch of your skin deserved a proper hello. His breath was warm, his mouth even warmer, and every brush of his lips sent a new wave of heat coiling through your stomach.

By the time his mouth reached the top of your thigh, you were barely breathing.

Then–he tilted his head.

And he kissed you right against your core, and your whole body jerked.

Your hips twitched against the bed, your hand tightening in his, a quiet gasp slipping out of your mouth. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate line through your folds–like he was savoring you already. Like he was trying to learn what made you shake.

He kissed you again. Then again. Languid, like he wasn’t in any hurry. Like this wasn’t something to get over with–it was something to cherish.

His tongue moved with devastating patience, lapping and sucking gently, drawing shapes that made your thighs clench around his head. His hand gripped yours tighter.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, the words barely audible. Your back arched slightly, and you felt Rhett moan into you—actually moan—like your pleasure was feeding his. The vibration of it sent another jolt of electricity straight through your spine.

Then—his mouth didn’t leave—but you felt his fingers press gently against your entrance. He didn’t push in right away. Just teased. Traced. His tongue circled your clit once more—slow and wet—and then his finger slipped inside.

Your breath hitched, a sharp little gasp escaping you as your hips rocked upward without thinking.

Rhett stopped instantly, lifting his head slightly. His mouth was shining.

“You alright?” he asked gently, his voice low and rough and just a little breathless.

You looked down at him with wide, wild eyes and nodded quickly. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice cracking with need. “Oh my god, Rhett…yes.”

His mouth pulled into a crooked smile, his eyes still locked on yours. “Feel somethin’ now?” he murmured, teasing, affectionate.

You reached out and threaded your free hand through his hair–fisting it lightly at the crown, your hips rising up just slightly. “It’s witchcraft,” You whispered shakily, overwhelmed and already trembling.

Rhett laughed quietly, the sound sending shivers across your skin. “Nah,” He said, leaning in again, voice warm and sinful against your core. “It’s actually just me wantin’ to feel you come on my tongue, sweetheart.”

And then he dove back in.

This time, with more pressure. More hunger.

His tongue flattened against your clit, slow and firm. His finger curled inside you—and then he added another, stretching you just enough to make your breath come in shallow, frantic bursts. His pace increased, mouth and fingers working in tandem—sensual, focused, a little rough now.

Your thighs began to shake.

Your hips lifted and he pressed his arm across your waist to pin you gently down, grounding you while he devoured you like a man starved.

The noises he made—low, greedy groans—only made the tension build faster. Like your pleasure was his. Like getting you to break apart in his mouth was the only thing he cared about.

“Rhett,” You whimpered, barely able to breathe.

And then–he curled his fingers just right.

Your whole body seized. You let out a strangled moan, your mouth falling open against the pillow, your hand clutching his hair, the other tightening in his grip so hard you felt the tremor run down his arm.

Your orgasm hit like a freight train. Sudden, shaking, relentless. Your thighs clamped around his head and your hips bucked up into his mouth–and he didn’t stop. Not for a second.

He kept licking, groaning against you, working you through every last second until your legs twitched and your body slumped, utterly spent.

When he finally lifted his head, his lips were swollen, his chin slick. He looked completely wrecked–and proud of it.

His hand slipped out from between your legs, fingers soaked with your arousal as he licked them clean, before brushing his wet fingers against your trembling thigh. You were still panting, still half-blind with aftershocks. And he leaned over you again, eyes wild but soft.

”You alright, darlin’?” He asked, bringing his mouth to your cheek. You laughed–half a breath, half a sob–and nodded.

”Fuck, Rhett…Let me try and return the favour please…That was so fucking good.” He blinked down at you like he hadn’t expected it, like your voice alone could unravel him all over again. Then he let out a slow, ragged breath and leaned down, kissing you–soft, slow, indulgent. A thank you, a yes, a prayer.

“Okay,” He murmured against your lips, voice husky, “Yeah…okay.”

He eased onto his back beside you. The sheets shifted around you both as you rolled onto your side and slid your hand across his stomach, your fingertips brushing the light trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers.

He watched you carefully, gaze gentle but burning. “You don’t have to, you know,” he said softly. “You already gave me enough just by lettin’ me–”

“I want to,” You cut in, voice quiet but certain. That stopped him. His jaw flexed slightly, his breath caught, and his hand reached up to cup the side of your face for just a second–his thumb brushing your cheek in a quiet, gentle pass. You kissed him again before shifting down the bed, your heart pounding as your thighs pressed together beneath the oversized shirt. You settled between his legs, your hands sliding up the tops of his thighs as he let out a low, shaky exhale. His skin was warm and soft beneath your palms, his muscles tense beneath the surface.

You hesitated just a little, fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers.

Rhett’s hand came down gently, resting over yours. His voice was low, coaxing.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. You’re doin’ fine.”

You pulled the fabric down slowly, watching as his cock sprang free, thick and flushed and already hard from the weight of everything he’d just felt and everything you were about to do. You swallowed nervously, staring for a second too long.

Rhett noticed.

“Here,” he said softly, sitting up just slightly. He wrapped his hand around himself first, guiding yours over his. “Just like this. Nice and slow.” His fingers slid away, letting yours take over, his breath catching the second you squeezed him.

You started slow, pumping gently from the base to the tip. The skin was hot under your palm, smooth and taut, and you watched in fascination as he twitched beneath your touch. His head dropped back onto the pillow with a thud, a low groan tumbling from his throat.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “That’s it. Just like that.”

You tightened your grip a little, experimenting, and Rhett’s hips lifted off the bed slightly. He let out a quiet, broken moan. “Fuck, darlin’–you’re already drivin’ me crazy.”

Emboldened by his reaction, you leaned forward, licking a slow, uncertain stripe up the underside of his shaft. He hissed between his teeth, his hand flying to your hair, not pushing–just holding. Anchoring.

“You sure?” He asked, voice tight.

You nodded, lips brushing the tip. “I’m sure.”

Then you took him into your mouth.

Just the head at first–soft and careful. The taste was salty and clean, a little musky, faintly bitter, but not bad. Just…Him.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, feeling his thighs tense under your hands, and then took him a little deeper, bobbing your head slowly, finding a rhythm.

Rhett cursed under his breath, his grip tightening in your hair.

“Jesus, Y/N,” He rasped. “You feel so good…So fuckin’ good.”

You kept going, learning by the way he moaned, by how his legs twitched, by the way he tugged at the sheets. You tried to take him deeper–and gagged, just slightly, your throat tightening around him. You pulled off, coughing softly, lips slick and eyes watering.

Rhett sat up a little too fast.

“Hey, hey–Y/N, you don’t have to do that,” He murmured, pushing your hair back, “Take it easy on yourself, alright? You ain’t gotta prove anythin’.”

You nodded, catching your breath. “I’m okay,” You whispered, voice breathy but determined.

And then you went back down.

This time slower. More confident. You pumped with one hand and sucked gently, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. Rhett’s breath went ragged again, his voice wrecked.

“Fuck, you’re–goddamn, you’re so good at this,” He groaned, hips twitching against your hand.

It didn’t take long after that.

You felt his thighs start to tremble, the hand in your hair tightening as he gasped, “Shit–I’m gonna come–“ It was more of a warning than anything, but you didn’t pull away. You just kept going.

His climax hit with a low, drawn-out moan. His hips stuttered and you felt his warmth spill over your tongue–salty, thick, slightly bitter with a sharp edge that made your throat clench. You swallowed instinctively, slow, letting it slide down, feeling him shudder beneath you.

When you pulled off, your lips were slick, your eyes glassy.

You licked your lips once and blinked up at him.

“…Did I do good?” You asked softly.

Rhett stared at you like he was about to lose his goddamn mind.

Then he sat up, grabbed your face with both hands–his touch tender but firm–and kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue massaging yours, tasting himself on you and you on him. He pulled back breathless.

”You were fucking perfect…So fucking perfect.” You collapsed back onto the mattress with a soft, stunned laugh, breath still coming in shaky waves as you wiped at your lips with the back of your hand. Rhett was beside you in a heartbeat, his strong arms already tugging you toward him like he couldn’t stand to have even an inch of space between you anymore.

You let him pull you into his chest–his skin still warm, heartbeat steady but strong beneath your cheek. His arm draped low over your waist, the other curling behind your shoulders like he was trying to wrap around as much of you as he could.

There was no tension now. No nerves. Just the quiet intimacy of skin on skin and breath against breath.

Rhett sighed softly into your hair, his mouth grazing your forehead before murmuring, lazy and fond, “We should do this more often…”

You let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle against his collarbone, your voice soft. “Yeah… I completely agree.”

There was a pause. The kind that felt full–not empty. Like something was waiting behind it.

You lifted your hand slowly, tracing a fingertip along his chest without looking at him. Then, voice smaller, more vulnerable:”You’re so…Safe.” Rhett went still beneath you.

Not tense. Just…Quiet. Like your words had caught him off guard and gone somewhere deep.

Then he smirked–soft and slow, the kind of smile you’d only seen a handful of times before. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, barely more than a brush of lips against skin, but it made you shiver.

“We can do whatever you want together,” He murmured, his voice like warm honey. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

That–his reassurance, his promise–settled something in your chest. Something that had been unsettled for a long, long time.

You turned your head just enough to look at him. Your nose nudged his jaw, and your lips were still curved when you whispered “You really mean it?”

“Of course I do.” He said simply. You couldn’t help the smile that rose up then, soft and wide and honest. It spread slowly, uncontainable, tugging at your cheeks as your hand splayed over his chest and you cuddled in closer.

Rhett exhaled against your hair, one hand trailing up and down your back in soothing strokes.

“You know what?” You whispered, voice thick with something more than just affection now–something raw and real and aching to be spoken aloud. “I think this is the first time I’ve felt like…Maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe I’m not the broken one.”

His fingers stilled. Then tightened gently at your waist.

“It was never you,” He said, quiet but firm. “They just didn’t know how to do things.” Your eyes welled unexpectedly. But you didn’t look away.

And Rhett didn’t look away from you either–not even when you whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked.

“For…For showing me what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Rhett’s brow creased slightly, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against your forehead again, like he was sealing the moment there.

Then, against your skin, he murmured, “Ain’t even gotten started yet, darlin’.”

————————

You and Rhett made an effort to see each other every other day after that morning.

It wasn’t always planned. Sometimes it was just a lazy drive that ended in a shared milkshake and quiet conversation. Other times it was louder–pool hall banter, bar games, him showing up at your place just to fix the damn sink he swore wasn’t level. But no matter what it started as, it always ended the same:

With your bodies pressed together. With your hands on his chest. With his lips parting against yours like he’d been starving all day.

The first time it happened again was at the drive-in.

You wore cutoff shorts and one of his flannels tied loose at your waist, and you didn’t even make it halfway through the previews before your legs found his lap. The movie faded behind you like static. His palm settled low on your back, and your mouth found his in the kind of kiss that made your teeth knock and your fingers curl in his shirt.

You didn’t even remember what was playing. All you remembered was the sound of your breathing turning into gasps when his hand slid between your thighs, his voice rough against your ear.

“You gonna let me feel how worked up you are already?”

You reached down, grabbed his wrist, and guided him to the apex of your thighs–slow, sure. His fingertips pressed against the damp heat soaking through your thin cotton panties, and Rhett exhaled like he’d been punched.

“Jesus,” He murmured, his forehead tipping against yours as his fingers flexed, just barely moving. “You’re soaked.”

You nodded, breath already hitching as you shifted slightly in his lap, grinding your hips forward just a touch. The thick muscle of his denim-clad thigh was already pressing against your core in the most devastating way.

“I wanna try something,” You whispered.

His eyes flicked up. Searching. Heated. Still trying to catch up with this version of you—bold, direct, knowing what you wanted and how you wanted it.

“I’ve always wanted to do it,” You admitted, your voice breathy but firm. “Especially with you.”

His lips parted. His chest rose.

And then he smirked.

“Okay,” He said simply. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

That’s all it took.

You adjusted your knees on either side of his lap, straddling him completely, your hands pressed to his shoulders for balance as you positioned yourself just right. His thigh was firm beneath you–years of riding and wrangling muscle. And you sank down onto it slowly, the seam of his jeans dragging perfectly against your soaked panties.

A quiet gasp escaped your throat.

Rhett groaned, hands rising to grip your hips–gentle, grounding, but not controlling. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles over your waist as he watched your eyes flutter, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“You good, sweetheart?” He murmured.

You nodded, barely able to breathe. “So good.”

You started slow. Grinding gently against him in small, slow circles–testing pressure, building friction. The thick denim created just enough resistance to drive you mad, the fabric catching on your clit with every pass.

You rolled your hips again. And again. Shakier each time.

Rhett’s grip tightened, guiding you just slightly–his hands molding to your curves like he was born to hold them. “That’s it,” He breathed, voice almost reverent. “Just like that… Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”

You whimpered, burying your face in his neck for a moment as the sensations built, wave after wave, hot and pulsing and slow. Your hands curled into the flannel on his chest, and you swore you could feel his heart hammering.

Then you pulled back just enough to kiss him.

Hard.

He groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, encouraging your movements, letting you use him–letting you take your pleasure from him like he wanted nothing more. Your hips began to rock faster, your thighs trembling, the damp patch growing darker on his jeans with every pass of your soaked panties.

“Fuck, darlin’,” He gasped, his forehead pressed to yours. “You’re gonna come just like this?”

You nodded, dizzy, breathless. “I can’t stop…Rhett–I’m gonna–”

He kissed you again–slow this time, anchoring you as your hips faltered and your whole body seized up.

You came on his thigh with a broken sob of his name, shaking hard against him, every nerve burning, clenching around nothing as your hips twitched one last time and stilled.

