#We’re given hints of it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

em1i2a3 · 4 days ago

Text

Tongue

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Virgin!Fem!Reader

Summary: During a night out on the town with your friends, you are pushed into talking to a mysterious cowboy at a bar, who turns out to be one of the only blessings that Wabang has ever given you.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut and Fluff, Mentions of Alcohol Consumption, Mentions of Grief and Death (Reader was a caregiver for her ailing father since she left high school), Reader kind of sidelined her life to take care of her father meaning she missed out on a lot of things and is looking to catch up (would I say angst? I don’t really know, but I will say possibly?)

Smut Warnings: Virginity Loss, Unprotected P in V Sex (protect yourselves friends. This is pure fantasy), There are discussions of purity/virginity (between friends, and between Rhett and Reader), Masturbation, Dirty Talk (that involves the mentioning of the readers virginity), Rhett is an attentive lover Jesus H Christ lol, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Fingering, Making Out and Dry Humping (a devilish combo), Praise and Worship Kink, Discussions about Birth Control, A bit of blood (not always an indicator of loss of virginity btw, just throwing that out there), Hickeys and Lovebites, Squirting, Nipple and Breastplay, Overstimulation, Very Gentle Hair Pulling, Being Held Down (in like a not forceful type of way!), Emotional/Physical Aftercare

Author’s Note: I got a request for this and I really liked the idea of it, but I also had to go all out because it’s Rhett frickin Abbott we’re talking about here. Yeehawwww. Anyways, enjoy another segment of RAF <3

Word Count: 17,045

The Branded Mare was quieter than usual for a Thursday night–not totally dead, but certainly not shoulder-to-shoulder either. A couple of pool games were underway near the back, the clack of billiard balls echoing gently under the low murmur of voices. Classic rock hummed from wall-mounted speakers above the booths–Fleetwood Mac, maybe, or Skynyrd–tinny and worn from years of play. Overhead, the lights were low and amber-hued, casting a warm haze over everything. The bulbs flickered every so often, the way they always did here, like the building itself was coughing dust out of its orifices.

It smelled like a half-hearted attempt at cleanliness–Pine-Sol, bleach, maybe a hint of lemon disinfectant in the corners–just strong enough to sting the nose if you breathed too deep. But underneath that was the true scent of the place: beer-soaked wood, old bar mats, fryer grease, and cigarettes drifting in from the cracked patio door every time someone stepped out for a smoke. It was the kind of bar that felt lived in–scarred barstools, a jukebox that always skipped the second verse, and carvings etched into the tabletops so deep you could run your thumb through someone’s initials and still feel the indent years later.

You and your friends had taken over one of the half-moon leather booths near the back–close enough to the bar to watch people come and go, but tucked just out of the way enough to talk shit without being overheard. The seat was sticky against your thighs where your denim shorts met skin, and the middle cushion sagged slightly, forcing everyone to sit a little too close. The table was cluttered: half-eaten fries going cold in a red plastic basket, a few longneck bottles sweating condensation onto paper napkins, a couple cocktails in mismatched glasses. Someone had spilled something early on, and now the wood beneath your forearm stuck just faintly when you moved.

Your friends were talking–laughing, teasing, making little jabs about town gossip or the girl from high school who just got engaged for the third time–but your attention had started to drift like it normally did when you weren’t in tune with the subject.

Your eyes scanned the place slowly, taking it in with a sort of lazy familiarity. A group of guys in baseball caps gathered near the jukebox, arguing about the next song. A couple older men sat at the bar, hunched over their drink like they had been planted there since 4PM. One woman danced alone by the dartboards, a beer in one hand, her flip-flop tapping against the sticky floor as she swayed out of rhythm to the music.

Then your gaze snagged on a figure, and you paused.

He was sitting at the bar, maybe two or three stools from the end, his back turned partway to you. He wasn’t someone you recognized–not from school, not from the feed store, not from church or town events either. But then again, you didn’t go out much–or you hadn’t been going out much until fairly recently. You certainly didn’t know everyone in town, not in the way your friends did. Maybe he was just passing through. Maybe he was local and liked to keep to himself. Either way, you knew you would’ve remembered seeing him before.