Rhett held you through it, murmuring sweet things against your temple as you slumped forward, boneless and buzzing.

“That was…” You panted, barely able to form a sentence.

“Yeah,” Rhett said, his own breath shaky as he kissed the side of your head. “It was fuckin’ perfect.”

From that moment on, it was like you couldn’t stop.

The next week, he was driving you home, windows cracked, your hand resting on his thigh like it was second nature now. And somewhere between a curve in the road and a long silence, you leaned over, unzipped his jeans, and slipped your hand inside.

He choked on a breath. “Jesus, Y/N–what are you doin’?”

“Helping,” You said, voice teasing and low as your fingers wrapped around him.

You stroked him slow, lazy, while he tried to keep his eyes on the road, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. When he came–hot and fast–you licked it off your hand and the skin of his stomach without hesitation.

Rhett nearly crashed the damn truck.

Another time, you just climbed into his lap without warning. No teasing. No warm-up. You just needed him–needed the weight of him, the heat of his mouth, the security of his hands cupping the back of your neck like if he let go, you’d vanish.

You kissed him like you were going to disappear if he didn’t hold you tighter.

And he did.

Every time, he did.

He was addicted to you.

And you were addicted to him.

Yet somehow, you still hadn’t had sex.

Not because you didn’t want to. But because you kept finishing each other off before either of you could think straight.

It was chaotic. It was messy. It was you and Rhett–tangled in passion, steeped in something deeper neither of you had put into words yet.

Until one quiet evening when the summer air hung low and warm, and you turned to him and said:

“Wanna look at the stars with me?”

He blinked. Smirked. “Like, right now?”

“Right now,” You said, already sliding your shoes on. “Bring pillows and a blanket for the truck bed.” Rhett raised a brow, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth curving into something crooked and full of knowing.

“Oh,” He drawled, slinging an arm around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “You’re plannin’ somethin’.”

You only grinned as you wiggled out of his arms, walking out ahead of him before calling over your shoulder:

“Damn right I am.”

———————————

You and Rhett had a specific place you would go to when you wanted to look at the stars.

It was a lookout you had both found randomly one night, years ago, when you’d gotten lost coming back from a circuit. The GPS cut out somewhere along a winding dirt road, and the two of you had been bickering about turns when the trees finally gave way to a clearing so wide and open it looked like the sky had cracked open just for you. The ridge overlooked a valley, endless and quiet, the stars so close it felt like you could pluck them from the sky if you reached high enough.

That was the place he drove to tonight.

His hand was on your bare thigh, squeezing gently, fingers skimming just beneath the hem of your shorts. The low hum of the truck’s engine mingled with an old country song playing through the speakers–something slow and warm, full of steel guitar and dusty longing. The cool summer air flowed through the open windows, tousling your hair, raising goosebumps on your arms. But Rhett’s palm was warm and steady against your skin, his thumb tracing little circles lazily.

You shifted slightly in your seat, thighs parting just a little more, and he immediately took notice.

His fingers drifted inward–just a little. Just enough to make your stomach clench.

Then he started tracing letters.

Soft. Slow. One at a time, with the very tip of his finger, like he was spelling a secret across your skin.

“What’s that one?” He murmured, not taking his eyes off the road.

You blinked. Swallowed. “Uh… An S?”

“Wrong,” He smirked, squeezing your thigh.

“An E?”

“Nope.”

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “Then what was it?”

“Not tellin’,” He said, dragging another letter right after it, slower this time. “Guess again.”

You stared down at his hand, heat blooming low in your belly. “D?”

“That one was,” He said, a low chuckle caught in his throat. “But not the one before it.”

Your cheeks burned. You knew what he was spelling now.

He leaned closer, his voice thick. “Want me to keep goin’?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah…Keep going.”

He traced another letter.

And another.

You were just about to reach for him–just about to say screw the stargazing and climb into his lap right there in the cab–when the headlights hit the edge of the clearing, and the trees broke apart.

You both went still.

The lookout was exactly how you remembered it: tall grass, wildflowers curling in the moonlight, and the stars above glowing like soft embers in an old fireplace. The valley stretched below, dark and quiet, and the only sound was the breeze rustling through the open windows and the soft creak of the truck tires crunching over gravel.

Rhett cut the engine.

The music died.

Silence swelled between you, not heavy–just full. Like both of you were thinking the same thing and neither of you wanted to ruin it by saying it out loud.

Then Rhett opened his door and climbed out. You followed, your legs shaky as you stepped onto the grass, the air cool against your thighs. The tension was still simmering in your veins, but now it had space to breathe.

You grabbed the first blanket from the backseat while Rhett grabbed the pillows and the top blanket.

The two of you worked in an unspoken rhythm.

You laid the first blanket down flat across the truck bed, smoothing the edges with your palms. The metal beneath was still faintly warm from the earlier sun. Rhett climbed in beside you, placing the pillows near the cab, his knee brushing yours as he tossed the second blanket over your shoulders.

You didn’t speak as you climbed under it together.

You didn’t have to.

His body curved naturally around yours as you settled onto your sides, facing each other, the warmth of the blanket sealed around your bodies like a cocoon. Your foreheads almost touched. Your breath did.

Rhett’s hand found your waist under the blanket. His palm spread slow and deliberate, thumb grazing your hip, before lazily dragging across your stomach, the pads of his fingers skimming your skin like he was reading a prayer written in braille. You reached up and brushed his hair back gently, smoothing the strands that always stuck up in crooked directions. He sighed—low, content, eyes fluttering shut like your touch alone could unravel him.

His fingers slipped higher beneath the hem of your shirt, slowly, carefully. He tugged it up until you sat up and peeled it over your head. The night air kissed your bare chest, nipples tightening instantly under the sudden exposure—but you weren’t cold. Not with the way Rhett looked at you.

He stared like he was witnessing something sacred.

Then he leaned forward, lips parting just enough to drag across your collarbone before his teeth sank in—not too hard, just enough to make you gasp.

“Painful?” he murmured against your skin.

You shook your head, your breath shaky. “Stings a bit, but nothing I can’t handle.”

He smirked—something soft and sinful—and lowered his mouth again, kissing just beneath the mark he’d left behind. His tongue laved the spot slowly, like an apology and a promise all at once.

Then, his voice was velvet-wrapped gravel against your skin.

“Is there anything else you want to do with me? Any ideas you’ve got in mind?”

You shook your head slowly, eyes locking with his in the low, starlit dark. “I just want you to fuck me.”

He stilled. Just for a beat. Then smiled against your chest—slow and deep and pleased.

“Yeah?” he rasped, lifting his head to look you in the eye. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nodded, your heart pounding.

He leaned toward your jaw, kissing a soft trail until his lips brushed your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “Beg for it.”

You bit your bottom lip, breath catching, heart stuttering at the sheer weight of the way he said it. There was no mocking in it. No arrogance. Just pure, overwhelming need–controlled only by the thin thread of his patience.

His eyes shimmered in the moonlight, pale blue burning like lightning behind clouds. You leaned in and kissed him–soft, needy–and whispered against his lips, “Please…Fuck me…”

He shook his head, grinning with that maddening, slow confidence. “Gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart.” You kissed him again–more desperate now–and as you pulled back, his hand came up to your face. He cradled your cheek like you were breakable, his thumb tracing the soft curve of your bottom lip.

“Open up,” He murmured.

You obeyed.

Your lips parted, and he slid his thumb into your mouth, pressing the pad against the back of your tongue. Instantly, your mouth watered, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him gently. His eyes darkened, watching you like he could come undone just from this.

He pulled his thumb out slowly, a glistening trail connecting your lips to the pad of his finger, then dragged it down–past your chin, your chest–until it disappeared beneath the waistband of your shorts.

His soaked thumb found your clit in one perfect stroke.

You gasped. Bucked.

“C’mon, Y/N…” He coaxed, voice a rasp as he rubbed slow, tight circles. “You want it, right?”

“Yes,” You whimpered, your hips grinding helplessly into his hand. “God, Rhett–yes–please–I need you–”

He groaned at the sound of your voice, fucked-out and pleading, and pressed his thumb harder.

“Keep talkin’,” He muttered, eyes flicking down to where his hand moved beneath your waistband. “Want to hear you beg while I’ve got you all worked up like this.”

“I want you to fuck me,” You gasped, your palm reaching for his lap now, squeezing his cock through his jeans. He was already hard–thick and burning hot under your touch. “I want you inside me–I want to feel it, Rhett. All of you. I want you to ruin me slow.”

He swore under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”

You kept rubbing, palming him harder now, feeling him twitch and grow impossibly harder.

“I want you to come inside me,” You whispered, eyes glassy. “I want to feel you finish deep. I want you to fill me up until I’m sore. Until I’m dripping with it.”

Rhett’s jaw clenched, his breath shuddered–and his thumb didn’t stop moving. Every nerve in your body was locked on the delicious, unrelenting drag of his thumb over your clit–your underwear now utterly ruined, soaked straight through, clinging to your folds in the most humiliating, erotic way.

Rhett kissed you again–hotter this time. Sloppier. The kind of kiss that made your teeth knock and your breath catch. His tongue slid past your lips, curling against yours with growing desperation, and when he finally pulled back, he did so only far enough to breathe against your mouth:

“Take off your shorts,” He rasped, voice wrecked. “And get on top.”

You nodded so fast it almost hurt, fumbling to shimmy them down. Your panties peeled off with them, sticky and wet between your thighs. You didn’t even try to hide the way they dropped to the side of the bed. Not with the way Rhett was watching you. Not with how he was already ripping open his jeans and pushing them down with his boxers in one rough, desperate tug.

His cock sprang free, flushed and hard and leaking at the tip, the moonlight catching on the slick sheen of it.

Your whole body ached as you climbed into his lap and straddled his waist, your knees bracing against the warm metal bed of the truck, the soft blanket bunched beneath them. You sank down slightly–not to take him in just yet, but to rub your soaked core along the full length of him.

The heat of him–thick and pulsing against you–dragged across your folds, every ridge and vein grinding right where you needed it. You tilted your head back with a breathless moan, your hips moving in slow, teasing circles, coating him in your arousal.

“Fuck,” Rhett groaned, his hands flying to your hips, holding you there, letting you grind against him like he was made for it. His eyes trailed up your body, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. Then he reached up and cupped your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples.

“You look so fuckin’ beautiful up there,” He rasped, voice trembling with restraint. “You like that? Like rubbin’ yourself on me like a good girl?”

You nodded frantically, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. “Fuck, Rhett…You already feel so good. I can’t wait any longer.”

He gave your nipples a teasing pinch, and you nearly came undone right there.

“You don’t have to wait anymore,” He murmured, voice thick with care and gentleness. “Take what you need from me, Y/N.” You reached between your bodies, wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, and guided him through your folds once more–wet and slow–coating him thoroughly before lifting your hips.

Then you aligned him with your entrance, and with one long, shaky breath…You sank down.

The head of his cock stretched you open, dragging against your walls in a way that made your whole body lock up. Your gasp cracked through the night air as you grabbed onto his wrist with both hands, using it as leverage while your head tilted back and your mouth dropped open.

“Shit,” You whimpered, your voice trembling. “So big…”

“Fuck,” Rhett gritted out beneath you, his jaw tight, his knuckles white where he gripped your hips. “You’re tight, sweetheart…Jesus Christ, I can feel every part of you.” You kept lowering yourself slowly, inch by inch, your inner walls gripping him like a vice as you took him in deeper, stretching around his girth with a burn that made your eyes flutter.

“Rhett–” Your voice cracked, pleasure blooming slow and low in your belly, “–Feels so full… So deep…”

He looked absolutely wrecked beneath you. His head tipped back for a second, the cords of his neck flexing, jaw clenched as he tried not to buck up into you too soon. His hands left your hips only to return to your chest, massaging your breasts again with wide, reverent palms, his thumbs brushing your nipples in slow circles.

“God, you’re perfect,” He rasped, his voice shaking now. You whimpered again as you bottomed out, the base of him pressed flush against you, the stretch relentless. Your thighs were trembling already.

Then his hand came up–slow, gentle–and wrapped lightly around your neck.

Not choking. Not restraining.

Just holding you there, grounding you, letting his thumb graze your jawline.

“You okay?” He whispered.

You nodded, lips parted, barely able to get the words out. “So okay,” You breathed. “You feel so fucking good inside me, Rhett.”

He groaned again, like your words alone could push him over the edge. His fingers curled slightly around your neck, just enough pressure to make your walls flutter around him.

“That’s it,” He whispered, eyes burning into yours. “Take me. Use me. Fuckin’ ride me Y/N. I’m yours.” He watched you with something close to awe–his pupils wide, breath ragged as your hips rolled in that uneven, desperate rhythm, your thighs quivering from how much you were feeling, from the stretch and heat and weight of him pulsing deep inside you.

“Fuck, Y/N…” Rhett groaned, his voice strained and reverent, one of his hands gripping your hip as you moved. “You’re so fuckin’ tight like this…Every time you come back down, I feel your pussy clutch me like it doesn’t wanna let go.”

Your breath hitched.

You whimpered again, high and shaky, your hands splayed on his chest for balance as you tried to keep going, but your rhythm faltered, hips stuttering with every twitch of your muscles. Every drag of his cock against your inner walls made you cry out a little louder.

That’s when his hands slid lower.

“Let me show you somethin’,” Rhett murmured, voice gravel-smooth as he sat up slightly and wrapped both hands around your waist. His grip was firm but gentle, like he was grounding you–like he was giving you something to fall apart against.

He pulled your hips forward, grinding you down slow, dragging your clit along the thick patch of hair above his cock.

You gasped, your eyes flying wide, hands bracing hard against his shoulders.

“Jesus fucking Christ–Rhett,” You gasped, your head falling back as your thighs quaked around him. “Oh my fucking god–”

“That’s it,” he breathed, dragging you again, slower now, more deliberate. “Feel that? Right there? That’s where I want you. Grind on me, sweetheart. Just like that.”

Your whimpers melted into full-bodied moans as he kept your hips moving in that rhythm–circling and dragging until you were damn near sobbing against his mouth, your clit raw and throbbing with every glide across the coarse hair and the thick base of his cock.

He didn’t stop until he felt your hips start moving in sync on their own. He let his hands slip back up to your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples again as you rocked into him like you were losing your mind.

“Good girl,” He groaned, voice deeper now. “Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect. Soaked for me…Riding me just the way I like.”

Your breath hitched, your hands tangling in his hair as he leaned in, kissing up your throat–sloppy, hungry, and hot.

Then–suddenly–he sat up fully, his hands grabbing your ass and pulling you closer, forcing you to stay pressed tight against him as his mouth found your neck.

He gripped your hair and yanked it gently, exposing the smooth column of your throat.

And he started kissing. Licking. Biting.

Not enough to hurt–just enough to make you whine.

“Bet none of those assholes ever touched you like this,” He growled into your neck, rutting up into you now–slow at first, but deep. “Bet none of ‘em knew how to fuck you right.”

You gasped as he hit that spot again, your nails digging into his shoulders. “They didn’t,” You whimpered. “Fuck, Rhett–they didn’t. You’re the only one who’s ever–”

“Damn right I am,” He snapped, his teeth grazing your throat. “You hear that? That’s what you sound like when someone actually gives a shit about makin’ you feel good.”

He slammed into you again, this time rougher–deep and hard and relentless–and your whole body jolted forward, your nails dragging down his back through the thin fabric of his shirt.

He groaned at the sting. “Mark me up, Y/N. Let me feel it.” You were crying out now, your rhythm breaking down into messy, frantic movements, grinding and bouncing as best you could with how hard he was gripping your waist, how deep he was rutting up into you.

“Gonna come, Rhett–fuck–I’m gonna–”

“Come for me,” He rasped, slamming into you harder. “Soak me. Make a goddamn mess, sweetheart.”

Your vision blurred.

Your body locked up.

And then everything broke open.

You screamed his name as your orgasm ripped through you–wet and loud and overwhelming. You trembled violently, your whole body twitching as you felt yourself gush around him, soaking his lap and thighs, your slick coating every inch of him.

“Goddamn,” Rhett growled, his breath breaking into ragged pants. “Fuck–Y/N, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight–shit, I’m gonna–”

Then his hands flew to your hips.

He slammed you down against him one final time, holding you there with a bruising grip, his voice guttural and feral as he cried out:

“Fuck, I’m gonna come inside you–fill you up–gonna stuff you full of it, darlin’, so you’ll still feel me dripping out of you tomorrow–Jesus Christ–”

You gasped as you felt it.

The twitch. The pulse. Every thick, hot rope of cum flooding you so deep it made you clench again. He buried himself as far as he could go, his hips bucking wildly against you as he spilled every last drop.

You scratched your nails down his back again–hard.

He didn’t stop you. If anything, he moaned louder.

“Fuck yes, baby. Just like that.”

You collapsed forward, breath shaking, your chest pressed to his, your bodies fused together–hot and slick and shaking.

And he held you.

Tight.

Like you were the only thing tethering him to this goddamn earth.

Neither of you spoke at first.

Just heavy breathing. Soft trembling. The sound of your heart pounding where it pressed against his.

Then–barely audible–Rhett whispered against your ear:

“Guess what I’m writing?” Your breath was still ragged. Shallow. The tremors hadn’t stopped yet, and your chest was still rising and falling in uneven waves as you lay sprawled over him, your body warm and slick against his, your heart pounding so hard you swore it was echoing in his chest too.

“…Okay,” You whispered hoarsely, your voice barely carrying above the rasp in your throat.

Rhett didn’t say anything at first. He just smiled. One of those slow, crooked, half-cocky ones he couldn’t control when he was too soft to be smug and too smitten to pretend he wasn’t.

Then you felt it.

The gentle press of his fingertip against your outer thigh–bare, slick with sweat and still trembling slightly from aftershocks.

He dragged a slow line into your skin.

“I,” You breathed, voice soft and cautious.

He nodded, the tip of his nose brushing your jaw as he traced another.

“L,” You murmured, and he smirked faintly.

“Yeah,” He whispered against your cheek, his lips grazing your skin.

You didn’t breathe as he drew the next one–round and smooth.

“O.”

Another nod. His smile grew, quiet and reverent, the kind he only ever gave you when you were laughing in his passenger seat or half-asleep in his flannel.

And then he traced the last letter. Angled. Sharp. Deliberate.

“V,” you whispered. And this time, you stilled.

You pulled back just enough to look down at him, your hands sliding up to cradle his face. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. Just met your gaze with those wide, ocean-blue eyes–like he was terrified and relieved and stunned that he’d said it at all.

Your thumbs brushed the corners of his mouth, your fingers curling gently along his jaw.

And your smile–God, your smile–was soft and sure and finally at peace as you leaned in just close enough for him to hear you when you said:

“I love you too, Rhett.”

The air shifted.

He exhaled like he’d been holding it forever, his brows twitching with something emotional and overwhelmed, and then he leaned up, kissing you–soft and slow and messy with gratitude.

When he pulled back, his voice cracked.

“You’re so good, Y/N…”

You smiled again, barely able to speak as your hands continued to caress his cheeks, your fingertips memorizing every inch of him like a prayer.

“You’re perfect, Rhett,” You whispered. “I couldn’t have asked for a better person to be in my life.”

And this time–neither of you said anything after.

Because everything that needed to be said had already been written across your skin.

[redrage71890]

Backing Voice (Yan! KPDH x Fem! MC) Part 2

Synopsis: An ending tour marks the beginnings of a change. Just when everything was going so right. A meeting sparks emotions that were buried deep within one and another. What does that mean for our hunters and their source of peace.

Genres: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn (?), Yandere (?)

CW: None

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Word Count: 2.5k A/N: I'll be honest here, the yandere part is quite slow. Apologies if you're reading this purely bc of the yandere part. Also probably OOC.

————————————————————

A lift plunges further into the stages interior with the three hunters excitedly discussing the sight of gold along the honmoon. All their efforts are paying off with the near closeness of blocking the demons away from the surface.

"Did we just see gold?!"

"Yeah, I can't believe we're doing it."

"It's so exciting!"

"Okay. You know what this means. Its time to release the song."

"(Cough) Whoa. That was weird."

"Good thing we're taking a break."

"Yeah. Sounds like you need the rest."

"Yeah. Just need a little water."

"Did someone say water?"

Just as the doors opened the girls were met with an entourage of staff, just to take care of their well-beings after the show. Meeting the proud smiles of their managers Bobby and (Y/N).

Urging to give them water immediately as they walk and Bobby complimenting them on their performance. (Y/N) walks besides the girls and adjusts some of their robes and getting permission to take off some of their accessories.

As a reward for the success and topping the charts yet again, Bobby organised a staycation at fancy resort for them. But they promptly denied since mainly Mira and Zoey were more excited about relaxing on their couch.

Since the resort is now available, Rumi states that he should go to the resort instead. Which Bobby promptly got a robe and face mask on.

"Oh, wait. (Y/N), are you okay? You seem a bit... um, tired." Bobby questions, pausing her exit to follow the girls. Granted she didn't get much sleep due to the stress of organising the venue with Bobby, along with keeping up with the girls every time a demon showed up.

Not to mention the three girls asking for little pointers and ideas for the stage performance up until she firmly told them to stop.

Look. She likes her friends, really she does.

She just wishes they would leave her alone sometimes.

Zoey clung to her space so she can get pointers and ideas for lyrics, while also eagerly curious as to what she does outside of the tower.

Mira is much more chill about how they spend time together, typically asking her to watch something on the TV and eat together. But she started taking more of her personal time and commonly asking where she went by herself.

Rumi can be described as professional, initially. She tried to converse first, but (Y/N)'s shaking body was enough to stop trying for a while. But again, they grew acquainted and the hunter began joining in on her lyric writing and demo making sessions. Though once again, she never left the poor girl alone.

Though for all of them...

They refused to.

"Y-Yeah... I just need to rest for a while. But I got some things to take care of before that." Pulling a reassuring yet still tired smile his way, before following the girls in their shadows.

————————————————————

"You're telling me, that the girls released 'Golden'? Now?!" (Y/N) had been on the phone with Bobby as he made his way back for promotions.

(Y/N) was nervously fiddling with her good luck charm on her waist as she was taking in the news. But as much as she wanted to help with the promotions tonight, she couldn't hold off on what she had to do now.

Speeding through the streets with a guitar case on her back, a baggy hoodie and pants while donning a face mask to avoid people as much as possible.

She didn't wear a mask before, but fans started to recognise her as a manager for HUNTR/X. Her blood pressure by itself couldn't given her a heart attack right then and there when she heard that. Never again. She doesn't even know why they liked her so much.

The city nightlife has always been a somewhat suffocating, yet calming. Bustling crowded streets of people coming off work just to drink and let their worries leave for just a moment, families and friends going to dinner to spend time together and unwind. Such people made the night calming for her.

But the suffocating darkness that lingers underneath...

It always chokes at her.

However, her duties are of the most effective during those darkening nights.

Pushing away her inner anxieties and paranoia about herself, she pursues into the nightlife.

Coming down to a secluded park, long emptied for the streets and lights. Its playground seen better days and benches uncleaned with lingering brown leaves and twigs. By passing the structures, (Y/N) finds a suitable large old tree for herself. Its roots coming out of the ground and some leaving a space that make it appear like a throne among the tree.

Taking a seat in the centre and dismounting her case, showcasing to no one, a black electric guitar with gold and light blue accents along its body. A shiny exterior that makes look untouched, no lingering fingerprints or stains and signs of its use. A small notebook used and battered laid within the case. Stickers of the HUNTR/X girls and other musically themed ones about the cover.

(Y/N)'s touch detests the guitars unused appearance, but causes the accents to glow in the night. Picking up the notebook and flicking through the pages, she stopped at one page and put it to the ground, still visible for her eyes.

Tuning her guitar to its right sound, she began to pluck the strings.

————————————————————

As the honmoon glowed its usual blue, a deep pink purple teared through like paper. Clawing out the hole is a purple hand, followed by a black sleeve of a hanbok.

As soon as their feet touch the ground, a puff of pink smoke covers their body to reveal a young man who looked like he just came out of a drama series.

Middle parted black hair with dreamy brown eyes that can melt a girls heart. A dark teel green hoodie underneath a black jacket, paired with dark blue jeans and shoes.

An attire fit for a heartthrob, an ideal standard perfectly. Too perfectly.

Gwi-ma gave his blessings to humour Jinu's demon boy-band plan, in exchange he would erase Jinu's memories.

Earlier than planned, he decided to scout out the perfect place for the newly formed Saja Boys to debut. Surfacing through the night was a perfect cover for him, nobody would take full notice of him just yet. Using this time to casually scope the area.

Smirking at the large number of souls in the night. Numerous fans ready to be converted into loyal fans for him and the boys.

Though as he was admiring an empty park, he feels a sudden rush of his heart racing. Clenching his chest like he had heartburn, he freezes in his spot.

'What is this? Why does my chest hurt?'

As Jinu was questioning his sudden chest pains, his head flicks up as his ears picks up a haunting voice coming from the park.

"Watch the sunrise along the coast"

"As we're both getting old"

"I can't describe what I'm feeling"

"And all I know is we're going home"

"So, please don't let me go"

"Don't let me go~"

A gentle yet haunting voice echoes through the empty park. Ruptures of calm and contentment filling those along the outsides of the park.

Nobody bothering to humour their sudden feelings and search for the source of the voice.

All but one.

Stepping on the old green grass, Jinu follows the closing strums of a guitar and the warming vocals of the singer.

"And if it's right, I don't care how long it takes"

"As long as I'm with you, I've got a smile on my face"

The echoes of laughter from a once young girl fills her mind. Followed by the joint giggles and chuckles of a mother and father. All just happy to be together.

No care for what setting they were in, whether it was the busy streets of a city or the quiet hums of animals in the countryside, nothing could wipe off their joy and love for one another.

Until it did.

"Save your tears, it'll be okay"

"All I know is you're here with me"

"Ooh ooh, oh, oh oh"

"Oh oh oh oh oh"

A pitiful smile plastered on her face. Pouring her heart and soul into her voice.

Rays of blue and lavender light ripple through the city. Areas closer to the park reveal small parts of the honmoon, glowing a lavender purple.

A memory in her mind becomes as clear as an old tape record. Or one could say a thought.

Her body growing older and older. Watching as those who care for her grow weaker and weaker. A bittersweet image.

"Watch the sunrise as we're getting old, oh oh"

"I can't describe, oh oh"

"I wish I could live through every memory again~"

"Just one more time before we float off in the wind"

"And all the time we spent waiting for the light to take us in"

"Have been the greatest moments of my life~"

Hiding behind a tree Jinu peaks to manage out the silhouette of a figure sitting at the foot of the largest and oldest tree in the park. Based on the voice he could distinguish the singer to be a girl, but her hair was shaggy and covered her eyes.

He did not think this haunting voice would come from here.

"I don't care how long it takes"

"As long as I'm with you, I've got a smile on my face"

"Save your tears, it'll be okay"

"You're here with me"

Lifting her head, facing up to the old branches of the tree. That pitiful sad smile she held brought something unknown to his heart. He couldn't place why it felt so warming. Yet so haunting.