His hair was light brown, pushed back beneath a dark baseball cap that had seen some better days, the brain curved tight and low over his eyes. A few strands curled out from beneath it, damp near the nape of his neck like he had showered and hand’s bothered to blow dry–or maybe it was sweat…You had no idea. He was nursing a beer–bottle, not draft–slow and casual, like he wasn’t in any kind of rush. His posture was relaxed, one forearm propped on the bar top, the other cradling the bottle as he tipped it toward his mouth.

You couldn’t see his whole face–just the side of it, the angle teasing more than it revealed. A strong jaw, the faintest trace of stubble, lips that moved slowly as he spoke to the man beside him. His voice didn’t carry, but you could imagine it–low, maybe a little scratchy. Probably drawled and dripping with a southern twang only the men of Wabang had.

What you could see, though, was his build.

He was lean but solid. Broad shoulders under a navy flannel button-down, the fabric pulled slightly where it stretched over his upper back. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, exposing tan forearms dusted with a little hair, and his jeans–well, they sat just right. Faded, worn a bit at the seams, hugging his thighs like they had been through hell and still clung to him out of loyalty. He didn’t look like he spent hours in a gym. He looked like he worked outside. Someone who used his body for ranch work, or even rodeo–a man carved from manual labor.

You didn’t mean to stare, but you couldn’t help it.

You stippled your drink absently, the lime-slicked gin and tonic turning watery from melted ice, and your gaze lingered–long enough for one of your friends to notice.

”I see you starin’ at that cowboy,” Jennifer stated, tilting her glass toward the bar with a smirk, “You want us to scoot so you can get a better view?” You blinked quickly as if she broke a spell of some sort.

”I’m not going up to him,” You replied, a little too quickly for your own liking.

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N, don’t be shy,” Leah added, nudging your hip under the table, “You’ve been picking from the douchebag buffet lately. A cowboy like that?” She motioned to the man standing at the bar, “They usually know how to treat a woman right.” You rolled your eyes, taking another sip from your drink.

”I’m not looking for candidates to take my virginity tonight, if that’s what all of you are thinking.” They burst out laughing at that joke, leaning in over the table, their drinks sloshing slightly as they hooted and snorted and covered their faces. You shook your head at them, your cheeks warming slightly, but a reluctant smile tugged at your lips anyway.

”It doesn’t hurt to flirt,” Sam said through her laughter, “Maybe he’s not into hookups. Maybe he’s decent…And maybe…Just maybe, y’all will hit it off.”

“He doesn’t look standoffish,” Leah chimed in, “And he’s got a nice ass…I won’t lie.” You let out a breath, but your eyes wandered back to him anyway, even through your friends teasing you.

From across the bar, Rhett Abbott wasn’t exactly trying to eavesdrop–but the laughter carried and echoed through the enclosed space, and it was hard to ignore.

Bits and pieces of conversation reached him between guitar riff and clinking glassware, muffled by the music but just clear enough to snag his attention.

He’d caught the words: Cowboy, Virginity, and Nice Ass. The last one made his brow twitch upward, and his lips parted in the faintest grin before he caught himself. He let his eyes wander casually across the bar, lifting his beer for another sip as he scanned the room nonchalantly.

It took a second to find your booth. And when he did, he knew. There wasn’t another group it could’ve been. His eyes lingered for a moment.

You were sitting with three other girls, all of you leaning in close, laughing like you’d just said something scandalous and immediately regretted it. You had your head tilted slightly, one shoulder drawn in like you were trying to disappear into yourself–and he could tell you were warm with embarrassment. Even from here, he could clock it instantly that you were the black sheep of your friend group–which wasn’t a bad thing at all.

The others were smirking, biting down on their straws, whispering into each other’s ears between giggles. One of them flicked her eyes toward the bar–toward him and Rhett watched as you tried not to follow their gaze.

He bit the inside of his cheek, ducking his head slightly.

“What’re you smilin’ for?” Perry asked, leaning over, his voice just above the low hum of the room. He had one hand on a sweating bottle of Coors and the other lazily spinning a beer coaster between his fingers. Rhett scratched the back of his neck, shaking his head a little like he was embarrassed to even say it out loud.