He felt reassured for some reason. Like his guilt and shame was washed away, clearing his head.

There was no sound of Gwi-ma.

For the first time in 400 years, he heard nothing but the haunting yet comforting voice of the singer.

"Ooh ooh, oh, oh oh"

"Oh oh oh oh oh"

"I can't describe, oh oh"

The plucking of her guitar came to an end. An overflowing amount of lavender light spreads along the honmoon, but it didn't push him down.

He felt at peace.

Unknowingly to himself, he took a step out from behind his hiding spot. Continuing to take more and more steps until he was right in front of her.

"Are you the one singing?" He was mentally cursing himself for the obvious question.

The singer in question froze. Slowly turning up her head, Jinu is met with a shiver of nerves. Piercing (f/c) and gold eyes stared back. Her pupils constricting as her hands began to shake.

"W-Who says it was m-me?" He sort of expected a quieter speaking voice. Just not this melodic. Her body was nervously shaking from his presence alone. As a demon, he should feel a certain thrill seeing her so fearful from him. Alluring humans to listen to their own shame and insecurities so they can be consumed by Gwi-ma.

But he hated seeing her shake.

"Uh, you are the only one here. I-I just wanted to say that, you have a beautiful voice." The compliment nearly rolled off his tongue flawlessly. He felt unnaturally shy with her (f/c) eyes on him.

While Jinu was weirdly nervous meeting the singer, (Y/N) felt like she was sweating bullets.

'There's only one explanation for this.'

No regular human pays attention to her singing. The only reason why her backing voice is discussed online, is because its among their favourite girl group.

'He's a demon.'

"U-Um... thank you...its nothing special..." Quieting her voice until it became a near whisper. Trying to ignore the demon as she packs up her notebook and guitar.

"What's your name?"

'He wants to keep talking? Should I tell him?'

Its not everyday that a demon wants to get to know her. It was strange. Unnatural. But what malice did she hold towards the male who has done nothing but try to talk to her.

She's not really a hunter anyway.

"(Y-Y/N)..."

"I-I'm Jinu, its nice to meet you." He holds out a hand for a shake. But he's just met with a blank stare.

(F/c) eyes barely blinking while simultaneously looking him up and down. He's never felt so self-conscious in centuries, he was beginning to sweat.

Thankfully for him, she peeled her gaze off and locked up her instrument once again. Slinging it on her back once she stood up at full height. While this was happening, Jinu put his hand away faster than a car. He could feel blood rushing to his ears out of pure embarrassment. He doesn't even know why he feels this way, they literally just met.

"A-Anyways! I wanted to ask if-"

"What's a demon like you doing here?"

Her question catching him off guard.

She knew what he was.

'Is she a hunter? How does she know?!'

"A regular human d-doesn't usually pay mind to my singing." Her statement coming out a bit louder than before. She didn't exactly look happy with being noticed.

Though in reality, she was feeling her heart race.

Of course she knew the effects her voice has on demons. Its what her ancestors have been doing for centuries. Things just changed when her mother met the Sunlight Sisters. Their duties were altered by the wishes of the hunters.

She can freeze a demons actions just by them hearing her voice. But it does not strengthen the honmoon as much as the hunters. Her weapon can barely kill a demon. Yet her voice and emotion poured into her singing is always enough for them to leave on their will.

Beyond what her mother has informed her of their ancestors, that is all she knows of her capabilities.

Jinu on the other hand didn't know how to respond. Humans don't pay attention to her melodic voice? He was beyond stumped.

'How could the humans not listen to this beauty!? I-I can't even describe how it feels to my body and mind!'

He had to stop himself mentally before he went on a tangent he didn't know was in him.

"I-If you're done staring. I'm gonna go." Walking past him in his frozen like state, trapped in his waring thoughts. Realising she passed him, he quickly snapped his neck over.

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks and looked over her shoulder. Lifting up an arm and doing a little wave, paired with the softest smile he's seen in years.

"I'll see you around, Jinu."

For the first time in 400 years, he met someone he wants to protect again.

Damn whoever stands in his way.

————————————————————

Edit: Trying my absolute best here :') Its a bit insane. Also if anyone has ideas for duet ballad or even like r&b songs, pls tell me, its for the fic and an idea I have in mind. And tell me your favourite saja boy bc I badly want more content about them.

Tags: @kitsune-05, @the-bookish-artist, @apelepikozume, @shoopershtar, @ravvilicous, @valeriele3, @vikc, @lasa27, @chipster-321, @greensunflowerjuna, @napbatata, @that-one-girl2020, @tagmepls, @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant, @minepugs, @crescent-z, @colorfulgardenerduck, @poem-bee, @deityofprocastinating, @0-undead-0, @gremlinartstudio, @jessica-mcd, @strayharmony943, @fruityg0rl, @cherryblossomfox, @aominehaven, @kyxmlii, @ssaischilling, @sweaterkitty-fluff, @historygeekqueen, @satansdaughter123, @theall-seeingone, @nvmkyuu, @amenabii, @julianne1024

[dantevhell]

I love the idea of rumi being a little unsettling. A little weird even before her demonic side got enhanced. I think she deserves it, as a little treat. Saw a fic describe her as spooky but cute and YES. THAT'S EXACTLY HER VIBE.

I love the idea of her being a creepy kid tm and scaring the living shit of Celine and then later, Zoey and Mira.

Of course she tries to control those quirks the best she can (bc the moment Celine notices them, she trains her to not exhibit) but she still slips sometimes (specially with her girls)

Here's a list of some ideas

Her appearing behind them randomly and no one noticing because she's so fucking quiet?? Like what the fuck how do you just not make one single sound while walking girl???

She has that very very intense stare (you know. The creepy child stare tm) when she's really focused on something (like a predator hunting a prey) that gives the girls chills when they're her focus.

related to the last one but she blinks less than the average person. Sometimes it will be like some good minutes and she won't blink at all.

Her fangs were always a little more noticeable then normal even before her demon side got stronger. She's always got those vampire-ish fangs (+ the combo of her having a creepy stare + a creepy little smile with her fangs. 🤌 *Mwah* chef kiss)

You know how animals eyes reflect in the dark? Her eyes do that too. Rumi appearing randomly at Celine's room at night and her eyes glowing a little: I threw up 😥 and Celine trying to come back to the land of the living after being scared shitless. And then, at the tower everytime the girls went to the bathroom or the kitchen, they would get jumpscared by rumi's eyes while she got a snack or something in the middle of the night and the next day when they try to talk with her about it she would be like: HAHAHA WHAAAAA- noooo, pfft- you're definitely just very sleep deprived, girl. And the girls would be like: y'know what you're right (bc they're truly are always sleep deprived and tired as fuck bc of their two jobs so *shrugs* "just my mind playing tricks I guess")

High pain tolerance!! Self sacrificial tendencies and low self esteem go brrrr.

^ Added to that: very quick healing. "How did that deep ass cut got healed so quick? It's been only 3 days!??" "Guess I am just honmoon's favorite!"

Very strong. Ridiculously strong. The girls always admired her for this but never suspected it deeply bc they're like "nah, she's just this strong bc she's been training since she was a child under Celine's VERY intense training program hahaha, that's our leader 😻"

[a-pute11as]

favourited - leila ouahabi

word count - 1.2k | summary - you get caught watching a tiktok of your girlfriend, on repeat.

-

your half-eaten breakfast sat untouched in front of you, now cold and completely forgotten. the dining room buzzed with quiet chatter and the occasional clink of cutlery, your teammates scattered around the tables, easing into their morning routines before training. but your attention was nowhere near food, or your surroundings at all.

what was meant to be a casual scroll on tiktok had turned into full-on gawking, your eyes fixed onto your screen as an edit of leila played on loop.

her hair tied back into her classic match day ponytail, sweat glistening across her skin in a way that gave her a glow, that post-match smirk of hers that never failed to make your heart stutter. the audio ‘favorite’ by isabel larosa, only made it worse. or better. definitely worse.

your favourite part hit again, for probably the tenth time, leila lifting her shirt after a match as she used the hem of it to wipe her face slightly, her toned abs and golden skin on full display as the slow-mo effect dragged it out just long enough to completely destroy you.

you didn’t even realize how long you’d been watching until you heard a voice break through the bubble.

“what the fuck are you watching?” kerstin asked, eyebrows raised, leaning over the table to peek at your phone.

“nothing!” you yelped, startled out of your trance, scrambling to lock your phone and slap it face-down on the table like kerstin would forget about the way you had been sitting there for at least 10 minutes with your mouth gaped open.

kerstin didn’t move, her stare fixed on you with a look that could only be described as amused suspicion. her eyebrows raised as endless possibilities ran through her head. you did your best to look unbothered, but the way your whole face was heating up didn’t help your case.

“stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, though it came out more flustered than annoyed.

kerstin only raised her eyebrow further, as if she was proving a point.

“i’m going to get a drink.” you mumbled, already halfway out of your seat.

but you didn’t even make it around the chair before kerstin darted forward, snatching your phone off the table with lightning speed and a teasing grin.

she just held it, watching the way your entire soul left your body.

you froze.

“kerstin, do not do it.” you spoke slowly, as if you were trying to negotiate with a tiger, yet it was really just you trying to stop kerstin from seeing the thirst trap that was currently paused on your phone.

“oh, now i really have to know.” kerstin grinned, tilting the phone up and unlocking it with face id, your panicked expression only fueling her.

“kerstin!” you hissed. you shoved your chair back, heart racing, and darted around the table, arm already reaching out. “give it back!”

kerstin's eyes flicked up and widened with exaggerated panic, but she was loving every second. “leila! quick, quick! grab her!” kerstin called out dramatically, “she’s going to hurt me.”

and right on cue, you felt a pair of arms wrap around you from behind, firm, warm, all too familiar.

“hola amor,” leila murmured into your ear, pulling you gently back against her chest, halting your mission mid-step, “what’s going on here?”

your breath caught in your throat, “leila.” you squeaked, voice much too high-pitched to pass as casual.

you tried to wriggle free, but she tightened her hold, “i heard my name, i think i’m here to protect kerstin.”

“lei, please let me go.” you pleaded, watching in horror as kerstin’s face lit up like a kid at christmas, hearing the sound of the tiktok edit start playing.

“oi leila,” kerstin smiled sweetly, already holding your phone up. “have a look at what your girl’s been watching on repeat for the last ten minutes.”

“it wasn’t even ten minutes…” it was definitely ten minutes.

you silently made an attempt to get out of leila’s arms, yet instead she just wrapped them around you tighter, her head now resting comfortably on your shoulder. 

kerstin’s smile didn’t waver, especially when she proudly rotated your phone screen so it was facing leila, and half the dining room.

several of your teammates were now watching the scene unfold from the nearby tables. lauren was giggling as she filmed it all unfold with her own phone, bunny practically snorted into her cereal, and alex looked downright amused.

“what’s going on?” mary asked, joining the crowd forming, her face slightly twisting as the video replayed for what felt like the 1,000th time. 

and there it was, your phone in kerstin’s hands, proudly displaying the tiktok. leila in all her glory, abs gleaming under the sun, hair bouncing as she ran, that stupidly perfect smirk caught in high-def slow motion. the 30 second clip from the song repeating, painfully, for everyone to hear.

leila blinked, her head tilting slightly, before letting out a soft, stunned laugh, “is this me?”

“no,” you lied, face burning, “well yes, but look, it’s a good edit, okay. it came up on my for you page so i watched it and got distracted so it kept playing, it’s not my fault it’s so good.” you rambled, the words just slipping out your mouth.

“wait, she’s saved the video to her favourites too!” khiara noticed, only adding fuel to the fire. 

“khi! you didn’t need to point it out.” you shrieked, earning a seemingly innocent smile from khiara.

kerstin turned your phone around to her, tapping away at the screen until her eyes widened in discovery. all you could do was watch, leila’s arms being the only thing stopping you from launching yourself at kerstin. 

“she has a whole folder saved of leila edits.” she shouted, which was quickly followed by a chorus of different tiktok sounds adjoined to clips of your girlfriend you had meticulously favourited. 

and as the sounds played, you could picture the exact videos that matched.

leila laughed, arms still wrapped securely around you, “it is a pretty good edit to be fair.”

you groaned, melting further into her hold, “i’m never living this down.”

“nope,” kerstin grinned happily. “but on the bright side, at least now we all know who your favourite is.” 

you turned in your girlfriend's grip, hiding your head in the crook of her neck as your whole body felt like it was on fire.

“if it helps, i have a folder full of edits of you too.” leila whispered, craning her neck down ever so slightly so her words were reserved just for you. 

you thought about it for a moment, content with the thought that leila also watched similar videos about you, yet the whole team didn’t know that too. “it does, but only a little though.” you mumbled, her hoodie hiding the small smile that had just appeared on your face.

even though you could hear the sounds of the many, many, MANY tiktoks edits you had saved of leila playing in the background, at least you knew she had a folder that was just as bad.

a/n - thank you for reading! if you have any feedback/requests my inbox is open <3 also peep the edit i used in the header, 100% one of my favourite edits, those barca open training clips will never die 😩

[slttygeto]

pairing: suguru geto x fem! reader

discovering your love for primal play with suguru after asking him to participate in a tiktok trend...

he was about to refuse straight up--he thinks tiktok trends are stupid. however, after a lot of convincing (giving him the cutest puppy eyes) he sighed and agreed.

the trend was simple: you run, and he tries to catch you. as simple as that.

nothing could go wrong, right?

so you head to the back of your house with him, a few giggles escaping you when you see the vast green area that you can run in. you turn to your husband and playfully ask. "are you sure you still wanna do it? I think I'll kick your ass."

but suguru doesn't budge. he knows when you're trying to rile him up, it's cute. all he does is place a hand on your head before ruffling your hair.