”Think I’ve got a fan club in ‘ere.” He said, voice rough with amusement, “I hear some girls talkin’ about me.” He glanced over at Perry, seeing his eyebrow was raised.

”Yeah?” Rhett nodded toward your table with the tip of his bottle.

“Booth in the corner. Four girls. Laughin’ like they’re up to somethin’.” Perry followed his gaze. It didn’t take long to find your table–too many sideways glances, too many hands covering mouths like they were trying not to be obvious–even though they were doing an extremely poor job. Perry smirked.

”You’re right on that one. They’re definitely talkin’ about you.” Rhett laughed under his breath, rubbing the edge of his thumb against the label on his bottle.

”Can’t imagine why. I’m just sittin’ and drinkin’.”

“It’s that goddamn shirt n’ jean combination…It attracts all the ladies…I told you this.” Perry said with a pointed glance at Rhett’s outfit.

“Maybe I just wear clothes that fit me properly,” He deadpanned, tilting the bottle to his mouth to take another swig of beer.

“You gonna talk to ‘em?” Rhett’s brow lifted at the question, swallowing.

”You dare me?”

“Hell yeah, I dare you,” Perry replied instantly, “I’ll pay for your next beer if you go over and strike up a conversation with ‘em.” Rhett paused, turning the bottle slowly in his hand.

The truth was, Rhett had been thinking about going over from the second he heard your laugh–quiet, a little self-conscious, like it had snuck out before you could stop it. He’d noticed you before the teasing, before the sideways glances, before the odd set of words floated across the bar and almost made him choke on his drink.

You stood out, even tucked into the corner like you were trying not to. Not because you were louder or flashier than the rest–if anything, the opposite. While your friends leaned into each other, bold and easy in their comfort, you sat just slightly apart, shoulders drawn in, one hand loosely curled around your drink like you were grounding yourself.

He wasn’t downgrading the others. Hell, they were all pretty in their own right, the kind of girls who turned heads the second they walked in. But you–

You were the one that made his heart stutter.

Maybe it was the way you watched the room with those soft, perceptive eyes, like you didn’t just see people–you read them. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself–thoughtful, a little guarded, like you’d learned to measure twice and speak once.

Rhett didn’t know what it was, not exactly. But he was curious. And that curiosity was burning like a fuse.

So when Perry threw out the dare and dangled a free beer on the end of it, it was really just icing on the cake. He took the last swig from his bottle and thunked it down on the bar.

“All right then,” He said, rolling his shoulders back with the kind of quiet anticipation that looked more like he was about to hop on a bull than walk across a bar. “Wish me luck.”

“Go get your fan club president,” Perry smirked, already fishing out his wallet.

Rhett adjusted his hat just enough so the low brim wouldn’t shadow his face, then turned and made his way toward your table–easy strides, relaxed, but with that faint electricity crackling just beneath the surface.

The second he stepped within earshot, your group fell quiet. Not instantly–but that kind of rippling quiet, where each girl caught on a second after the last. One by one, your heads turned.

And when you looked up at him–

Your lips parted slightly.

You didn’t even mean to. It just happened, automatic, like your breath caught before your brain had a chance to play it cool.

Because God.

Up close, he was even more than you’d imagined.

His face was all sun-carved angles and soft contradictions–high cheekbones, a strong jawline dusted with stubble that looked like it would scrape in the most delicious way. His skin was golden from time spent outdoors, a faint pink clinging to the high points of his cheeks and nose like he’d just come off the trail. And his eyes–

You could see them now.

Clear, startling blue. Not icy. Bright. Like sky after rain. Like river water in the deepest pocket of the bend. His lashes were thick, almost annoyingly so, and framed his gaze with a softness that balanced the rugged set of his brow. He looked like someone who’d seen his fair share of shit and had come out the other side weathered–but still good.

“Evenin’, ladies,” He drawled, voice smooth as warm honey and twice as slow. He tipped his baseball hat slightly, more charming than cocky, just enough to tease. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just thought I oughta come introduce myself, since I heard y’all had a few opinions about my ass…The name’s Rhett.”

Your friends broke into immediate laughter–delighted, unfiltered, hands over mouths like teenagers again.

You blinked hard and had to look away for a second. Goddamn it, he was funny too.

Jennifer leaned forward with a grin. “We were just admiring the view, cowboy. You can’t blame us.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” He said, grinning easily as his gaze flicked across the table–but it kept returning to you. Like clockwork. Like reflex.

You felt it–every time he looked, your chest got tighter. Your fingers pressed just a little harder around your drink. And when he caught you looking back at him?

Your lashes fluttered. Stupid. Obvious. And you hated how it made your stomach twist.

“I’m Jen,” She said brightly. “That’s Leah. And Sam.”

“Nice to meet y’all,” Rhett nodded, polite and warm. Then, after the briefest pause, he tilted his chin toward you. “But does the quiet one have a name?” You felt your throat tighten. The way he said it wasn’t pointed or pushy. It was gentle. Curious. Like he’d already picked you out and wanted to peel back the layers without spooking you. His voice dipped soft on quiet, like it was a trait he admired instead of teased.

You cleared your throat, sitting up slightly, the heat blooming up the back of your neck as you finally met his eyes head-on.

”…It’s Y/N.” His mouth twitched at the corner, and you saw it–how he bit gently on the inside of his lip like he was tucking something in. His voice dropped just a little when he repeated it.

“Y/N.”

There was weight to it. Drawl thick and reverent, like he was already tasting it on his tongue.

“Pretty name,” He said, soft and sure. “Fits you.”

And just like that, it hit you–hard.

The way your name sounded coming from his mouth. The way his eyes stayed on you even as your friends kept chattering beside him. The way your body was suddenly so aware of every inch of itself–knees pressed together, fingers twitching against the edge of the table, mouth dry.

Rhett’s eyes dropped to the melting ice in your glass, then lifted again, catching your gaze with a faint tilt of his head.

“Mind if I buy you a fresher drink?” He asked, voice low and a little playful, his fingers flicking subtly toward your half-dead gin and tonic.

You glanced down, lips curling slightly as you shifted the glass between your fingertips. The lime had sunk to the bottom, pale rind bobbing listlessly. The condensation had pooled beneath it in a ring, sticking faintly to your skin every time you moved your hand.

“Not at all,” You murmured, soft but clear enough that it cut through the static of your own nerves.

His mouth twitched–not quite a smile, but something just as warm–and then his tongue darted out, quick and unthinking, to wet the center of his bottom lip. Your eyes snagged on it before you could stop yourself. That faint sheen of moisture catching on pink skin, the way it lingered for just a second too long. It made something catch low in your throat.

“What’re you havin’?” He asked. You cleared your throat gently.

“Gin and tonic,” You replied, voice catching just enough to make you wince internally. You weren’t used to stammering. Not over a man. Certainly not over a stranger. Rhett gave a single, quiet nod.

”Gin and tonic it is…” He said with a slow drawl, and then–because of course he had to make things worse–he added “I’ll be right back…Y/N.” And he winked. A soft, subtle little thing. More a twitch of one eyelid than anything grand. But paired with the way he said your name? You nearly forgot how to breathe.

You watched him walk back to the bar–broad shoulders moving with an unhurried confidence, fingers tapping a rhythm on the neck of his empty bottle as he passed a couple other tables. When he reached the counter, he rapped his knuckles gently against the wood, motioning toward the bartender, then turned to say something to the guy beside him.

Jennifer let out a low whistle beside you, cutting through the haze.

“You sure you don’t wanna lose your virginity tonight?” You laughed–more like sputtered through a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“I’m sure,” you said with a shake of your head, watching the bartender hand Rhett a glass that immediately began sweating in the heat of the bar. “But I’m certainly going to be thinking about this man when I go home tonight…Preferably under my covers.” The girls all leaned in at once, delighted by your confession. Sam giggled into her straw. Leah’s jaw dropped.

“You gonna get his number?” She asked.

“Oh Jesus, definitely,” You said, voice a little too loud with conviction. “Did you see him? Holy fuck. If I wasn’t so nervous, I’d ask him to throw me down on this table right now an–”

“My God, and you call us the sex-crazed ones?” Jen cut in, eyebrows raised with mock scandal.

You ducked your head, laughing as your cheeks flamed hotter. “Well sue me for being behind on the whole dating sphere.”