"whatever you say."

the rules were simple: you get a five-second headstart before he starts to chase you.

at first you were confident, you've seen suguru run before but a five-second headstart should be more than enough to keep a good distance between the two of you.

so you run and run and run--you're not looking back so far, focused on reaching that one tree that seems so far away yet so close. you're confident you can make it, women have much more strength in their legs than men do--

a quick glance over your shoulder makes your blood run cold.

suguru was close--awfully close. and the look on his face could only be described as amusement.

a shriek escapes your lips when you feel him reach a hand to grab you, and your legs give you more boost. the adrenaline is coursing through your body at an all time high, and your heart is beating awfully loud against your ribcage.

he can't catch you--he's gonna catch you--fuck, what will he do to you if he does?

fear and excitement--the two rarely mix together, but when they do it's a dizzying combination. because you trust suguru with your life, and you know he would never do anything to hurt you but to see him run after you like this.

you don't have to pray that your husband is having the same dilemma, because the look in his eyes is very telling.

suguru didn't think he would enjoy it this much. he did feel annoyed that he had to chase you for a video, but the annoyance dissipated the moment he started to chase you.

god knows how much he wants to pin you to the ground and fuck you there.

and it doesn't take long before he finally catches you, strong arms wrapping around your middle and pulling you against his chest with so much force that you have to hold onto him for dear life. your fingernails dig into his forearm, and the sounds you're making no longer sound human.

"sugu--down! ah!"

he lands on the grass with a loud thud, your back still pressed against his chest and your body trying its best to escape his vice grip. he releases an arm from around your middle to lock both of your legs together, reaching under your knees to pull your thighs to your chest.

the position is compromising, exposing considering the fact that you were technically still in public even if it was your property.

but your pussy pulsates when you feel his dick press hard against your back, and you finally throw your head back against his shoulder.

he whispers in your ear, low and filthy and promising nothing but the dirtiest sex of your life. "gotcha."

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I'm so curious now, what did the reddit creeps say about your bath snacks post? Tumblr interpreted it pretty poorly sometimes so I'm curious how much worse reddit was

Lol, yeah, so

That post has gone past 100K notes on Tumblr, so you naturally get the full range of responses. It's therefore all about proportions. I obviously haven't run actual stats here, but I would estimate the following:

Majority commented some variant on "this is adorable" (including the popular variants "me and who", and "lord I see what you have done for others"). 70%

Significant minority was tagging with fandoms, with one example of fanfic and one memorable example of someone screenshotting, erasing mine and Steff's names, and replacing them with their blorbos. 25%

A smaller minority tags it with the phrase "the straights are alright" or similar sentiments, and have to be informed that neither of us is straight. 3%

A very small minority who can't seem to shut the fuck up about their opinions on bath snacks and don't seem to have heard of the advanced technology that is plates, being as they are absolutely convinced that the snacks would definitely either pour a torrent of crumbs directly into the bath like the dammed outflow of the Yellow River, or become physically saturated with water as I ate. 1%

About 3 people total who tried to tell me this was actually a fetish for my husband that I was innocently unaware of and ORDERING me to nurture it for the sake of his emotional and sexual happiness (lol for many reasons). <1%

1 single incel who lost his entire fucking mind when he saw the phrase "eager bathroom butler" because he thought it was sexist and demeaning to my poor abused husband and went on a weird rant that concluded with "I hope you've learned not to describe someone who loves you like that ever again." <1%

So, yeah. The main issue by a country mile has been the blorbo tagging. Which! In actual fact! Is not in and of itself a problem! Provided, that is, you FIRST acknowledge the real life human beings the post is about. And there has been plenty of that, and I don't mind that at all. Stuff like "Oh my god this is so sweet! OP your husband is amazing. Also this is making me think of (blorbos)"

Respectful, recognising that real human beings exist and not just to be fodder for your fanfic, giving praise where it's due to the star of the post (my husband). I have no issue with that at all.

MEANWHILE OVER ON REDDIT

Almost every single comment was one of the following:

Anything so you can see a naked woman amirite hurr durr

He's definitely doing it so she'll fuck him later haha hope she put out

Wow this dude clearly wants to be her sex slave

And like. What the fuck. What the literal and figurative fuck is that. He sees me naked every day, our sex life does not require transactions, and I'm sorry no one has ever loved you for you to know this, but sometimes you do things for your partner because the end goal is them being happy rather than you being horny.

Absolute wankers to a man.

[wonbyyou]

forgive me father | jay park

synopsis: you get turned on by the new priest.

You knelt in the dark walnut confessional, the familiar, comforting scent of old wood and incense now thick with a different kind of sanctity—or sacrilege.

Your fingers were against the black serge of your habit’s skirt, twisted the rosary beads until the crucifix bit into your palm. Through the lattice screen, you saw the shadowed profile of Father Jay, the new young priest whose dark eyes seemed to linger a beat too long during Mass.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," you began, voice barely a whisper, the words tasting like ashes. The sins were small, predictable—distraction during prayers, a fleeting envy of another sister’s voice in the choir. You confessed them mechanically, eyes downcast.

A low hum vibrated through the partition, a sound more felt than heard. "Is that all, child?" His voice was smooth

“Nothing... deeper? Nothing that keeps you awake at night, sweating beneath those holy linens? Nothing that makes your heart race when you kneel before the altar... or before me?"

Your breath hitched. Heat flooded your cheeks, pooling lower, a sinful warmth spreading between your thighs. "F-Father?"

He shifted. You heard the creak of leather as he leaned closer, his breath, warm and smelling faintly of communion wine, ghosting through the screen onto your cheek.

“Don't lie to me in this sacred space, baby,” he murmured, the endearment a blasphemous caress. "I see it. Every Sunday. The way your gaze drops when I lift the Host. The tremble in your hands when I offer you the Chalice. That pretty flush creeping up your neck."

A pause, heavy with unspoken things. "You dream of sin. Don't you?"

Tears pricked your eyes, hot and shameful. "Yes," you choked out, the admission torn from you.

"Good girl." The praise was velvet-wrapped sin. "Tell me about them. These dreams."

You faltered, words dissolving. How could you describe the forbidden images? His strong hands, usually raised in blessing, sliding beneath rough fabric? His mouth, which spoke sacred words, pressed against skin never touched by sunlight?

"Use your words, little nun," he coaxed, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Tell Father what wickedness stirs in that pure heart."

"I..." You swallowed hard, the air thick and hard to breathe. "I dream... of your hands, Father. Not blessing... but... touching."

A slow, dark chuckle rumbled through the confessional. "Touching where? Be specific. Absolution requires... honesty."

The lattice screen slid open silently, just a fraction. Not enough to see him fully, but enough for his hand to reach through. Long fingers, strong and elegant, brushed against your knuckles where they still clutched the rosary. The contact was electric. You jerked back as if burned.

"Easy now,” he soothed, his fingers tracing a deliberate path up your wrist, over the coarse wool of your sleeve.

“Confessing is hard work. Needs... comfort." His touch slid higher, skimming the sensitive skin of your inner forearm beneath the wide sleeve. His thumb pressed lightly against your frantic pulse point.

“Where do you want my hands, little one? Here?" His fingertips grazed the side of your breast through the thick fabric. A whimper escaped you, your body arching involuntarily towards that forbidden contact despite the terror screaming in your mind.

"Or lower?" His hand retreated slightly, only to trail down, down over your hip, then boldly across your covered thigh. His palm rested heavily, possessively, high on your leg, dangerously close to the apex where your hidden heat pulsed.

“Is this the touch you dream of?" He applied pressure, his fingers spreading wide, imprinting heat through layers of serge and linen. You felt the seam of your undergarments dig into sensitive flesh under his deliberate kneading.

"Father Jay... please..." You didn't know if you were begging him to stop or continue.

"Please what?" His voice was thick now, rough with a hunger that mirrored your own chaotic arousal. His hand moved inward, sliding with agonizing slowness along the crease of your thigh.

Your legs instinctively parted a fraction under his insistent pressure, a traitorous invitation.

“Tell me what you need absolved." His fingertips brushed the swollen seam of your sex through the rough fabric. The contact was maddeningly indirect yet devastatingly intimate.

A choked cry tore from your lips as a bolt of pure, liquid need shot through your core, leaving you trembling violently. Your hips rocked forward, seeking more friction against his palm like a flower turning blindly towards the sun.

"Ah... there it is," he breathed, triumph lacing his husky tone. His hand stilled, pressing firmly against your dampening center.

You could feel the outline of his fingers through the cloth, the heat radiating from his skin branding you even through the layers. "So wet already for your priest." He rubbed slow, deliberate circles, the friction igniting sparks behind your eyelids despite the barrier.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, each one a prayer and a curse. The rosary beads clattered forgotten to the confessional floor as your hands flew out, bracing against the wooden walls for support that wasn't there.

“This sweet little cunt," he murmured, the crude word falling from his lips like holy water turned to poison, “dripping its devotion right here in God's house." His circling fingers grew firmer, more insistent.

You bit your lip hard to stifle a moan, tasting blood mingled with salt. The pressure built inside you, a coiled spring wound impossibly tight, centered entirely on the sinful heat of his hand grinding against you.

Suddenly, his hand withdrew. The loss was a physical pain, a vacuum where ecstasy had bloomed. You slumped forward against the lattice, trembling, aching, unspeakably empty. A choked sob escaped you.

His hand reappeared through the opening. Not to touch you again, but held palm up. On his middle finger glistened a slick, translucent strand—your arousal, captured in the dim light filtering through the screen.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his finger to his lips. His dark eyes locked onto yours through the latticework as his tongue snaked out, long and wicked, and licked your essence from his skin with a slow, savoring stroke.

"The taste of your penance is sweet, child," he rasped, his voice thick with sinful satisfaction. "Very sweet indeed." He lowered his hand, the finger still glistening faintly.

"Now go. And think on your sins." A pause, weighted with dark promise. "Be sure to come back next week... same time."

The lattice slid shut with a soft, final click, leaving you alone in the suddenly freezing confessional, knees weak, body ablaze with shame and unsated hunger, the phantom pressure between your thighs an unholy brand.

-

anyone want a part two?

cara’s corner: also, everyone having a discourse about enhypen wearing priest outfits and I’m over here writing smut about it! forgive me indeed!

[crowwkui]

all three of your siren designs eat so hard, ESPECIALLY the outfits, but it really is such a treat to see someone draw selina so lovingly, your version of her is all the right amounts of unhinged and gorgeous

do you have like a design in mind for her catsuit or does she just change things out like a fashionista to suit her needs? and is there a story behind her missing part of her ear??

AAa thank you so much!!! I only started reading the comics recently, but I grew up on the cartoons and always loved those characters I think.. I kinda have some designs in mind? I haven't really drawn them in full regalia aside yet, but I like the idea of the Sirens switching it up whenever they want :D Mainly, I know that I don't want Selina's suit to be skintight latex hahaha. I also want goggles instead of the face mask (I'll never forget Michelle Pfeiffer describing how uncomfortable it was) In my head, I've been going the origin story of her growing up with her sister Maggie in an orphanage before running away and turning to sex work in order to survive. When her pimp goes after Maggie, Selina kills him, losing a chunk of her ear and nearly getting garroted in the process (hence the scar on her throat). I think that's when she takes on the mantle of Catwoman (stealing from the rich and protecting sex workers ฅ^���ﻌ•^ฅ) Maggie doesn't agree with this (she wants a more quiet, conventional life), and they part ways despite still caring about each other. I like Sister Zero... so maybe she goes to a convent to deal with her trauma but things go wrong. Thank you so much for the ask! (also all your kind words ಥ_ಥ ♡)

[brujaluas]

How would a tarot reader (me) describe you in a personalized tarot reading for you?

Let's put this reading here as a person wanting to know about you through tarot, what would I say to this person?

ps: I'm going to do the reading still using the term "you" even if it's from someone's point of view reading about you, because I think it will be less confusing that way, but I can change it if you want.

Pile 1

There are some here whose body is on Earth but whose mind is on Mars, or rather, on the moon. You daydream a lot, this can be good, you can end up projecting a lot of what your dream will be like, what you will dream, do we have some shifting here? You may feel coerced or in a way there is a shadow with masculine energy that you feel consumes your soul and your life, you may be intelligent people, some here are quite studious, and when I say this I don't mean to talk only about colleges and school, but about having very varied interests, wanting to have a thousand different hobbies. But your mind always seems to want a lot of things but at the same time wants nothing. It reminds me of anxiety, feeling a rush to do everything, but ending up not being able to do anything because your mind is not in a state of peace.

Take care of yourselves, my dears. I keep you in my heart.

Pile 2

oh oh oh calm down, you guys have a very complicated and dense energy, I'm not going to lie, some of you here, in fact, the vast majority have anger issues here, it doesn't matter if it's explosive or implosive, but there's a question of having anger boiling in your blood. Something happened here. You are very aggressive people when it comes to defending yourselves or your ideals. You never let your guard down and if you make a decision about something, stick to it until the end. rule things and your lives with an iron fist (I don't know if you know about this expression, but it's about someone who is very tough, relentless and unyielding). It's a fate. You, with this aggressiveness and way of being, can be both the answer to achieving your goals and also your own downfall. You need to cut something out of your life, put an end to something. If you believe in something, seek help and spiritual counseling, because people may want to do you some energetic harm. When you free yourself from this, you will become kinder to the world around you and to yourself. You will feel a lightness that you usually don't feel.

Pile 3

MY SHAYLASSSSSSSS

You are very kind, I can feel it, don't let bad people ruin or dull your shine, you are prosperous people, with chances of achieving many things, you can be very loved by people and if you don't identify with that it's because you haven't found your chosen family of the heart yet! but there is a lot of love here, I see the something or someone (or more that one person) being very affectionate with you, it could be a spiritual guide, an ancestor but there is a caring energy from something or someone or from beings that are not in our plane, someone can see you as a figure to be protected, you awaken the maternal/paternal instinct of people

I think that pile 1 are my middle children, those in pile 2 are my older children who always have something happening to them as a burden and pile 3 are my youngest children lol

[rawme-price]

Okay im obsessed with gator!reader and I gotta know, what do they look like? Like, how extensive is the gator features?? Can u describe them more??

Uhhh. I try to keep it as vague as possible bc its a reader character, but there's definitely key features.

You have a gators tail, like full on. Straight up scales and all, as well as scales on ur arms and legs. (Whether they blend in or stand out is up to u). There's also muscle, but again the appearance of that muscle is vague. Also sharp teeth, maybe some form of that eye film gators have🤔 im always partial to a more animal hybrid but ik others arent

Tldr: tails, claws, sharp teeth, and scales are described but everything else i leave up to tje reader.

(Little doodle below the cut)

This is how I imagine them when I read, bc its my ideal version lol. But idgaf how everyone else pictures them, as long as we all have fun :]

[rhettrosunsets]

Rainy Day Naps - Robert Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Pairing: Robert Reynolds X Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff!

Summary: It's a stormy day at the tower, and when you walk out to see your boyfriend laying cozily on the couch with a book in his hand, you have one mission. To join him and take the best nap you've ever had.

Masterlist

Warnings: Reader wears Bob's hoodie and it is described as being oversized and going to her thigh. No description of reader outside of the hoodie mention. No use of Y/N. Bob calls the reader petnames such as sweetheart.

Notes: This is super short and fluffy. I get super tired when it rains and I just wanted to do a cute rainy day drabble where Bob reads to reader. I just know his voice would be so soothing to fall asleep to.

The sky outside was a darkened gray.

Thunder violently rolled in the distance, it's loud booms clear as day as they echoed throughout the tower. It had been storming all day, a violent gray and the patter of rain present since the early morning.

The storm didn't look like it was going to let up anytime soon, as flashes of lightning danced across the afternoon sky as you wandered into the living room of the tower. Your feet were clad in some fuzzy socks that Bob had gotten you, and your oversized hoodie that you stole from Bob brushing your thighs as the sleeves swayed with each step you took.

Bob was laying on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head, a book propped in the other. The golden desk light on next to him making everything look softer. The room was a soft yellow and he looked so warm, and so inviting. You were on a mission now.

You padded over silently and climbed onto the couch without a word being muttered. You pressed yourself into the space between Bob and the couch cushions, trying to get as close as possible. His arm immediately shifted from behind his head moving to curl around your waist and pulling you in as if he’d been waiting for you.

He held you close to him, a soft sigh escaping him as you settled. You pressed your face into the soft cotton of his sweater, breathing in the soft smell of detergent and his cologne.

“Hey, sweetheart. Is everything okay?” he murmured softly, his voice filled with gentle concern as he kissed the top of your head.

“You looked comfy. Wanted to join you, the rains making me tired.” you whispered against his chest causing him to laugh softly, knowing how tired the storms can get you.

He grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulled it around the two of you, softly tucking it around your shoulders. Rain pattered loudly against the window, the thunder still booming loudly outside the tower.

Bob’s fingers softly stroked up and down your spine, his hand sneaking under the hoodie you stole from him, his touch slow and soothing and his hand warm against your cool skin. While his other hand still held the book he had been reading before you joined him.

“Do you want me to read to you, Sweetheart?” he asked softly, making sure to keep his voice low and steady, as you seem so relaxed.

You nod against his chest eagerly, but too comfortable to speak. Bob reading to you is one of your favorite things in the world, his voice always soothing and comforting. It’s like he could stop all your worries with just the soft rumble of his voice and his hands on your back.

 His voice rumbled, a soft sound as you lay on his chest while he reads to you. You don’t catch every word, your brain a little fuzzy from how safe and peaceful you feel in your boyfriend's arms.

The sound of his voice enough to make you slowly doze off as the rain kept its angry tempo, while the thunder kept rolling in every few minutes creating the perfect atmosphere for your nap.

Between paragraphs he kissed your forehead while his fingers softly traced along your arm and up your back. His touch was so gentle and made you feel treasured as he held you in his arms.

You tilted your chin up tiredly, your eyes closed and he smiled knowingly that you wanted a kiss, before bending his neck to press the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“I love rainy days with you” you murmured, your voice thick with exhaustion. He nuzzled your head gently, keeping his voice at a soft whisper “Me too, sweetheart.” 

Outside, the storm continued to rage on. But inside the tower it was nothing but warmth and safety as the gentle sound of Bob’s heart beneath your ear lulled you into the best sleep you’ve ever had.

[nhmkhnh]

caitlyn kiramman's hand(s).

dom!caitlyn x sub!f!reader || hands describing ;; fingering & choking (r.receving).

you’ve always known caitlyn kiramman’s hands would be the death of you.

they’re elegant like the rest of her—long fingers, slim wrists, skin porcelain-pale but strong, veined faintly blue like fine marble. she wears those gloves too often, black leather fitted so tight you swear you can hear them creak when she flexes. but it’s when they come off that you lose all sense. there’s something obscene about the contrast: manicured, noble hands with calluses from her rifle; nails short, practical, but buffed to a soft gleam. her knuckles are faintly flushed, sometimes nicked from combat, and the pads of her fingers are just a little rough, just enough to catch against soft skin and make you shiver.

when she holds a teacup, it’s with two fingers and effortless poise. when she loads her rifle, it’s with surgical precision, swift and exact. and when she touches you—god, when she touches you—it’s reverent. possessive. thumb stroking under your jaw. middle and ring fingers sliding beneath your chin. palm pressed flat to your belly, easing you back. you swear she knows exactly what to do with every inch of those hands. she never rushes—just drags the backs of her knuckles down your spine like she’s memorizing every vertebra. every gesture laced with quiet authority, with knowledge, with control.

they’re the kind of hands that weren’t made to beg. they command. restrain. reward.

you didn’t realize how much of you belonged to her hands until they started replacing your own.

the first time, she fed you—quiet, deliberate, fingers pinching the soft center of a macaron before lifting it to your mouth. “open,” she’d murmured, and you obeyed without thinking, lips parting just as her other hand tilted your chin up. sugar crumbled on your tongue. her thumb lingered after, wiping a dot of cream from your lower lip. she didn’t eat. just watched you chew, watched you swallow, like she was starving for something else entirely.

the second time, it was a necklace. she stood behind you at the mirror, deft fingers grazing your collarbone as she fastened the clasp. “perfect,” she said—not to the jewelry, but to the sight of you wearing it, her name in glinting silver lying over your throat like a brand. her hands smoothed over your shoulders, down your arms, and you remember thinking: she touches like you’re hers. like she knows it.

but it’s when you’re undone that those hands become something darker.

her fingers curl inside you slowly, deliberately, the pads of them dragging against your walls like she’s trying to learn you by feel alone. and fuck, she is. wrist turned just right, palm slick with your ruin, she doesn’t stop—not even when you whimper, not even when you clench. “be good,” she murmurs, and her thumb brushes your clit with calculated pressure, making your legs jerk. you swear she could read you through touch alone, tease you to the edge with one hand and ruin you with the other.

and when she tightens her hand around your throat—elegant, practiced—there’s no fear. just heat. her fingers fit perfectly, thumb pressing under your jaw as her body looms over yours. her grip isn’t cruel, just firm, just enough to steal your breath and make your hips buck. “you’ll come when i say,” she whispers, and god, you would. you’d do anything those hands tell you to.

[ginandvodka-writes]

He was looking at you, petrified, not knowing what to do or say, as if even his own heartbeat could break you or the reality itself. You were pregnant, and the way your eyes shone with a mix of sadness and uncertainty wasn’t helping his shattered brain at all.

“Is… Are they mine?” His voice was barely audible, but to you it was heard louder than ten bombs. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out, it wasn’t necessary, your eyes spoke for themselves.

Are you serious?

There was nothing else to say, you raised your hands in resignation and turned around, ready to leave. One step and he was already grabbing your wrist, not hard but firm. You looked at him with teary eyes, heartbroken, and God that image tore him from the inside out. 

“No, no, no, love, no…” He wrapped your face in his hands, so delicately as if he was touching the most fragile glass. “I… I didn’ mean tha’, I…” He tried; he really did. But he didn’t know how to explain himself.

Simon never doubted you, could never do. He trusted you with his life, if one day you told him that clouds were made of cotton, he’d believe you without question. What he didn’t believe about you being pregnant, was that he believed himself incapable of creating life.

Blood was covering his body and soul, his hands were destructive weapons, the man he once was, was now buried inside the shell of a monster. Even in that moment, after two years of being with you, he couldn’t believe that you loved a man like him, so tainted, dirty, unworthy of love.

But loving you had been a light in his life, beautiful and warm, his refuge and safe place from the mess that the world was. He could barely believe that you, a beautiful spark loved him just the way he was, that you fit perfectly in his life and body, like fragments of the universe itself.

And now he was realizing that he was not only capable of being vulnerable, and that his hands could touch something without breaking it, but that now life was making him realize that he could create life, something as marvellous as a baby.

Words could never describe the ocean of feelings running through his soul, so he did what he was better at; proving his love with actions. He knelt in front of you, grabbed your hips to bring you closer to him and then buried his face in your belly, rubbing his face and kissing every centimetre, as if he could melt into you.

“I love you.” With those words he made it clear. He belonged to you and you to him, you were one, and the proof of that love was growing inside you.

[sugxto]

crossed wires - eddie/volt/reader

⋆syn: You broke a rule, so Eddie and Volt take new measures to keep you in place.

⋆wc: 5.5k

⋆cw: m/m/afab threesome, dom/sub dynamics, erotic electrostimulation, cum eating, cum as lube, shibari (with wires, do not do that irl)

⋆notes: reader insert uses g/n pronouns and is not described with feminine attributes. AFAB genitalia, terms used include hole, entrance, cunt and clit. e/v masterlist.

⋆snippet:

It’s your own fault, really.

It’s for your own good, you think, despite how sorry you are, as Eddie masterfully weaves the wires around your arms, across your back, keeping your shoulder blades almost pressed together. You can feel the woven braids of the wires making marks into your skin, circling your forearms, your elbows, your biceps, immobilizing you more and more with every inch they climb. They’re warm, practically humming, and you wonder if Eddie is charging them somehow, consciously or not.

crossed wires

It’s your own fault, really. 

It’s for your own good, you think, despite how sorry you are, as Eddie masterfully weaves the wires around your arms, across your back, keeping your shoulder blades almost pressed together. You can feel the woven braids of the wires making marks into your skin, circling your forearms, your elbows, your biceps, immobilizing you more and more with every inch they climb. They’re warm, practically humming, and you wonder if Eddie is charging them somehow, consciously or not.

Your face (your poor, sorry face, they’d called it) rests in Volt’s hands, his silver thumbs stroking your cheeks, and his lightning eyes keeping your gaze locked on. That was the other thing, too, you aren’t allowed to look away unless told, and Volt is enforcing that part.

“You’re doing so beautifully, little wire. So beautifully.” You know, despite the honey-sweet words, the tone of that voice. Volt is hungry, he’s famished, and he’s barely holding back. You imagine that, if Eddie wasn’t there, or if the circumstances of your situation were different, nothing would stop him from taking you that very moment. He licks his lips, and gives your cheek a little pinch, a little zap. “I can’t wait to see the marks on your skin when the wires come off. I’ll kiss every single one.”

Eddie scoffs. “And who says,” you feel him finish another knot, “we’re even going to take them off?” 

Normally, you might give a little retort to that, a small challenge. But that is certainly not the case tonight. 

“Nah,” he continues, his fingers grazing your biceps as he makes another loop, “I’m honestly not sure if they deserve that.”

You whimper, you can’t help it, though you know it’ll get you nowhere with them, and you press your folded legs together as tight as you can.

“Hm,” Volt muses, and you know he can see how you want to plead, beg, though it will fall on flat ears. You haven’t been gagged simply on the condition that you do not argue. So, you don’t. Volt smiles. “I suppose we’ll have to see how they fair tonight, then.”

You feel Eddie’s weight leave the mattress, hear him step onto the floor by the edge of the bed, and his hands run down your arms, your sensitive skin, and over the wiring that he wound to his touch. He makes a small sound, a hum, and says, “that should do.”

For the first time in minutes, Volt’s eyes dart away from your own, and he looks behind you to where Eddie stands, grinning like a cat. “Satisfied, then?”

Again, Eddie scoffs, and his voice is strained with barely suppressed frustration when he says, “I’ll be satisfied when I know they’re not going to be so careless when we aren’t around. Or at all. But,” he sighs, “this’ll work for now. Make fists for me.” You do, easily, and he makes a sound of approval.

Volt turns back to you, bright eyes practically flashing. “That’s what the lesson is for, right, live wire?”

You swallow, and nod. “Yes, Volt. And I’m sorry, Eddie, I am.”

Eddie doesn’t respond, just huffs a small breath. Volt makes a small pout, but his eyes glitter with devilry. “Oh, darling, we know you are.” Gently, he cups your chin, plants a small kiss to your forehead that sends tingles across your face. “But we have to keep you safe, don’t we?”

You nod. They do. You know they do.

“Good. Now,” Volt moves to stand, and slips off the bed to join Eddie, unseen behind your back. “Let’s have a look at what Eddie’s made for you.”

They’re out of your sight now, and you’re untouched for the first time in… you’re not even sure. You can feel both a white hot and a steel gaze roaming over your arms, your back, and your shiver at the charged air in the room.

“My, Eddie,” Volt sighs, his rich voice sending shockwaves straight to your clit, “absolutely stunning. Gorgeous, my darling.”

You hear Eddie hum, and then, the smack of lips, the wet slide of tongues, and little moans. God, you wish you could see - you can just imagine it, how Volt is probably holding Eddie’s neck, Eddie’s hands on Volt’s chest, melting together like they always do.

It stops a moment later, and Eddie’s voice is less rigid, less harsh, when he speaks again. “We should get going. We’re already late.”

Get going?

You turn your head only a little as you hear them round the bed, moving towards the door. It’s the first time you’ve seen Eddie’s face since he started working on the wires, and it’s no less gruff, his titanium eyes still filled with concern. He stops in front of you, crosses his arms, and you notice how his fingers dig into his biceps. 

“We have to go to work,” he says. “And you are going to stay here until we’re done.”

Oh. 

Oh.

Volt must notice your eyes grow wide, how your mouth falls open only a hair, and adds, “One of us will check on you every half hour.”

“You are not to leave the bed.” Eddie’s tone leaves no room for argument. “I’ve been fucking gracious enough to leave your legs free, but do not abuse that. Or that will immediately change.”

When had they even discussed this?

“You can, of course, use your safe word at any check in.” Volt cocks an eyebrow. “Unless, you need to use it now. Do you, darling?”

You shake your head, shoving “fuse” to the back of your mind. You wanted this, needed this, despite how your heart was pounding at the prospect of being alone.

“Aloud, darling.”

“No, Volt.”

“Very good.” Volt turns, grabbing his coat, and shrugs it over his shoulders. “You’re going to do so well, darling, I know you are. You can show us that, can’t you?”

“I can, Volt,” you say, nodding again, and you turn to Eddie, his grey eyes boring into yours, and ask in your sweetest voice, “May I see them too?”

Eddie’s breath hitches, clearly not expecting such a question, and almost imperceptibly, his gaze softens the slightest bit. He’s quiet for a moment, thinking, before saying, with a carefully chosen tone, “I… will show you when we get back. I’ll figure something out with the mirrors.” He raises a finger, and his brows as well. “If. If you’re good while we’re gone.”

You nod, agreeing, of course agreeing. Eddie makes art with his wires, but it’s a rare treat when he does something so intricate as what he seems to have made on your arms. Mostly, he uses them to tie you or Volt to the headboard, or to keep your wrists together while they take turns with your mouth. Once, you watched him bind Volt’s legs together, his hands working the wires with such a natural ease it was almost like they were part of him. Maybe they were, you weren’t really sure, but he controlled them like nothing you’d ever seen before. And not knowing what he’s created on your arms is making you ache.

Volt’s hand goes to touch on Eddie’s arm, a silent message shared between them, and Eddie sighs again. He steps forward, placing his hands on the mattress in front of you, and bringing his face only inches from yours. The concern is still etched all over him, but you see, deep in his eyes, the love that is at its heart. 

“Spark,” he almost whispers, and it catches you off guard after such steel from him, “you did very, very good for me. For us. And you’re going to keep being good, right? You’re going to listen to me?”

“Yes. Yes, Eddie. I am.” You mean it, with every breath.

“Good.” He brings a hand up, finds your cheek, and his touch is electric, warming your skin, as he meets your lips for a kiss that sends a shiver down your spine.

When he parts, he rejoins Volt, slipping on his vest, as nonchalant as ever.

Volt is adjusting his cuffs when he asks, “Do you have a preference of who should check on you first?”

“No, Volt.”

“Alright.” He opens their bedroom door, finds the small of Eddie’s back with his hand, guiding him out. “We’ll be back in a tick. Be good, live wire.”

The door closes behind them, and it’s like you can finally exhale. You settle your weight on your legs, getting as comfortable as you can, and prepare to wait.

This really, honestly, had started innocently enough.

When you’d come to the Breaker Box this afternoon, you’d found it quiet, eerily so - no shuffling in the back room, no conversations across the bar. It was surprising, you thought, even though it was closed, and decided to investigate. 

When you climbed the stairs, poked your head into the boys’ bedroom door, your heart just danced with love. They were napping, arm in arm, Volt’s hair a mess of sparks across the pillow, Eddie’s coils sprawled across Volt’s chest. They looked so soft, so peaceful - god, you loved them so much, it felt like a current that ran through your veins and straight to your heart. 

You, of course, did not want to disturb such a charming sight, so you closed the door again and made your way to the backroom, the office, whatever it was, where Eddie kept the weekly to-do lists. You were here, you had nothing else planned, so you might as well earn your keep around the club.

You did some sweeping, some table wipedowns, a little stock check on the bottles. You noticed, though, that one of the backlights above the bottles of the very top shelf had gone out - that was one Volt’s biggest pet peeves, the shelves not looking sharp. It was a simple fix to avoid his annoyance, you thought.

But… 

But, Eddie hated when you were on a ladder without them around. Just because a stupid floorboard made you fall, one time, now he always wanted to make sure you’re “not so careless” again. It was a safety issue, he’d said, and they just wanted to protect you.

You sighed, and thought of a moment, before deciding that, if you were quick, it wouldn’t be an issue. Neither of them would be the wiser.

That was easy enough to believe, as you retrieved the ladder, set it up, gave it a jiggle to make sure it was steady, and ascended with a new bulb. It was a little more complicated, however, trying to maneuver around the bottles and loosen the dead bulb atop the glass shelf. Even more complicated to reach even further than your arms really could to fully screw in the new one. You could hardly get it to stay, but it just wouldn’t twist, so you shifted your weight the ladder, giving your body one more push and -

The ladder wiggled, and your elbow whacked into a bottle.

Which knocked into another bottle, and another, and all three fell at once, crashing to the bar beneath you.

You could only stare at the carnage, the amber liquid seeping off the wood, the glass shards scattered across the floor, because you knew, you had well and truly fucked up.

Faster than lightning, they were there, half dressed, breathing fast, and sparks crackling in Volt’s hands.

“Live wire?” Volt said first, his white eyes wide at the sight before them, and the sparks dissipated. His cheeks were almost blue - his skin tended to do that when he was angry. “What -”

“I’m sorry!” This was your mess, there was no use denying it, and you started to step down the ladder. “I was trying to change a bulb, and -”

“Spark, stop.” Eddie said, his tone harsh, clipped. “Let us get on some shoes, and we’ll get you down.”

“It’s fine, Eddie, I can step around -”

“I said stop.” His eyebrows quirked up, like a challenge. “You’re not stepping on glass, alright?”

So you did. They quickly found their boots, and Volt was the one who picked you up off the ladder and hoisted you to sit on the bar. Eddie came back with a pair of brooms, and let them rest against the bar as he came over to join you.

“Darling, what happened?” Volt asked, tipping your chin up to meet your eyes, and you felt tears start to prickle. “We didn’t even know you were here. We thought -”

“I know. I know, but you two were napping, and I just wanted to help! I -” 

Volt shushed you, softly, calming how quickly your words were tumbling out. “It’s alright, it’s alright, darling.” He picked up your hands, inspected them for cuts. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, inhaled a steady breath. “No, I’m okay. I just knocked the bottles over, they didn’t hit me.”

“Good. Good,” Volt said, relieved, and he turned his head to Eddie, casting him a look you couldn't quite make out.

You finally turned your own gaze to meet his steel eyes, and nearly gasped at how he was looking at you. His glare was harsh, concerned, maybe even... disappointed? 

His voice was low, brisk, when he spoke. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

You knew it was coming, but it still stung. “I’m sorry, Eddie, I -”

“What if you had fallen into the shelves?” He gripped the wood of the bar, his knuckles white. “Fallen through the fucking glass? Or tripped, and hit your head on the bar coming down? We were right upstairs, and yet you -” he set his jaw, took in a breath. “You have to be careful. You have to let us help you.”

You nodded, and felt a tear slip down your cheek. “I know. I do,” you said through a shaky breath, and you were vaguely aware of Volt’s hand on your thigh. “I did it knowing I shouldn’t have, I know you hate it, and I’m sorry.” You turned your eyes back to Volt, whose eyes were a bit more sympathetic. “I just wanted to help.”

Volt and Eddie glanced at each other, one of their silent conversations occurring over a split second, and Eddie ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “We know, darling,” Volt said, turning back to you and squeezing your thigh. “But that doesn’t mean you can disregard your safety for something so unimportant as a lightbulb.”

Another tear fell down your cheek, and you bit your bottom lip when you nodded. “I fucked up. I’m sorry, Eddie, Volt, I am.”

Volt took your hands in his, the smallest sparks under your skin blooming at his touch. “The important thing is that you’re alright. I’m going to take you upstairs, make sure nothing is going unseen. Eddie will clean up here and join us in a bit.”

You knew what that probably meant. You quickly glanced at Eddie, and asked, quietly, “Am I going to be punished?”

Eddie’s brows shot up, and he made a sound like a laugh caught in his throat. “Don’t you think you need to be?”

Your hands shook as a shiver ran down your spine, your arms, your thighs. You had disobeyed a rule, tried to quietly get around them while they slept, while you knew it was wrong. “I do,” you admitted, and held tight to Volt’s hands.

Eddie nodded, his lips tight. “Good.” He cocked his head towards the stairs, muttering to Volt as he grabbed a broom, “Take them up, then.”

A knock at the door brings you out of your thoughts, and you blink to see Volt step into the bedroom, his gaze soft, adoring, as he settles next to you. 

“Our darling,” he soothes, running a hand across your cheek. “How are you feeling?”

You breathe in, taking stock of the feelings in your body. A dull ache in your shoulders, some tingles in your feet from your whole weight pressing atop them. “I’m okay,” you say, exhaling. “I feel okay.”

“Good. How about some water, hm?” He stands, bringing a glass from the bedside table and settling it to your lips. You tip your chin up, open your lips to accept it, and take two hearty gulps before he removes the glass. He swipes a thumb over the corner of your lips to remove an errant drop. “Very good, darling.”

You study him, his stance casual, a deep contrast to Eddie’s rigidity in his anger. To Volt, it seems like it might just be any other night.

Cautiously, you ask, “Are you mad at me too?”

Volt’s brows furrow, and his eyes flash with something curious, maybe even sad. He joins you again on the bed with a sigh. “Neither Eddie nor I are mad at you, spark. We’re disappointed that you knowingly went behind our backs to do something dangerous, when we only want to protect you. Eddie, especially, because he’s had to catch you before, and wasn’t able to this time. ”

You know in your heart that’s all true, and if you had the option to go back and make a different choice, you would. But now, you know you need to sit with the actions you took.

Volt continues, “I know our Eddie isn’t the most… articulate man in this house.” He smiles sweetly, his eyes full of love. “But you know how hard he would fight for you, for me, for us, if it meant keeping us safe, don’t you?”

You nod, because you do - you knew from the moment you found the two of them in the backroom, struggling to combat the faulty wire, that they would do anything for each other. And now, for you, too.

Volt kisses your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. “You really are doing beautifully, darling. Eddie will be up soon, alright?” 

You say your goodbyes, and he slips down the stairs again, blowing you a kiss as he shuts the door.

You make a move to readjust your legs, bringing them in front of you criss-crossed, and wait.

You focus on the music that hums through the floor, thinking it sounds like Keyes - sultry, winding notes that soothe your thoughts. There’s applause every few minutes, and mumblings that you know must be Volt at the microphone. The unmistakable sound of Johnny starts, and you crack a smile, knowing what Volt’s face must look like.

The door opening again snaps you out of the music, and Eddie steps in, steel eyes immediately focusing on your face.

Your heart rate ticks a beat faster as he rounds the bed in slow, careful steps, eyeing you even as he steps out of sight and inspects your bound arms. You gasp when his hand grazes your shoulder above the wires, testing the tension. 

“Make fists for me,” he says, voice calm, but you can tell that something else is bubbling under the surface. You do, and wiggle your fingers, and he hums his approval. “Good. How do your arms feel, any numbness?”

“No, no Eddie,” you say, but your mouth is suddenly dry. Why are you so worried? You’re being good, you’ve barely moved, you’re not speaking unless spoken to. You’re doing everything right. “They feel perfect.”

He comes back into your view, and he sighs when he sits down. His eyes flit across your face, search your eyes, as he asks, “Why didn’t you wake us up to help you?”

Because you’re stubborn, and you’re still not used to being told what to do. You’ve climbed plenty of ladders, changed plenty of lightbulbs, you could do it. But it’s more than that, you think, and you shake your head as you say, “I didn’t want to bother you. I could do it, and I didn’t want to be a bother.”

Eddie’s brows are scrunched together, his eyes reflecting something like hurt, and it surprises you when his hands come to rest around your neck. “Live wire,” he holds you tightly, making sure your eyes don’t leave his, “you are not a fucking bother. You are ours. You are the fucking current that flows inside us, what keeps us powered - you are as much a part of me as Volt.” You know he sees the tears that brim at the edge of your eyes, but he persists. “And I cannot fucking stand the idea of you getting hurt. Do you understand that?”

You nod, knocking a tear loose, and a lump forms in your throat. “I do, E-Eddie.”

“Then I never want to hear you say, even think, that you could ever be a bother to us, ever.” Eddie’s eyes are dark, titanium and strong, and you know he doesn’t want to repeat himself down the line.

You know it’s easier said than done, but you know you’ll try. Because you know they love you, want ever part of you, and they’d do anything you ever asked of them. So, you’ll try.

You swallow down the lump, and whisper, “I’ll try, I promise I will.”

Eddie’s face relaxes, and he brings his lips to yours, kissing you reverently, deeply, and you know he believes you. That’s all you can ask for.

He pulls away, and whispers into your lips, “I love you, live wire.”

“I love you, Eddie.”

You sit together, quietly, before applause through the floorboards brings him back to attention.

“Do you need anything before I go?” he asks, and when you shake your head, he sighs in relief. “Alright. Volt will be up soon. It’s quiet tonight, so we’ll wrap up as quick as we can, okay?”

When he leaves, your heart feels lighter than it has since you ascended the ladder, and instead of anxious expectation at the door opening again, you’re excited, knowing that they’ll be back, here, together, so soon.

Volt does come, not long after, and gives you another sip of water and a kiss to the head. “Luke and Cam are the only ones left,” he tells you, “Eddie’s given them a last call, but they’ll be gone soon.” He smiles, that same excitement in your heart mirrored on his lips. “And then you can see what Eddie’s made for you, alright?”

Your body hums in anticipation when he shuts the door behind him. You try to imagine what the wires that bind you look like, if it’s reminiscent of the winging knots that adorned Volt’s legs once, or if it’s like a ladder that climbs from your wrists to your shoulders. You give your arms a small tug, testing the design, but it doesn’t yield much information, just makes your skin hum from the face that you’ve been immobilized by someone you love, someone you trust. You sigh, and close your eyes, and wait.

You hear them on the stairs after minutes of silence downstairs, and your breath hitches. Volt comes in first, Edie behind him. They’ve already shed their coats, their vests, and they both toss them on a nearby table before stopping at the end of the bed. They’re quiet, studying you, Volt’s hands in his pockets and Eddie’s arms crossed. Both of them are more relaxed, less stiff, than when they left, and your heart sighs in relief at that.

Eddie clears his throat, and he raises a brow. “Would you like to see them?”

“Yes,” you nearly moan, and you sit up, chest bright. “Please, Eddie, can I?”

“Yes, you can. Volt, grab your hand mirror, yeah?” he says, and there’s a small spark of amusement in his eyes as he comes to your side. “Uncross your legs, I’ll help you up, alright?” And he does, holding your arms when you find yourself unsteady on your legs, gone unused for hours, and leads you to their bathroom vanity, turning you just so. Volt appears, hands Eddie a small black mirror, and he brings it in front of your eye, fiddling with the angle until, finally, you can see them.

It’s not a ladder that climbs up your back, but diamonds, smaller at the bottom that grow in sizes as they ascend, beautiful knots connecting them to the binds on your arms. He used red wire, you notice, and you’ve never really realized how gorgeous the color looks against your skin. It’s intricately, lovingly created, and it makes your heart swell.

“Eddie,” you breathe, your voice quiet, awed, “Volt’s right, it’s stunning.” You can’t take your eyes off them, but a small part of your brain is imagining what the marks will look like when the wires are removed, how their lips will feel on the raw skin. You look at Eddie, his eyes brimming with pride, and smile. “Thank you. Thank you, Eddie.” You glance at Volt, leaning against the door frame, find his gaze full of devotion. “Thank you both, for taking care of me, for keeping me safe. I love you, I love you both so much.”

They’re on you in a flash, their hands stroking your face, your arms, lips pressed to your neck, ears, lips. It’s overwhelming, it’s unbearable, it’s exactly what you need.

You’re back to sitting on the bed, Volt at your side, kissing your neck, and Eddie holding your face as he stands in front of you. “You’ve been very good for us, spark. Taking your punishment in stride, and I’m really proud of you. So, I’m giving you a choice. Do you want me to take the wires off, or, do you want us to take you with them on?”

Sweet amp, how lucky you were.

“On,” you say without a moment’s hesitation. “Please.”

Eddie’s eyes darken, and the corner of his mouth turns up. Volt chuckles against your neck, and you feel his teeth graze your skin. “Well,” you hear him say, his mouth dragging up to your ear. “Just because you said please.”

Volt wraps an arm around you, drags you up to the pillows, and he leans back on them, opening his legs to slot you between them, pressing your bound back to his chest. His electric hands run up your naked torso, stopping to pinch your nipples, and he revels at your gasp. Eddie climbs between you and places his hands on your thighs, spreading them open, and your hiss as the cold air hits your clit.

“Hold still,” he says, the concerned tone in his voice gone, replaced with wanton need. Volt hoists you up more, off the bed, and you watch Eddie’s hand disappear beneath you, and you feel his fingers graze your skin as he undoes Volt’s zipper and drags the fabric down. Volt’s cock springs out, smacks the skin of your ass, and you whimper, your hole clenching involuntarily. 

Eddie stares at where you and Volt’s bodies touch as Volt adjusts his hips, his cock coming to rest at your waiting cunt, and Eddie licks his lips. He runs his hands across the insides of your thighs, and you fight the tremor the touch wants to elicit, and then, gingerly, he finds your folds, opens you up to find your clit, sensitive, needy.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he groans, and when he runs your thumb over your clit, you want to buck your hips into him, but you can’t - you’re too bound. You are completely, devastatingly, at their mercy. He teases your entrance, and curses again at how wet you already are, and he wraps a hand around Volt, guiding him inside you.

Your mouth falls open, and you cry out - maybe their names, maybe a curse, you’re not sure - and Volt’s tongue is on your neck, his hands sending zaps to your nipples. The pace Eddie sets is torturously slow, but his thumb circles your clit at every centimeter of length he adds, and already you’re not sure how long you’re going to last. When finally, finally, he bottoms out, you try to arch you back, but again, you simply can’t.

Volt groans in your ear, gives a tentative rock of his hips and makes you moan. “Mmm, little spark, I quite like you like this.” His voice is mean, teasing, and you feel it ghost across your skin. He rocks again, harder, and you squeeze your eyes shut. “Perfectly wrapped up for us to use.”

Something warm finds your clit at the next thrust, and your eyes fly open, only to find Eddie between your legs, his mouth enveloping your folds like a man starved. 

You think, as your body shakes, you’d be more than happy to die like this.

The fullness of Volt’s brutal pace inside you and Eddie’s languid tongue are making your brain short circuit, overwhelmed by the warmth, the stretch, the way the spring inside you is coiling tighter with every passing second. Eddie hums into you, and every few moments, you hear Volt hiss in your ear, and you guess that a flick of Eddie’s tongue found his cock as it pulled out of you.

It’s too much, it’s all you ever wanted, it’s overpowering, it’s -

You cry out, unable to stop the power of your orgasm and it surges up unexpectedly, a wave of pleasure that makes your legs shake and your throat raw. Warmth floods your body, from your bound fingers to your toes, and you barely register that Volt has followed you over the edge, filling your cunt with his release with a bite to your neck.

A moment later, he slips out of you, and you feel tears start to form when Eddie’s tongue dips further down, slow over your hole, and he licks up what drips out of you like he was made for you.

Eventually, you hear his voice again, and through blurred eyes, you make out his face by your thighs. “Now,” he says, and you think he sounds hungry, but how can that be right, when he’s just eaten away at all your resolve? “I’ll ask again, do you want to keep them on?”

You nod, but a zap to your neck makes you focus on Volt’s haggard voice in your ear. “Aloud.”

“Y-yes. On.” The effort to speak is heavy, and you can barely keep your eyes open. “Please.”

Eddie needs no further permission, and you hear fabric rustle, feel hands on your thighs, and then, once again, you’re being filled, and it’s warm and full and perfect.

Eddie’s cock slides in with quick ease, aided by Volt’s cum still inside you, and you clench around him as he thrusts, each time deeper than the last, and, not for the first time, you wonder if he’ll split your body in two with his power.

Volt’s hands are around your neck, and you revel in it, being pinned to them, letting them use you, hold you, fill you. It’s here, between them, that you feel most complete, like finally, the puzzle pieces of your life slot together.

The hours of knowing you were waiting, helplessly, mercilessly, on their bed, means that Eddie knows he’s not going to last long, so he savors every moan, every breath that falls from your lips as he rocks inside you. You feel perfect, like you were made just for them, almost as if he made you himself. 

All too soon, he feels his climax build, and his fingers dig into your thighs, maybe harder than he intends. You pay it no mind, the pain a sickening sweet addition to the buzz of your body, and your heart nearly combusts when you hear Eddie’s groan, feel his cum inside you mixing with Volt’s, and you are liquid, bodiless, as he pulls himself out of you.

The next thing you’re aware of, when you blink your eyes open, is you on your stomach, your body heavy, and deft hands tugging at the wires on your arms. You find, for the first time in hours, that you can move your wrists, and you sigh, the relief of movement flooding your brain.

A honeyed voice makes a small hum above you, noticing your deep breath. “There they are.” Volt’s hand runs across your shoulder. “Our beautiful wire. We’re almost done, alright?”

You, in turn, also make a small hum, and close your eyes again. Slowly, the wires are removed, and your arms tingle as new blood rushes to fill them. You feel lips, a set on each arm, pepper kisses to the indentations, and after a few minutes, you’re being rolled onto your back, Volt and Eddie beaming down at you like you’ve just hung the moon.

“Fucks sake, whatever the hell we did to deserve you,” Eddie says as he pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm, “I’d do it a thousbad times over.”

You smile, or at least you think you smile, basking in the light of white and steel eyes. “I love you two.”

You sleep between them, floating off to electric and warm kisses to your arms, soft kisses, greedy kisses, and you know there isn’t any place you could be safer.

[papayaem]

Lemon Tea and Love

Oscar Piastri x Sick!reader

Based on this request: Oscar taking care of sick reader

Warnings: fluff, sickness, flu

You were supposed to meet Oscar in Monaco this weekend.

Supposed to.

Instead, you were currently buried under approximately four blankets, nose redder than a Ferrari front wing, voice hoarse from coughing, and surrounded by a graveyard of tissues. Your phone buzzed for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, but you didn't have the energy to check it.

A knock at the door startled you out of your snot-induced misery.

You frowned. Who the hell would come over when you’d told everyone you were sick?

“Hold on,” you croaked, dragging yourself out of bed like a zombie. You wrapped yourself in your softest hoodie and shuffled toward the door, coughing into your elbow. You squinted through the peephole.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Oscar?

You opened the door, a little dazed. “What—what are you doing here?”

“Hi,” Oscar said with a small, sheepish smile. He was holding a paper bag in one hand and a bottle of lemon honey syrup in the other. “You didn’t answer my calls. Figured I’d check if you were still alive.”

“You’re supposed to be in Monaco,” you mumbled, leaning against the doorframe.

“I was. Then I wasn’t. Lando saw how miserable I was and told me to ‘just bloody go already’ before I brought the whole garage down.”

You blinked. “You flew back for me?”

Oscar’s smile widened slightly. “Yeah, well. You’re my favorite human. And I wasn’t about to let you die of the plague alone.”

He nudged past you gently and stepped inside, kicking off his shoes. You stood there, stunned, while he made himself at home.

“Come on,” he said, holding the bag up like a prize. “I got everything. Soup, crackers, some weird herbal tea the lady at the pharmacy swore by, tissues with aloe—because I know your nose gets all raw—and cold medicine. Oh, and cough drops.”

You felt your eyes water, and it definitely wasn’t just the congestion. “You’re unreal.”

He grinned. “Don’t cry, you’ll clog up even more.”

You laughed weakly and coughed, and Oscar immediately dropped the bag and walked over to you.

“Alright, alright. Back to bed. C’mon, I’ll carry you if I have to.”

“Don’t,” you warned, trying to wave him off. “You’ll get sick.”

“I’ll risk it,” he said easily, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and guiding you back to your bedroom. “If I get sick, then you’ll owe me soup and cuddles next week. Fair trade.”

By the time you were wrapped up in your comforter again, Oscar had set up what could only be described as a full sick-person survival station.

The soup was warming on the stove, your favorite show was queued on the TV, and Oscar was sitting cross-legged on the floor with your bottle of cold meds, carefully reading the dosage instructions like it was a strategy manual before a race.

“Okay,” he said, looking up, “you can take two of these every four hours. I’m setting an alarm.”

“You don’t have to do all this,” you whispered.

He looked up again and softened. “I know I don’t. But I want to.”

You bit your lip.

Oscar climbed into the bed beside you, careful not to jostle you too much. “Sick or not, I kinda missed you.”

You turned your head toward him. “You’re such a sap.”

He grinned and kissed your forehead, not caring in the slightest that you were a sneezy mess. “Only for you.”

Later, the two of you were curled up together—him mostly holding you like a hot water bottle—while you sipped the strange tea he’d made.

“This tastes like leaves and sadness,” you murmured.

“Good. That means it’s healthy.”

You groaned dramatically and buried your face in his chest. He laughed and started rubbing small circles on your back.

Despite feeling awful, you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this cared for.

Oscar was quiet for a few minutes. Then: “You know, I was really worried about you.”

You tilted your head up slightly. “It’s just a cold.”

“I know. But you’re alone when I’m gone. And I just… I hate the thought of you being miserable without anyone around. Especially when I could be here.”

You reached out and ran a hand through his hair. “You came back for me. That’s… kind of heroic.”

He smirked. “I prefer the term ‘devastatingly romantic.’”

You laughed again, your chest tightening with the effort, and he immediately hushed you. “Shhh. No laughing. It makes your cough worse. You're on vocal rest.”

“Oh no,” you croaked. “What will you do without my sparkling commentary?”

He kissed your forehead again. “Just lie there and look cute. That’s all I need.”

You drifted off not long after, tucked in his arms, the world muffled and soft. He held you the whole time, adjusting your blanket, making sure your tea didn’t spill, whispering things he didn’t think you’d remember when you woke up:

“I love you, you know.”

“I really, really do.”

“I’d fly back every time.”

And when you stirred and leaned into him, he smiled quietly, kissed your temple again, and held you tightly

Please do not copy or translate without permission x