Leah raised both hands in surrender, smirking. “Hey, we’re not judging. Least you have a bit of a reason for it.” You nodded, gripping your glass tighter to hide how warm your palms had gotten.

“Exactly. Let me live.” And just as you said it, Rhett turned from the bar.

He reached your table like he’d never left it, moving with that same easy confidence, one drink in each hand, the condensation trailing lazily down the side of the glass he’d brought for you.

Without a word, he set the gin and tonic down in front of you, sliding it gently across the table.

Your eyes caught on his hands.

They were exactly what you’d imagined–broad, rough around the edges, with strong knuckles and faint scars scattered across the backs like stories he’d never tell out loud. Calloused fingertips, short nails. Hands that had gripped reins, maybe tools. Hands that worked for a living.

But despite the wear and grit, his touch was careful. Thoughtful. Like he knew how to handle things that could break easy.

“Here you go,” He said softly. “A nice cold one.”

You murmured a quiet thank you, fingers brushing the cool glass where his hand had just been.

Then, with the kind of grin that made your heart knock around in your ribs, Rhett tilted his head and added, “Bartender said you gotta pay me back with your number.”

Your friends lost it. Laughter burst across the booth like fireworks, quick and high and delighted. Sam slapped the table. Leah whooped under her breath. Jen bit her straw like she couldn’t contain herself.

You, somehow, didn’t flinch.

You blinked once, then let a slow smile tug at your lips as you leaned in ever so slightly and said, “Got your phone?”

His brows lifted just a little, surprised–but in a good way. Like he’d been ready for a polite no and was suddenly on the receiving end of a yes that knocked the air out of him.

“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I do.”

He pulled it from his back pocket–an older iPhone, a little scuffed around the edges, the case cracked in one corner–and handed it over without a second thought.

You took it from him, careful not to brush his fingers even though the air between your hands felt charged enough to spark. The screen was already unlocked. No password. Just a plain home screen with a photo of a horse in the background and only a couple of apps.

You tapped into his contacts.

There weren’t many. Maybe a dozen names, tops. But you didn’t dwell on that.

Instead, you added your number under your name and typed in a little note beside it: Branded Mare. Gin & Tonic Girl.

Then you handed it back, your fingers grazing his this time–light, unintentional, but enough to make him glance up at you with something unreadable in his eyes. Something slow and focused.

“Appreciate that,” He drawled, voice low.

You both held that look for a beat too long. Then he stepped back, just slightly, enough to give you space but not enough to feel like he wanted to go.

“I’ll give you a call in the morning,” He said, tipping his head gently, “Make sure you got home safe.”

You nodded, smiling without meaning to.

“But for now…” He added, glancing around at your friends, who were all shamelessly eavesdropping behind grins and wide eyes, “I’ll leave you ladies to whatever it is you were doin’ before I came over and stirred things up.”

He gave a polite nod to the group. “Pleasure meetin’ all of you.”

Then, just before turning to go, he looked at you one last time–and gave you a wink.

And it wasn’t smug. Wasn’t cocky.

It was sweet. Like a secret. Like something he’d tucked into his back pocket for later.

You watched him walk away, your drink sweating in front of you, your heart pounding somewhere in your throat.

And all you could think was–

Holy shit.

Because Rhett Abbott had just walked straight out of your daydreams and into real life.

—————————

Rhett didn’t waste any time giving you a call the next morning. His voice was still thick with sleep, a soft rasp at the edges like he hadn’t been up long—and somehow, that made it even better. That low, gravelly drawl slipped through the phone and straight into your spine, turning your bones into something a little more jelly-like than you cared to admit.

You were curled up on your couch in an oversized tee, mug of lukewarm coffee in your hands, and the second you saw Rhett Abbott flash across your screen, your heart tripped like it didn’t know how to act.

He didn’t waste time with small talk, either. Just a warm “Hey,” Followed by, “Was thinkin’ I’d like to take you out tonight. There’s this little diner just outside town…good food, real quiet. Thought maybe we could talk, get to know each other…see where it goes.”

You had agreed way too fast.

Embarrassingly fast.

There had barely been a breath between his invitation and your answer, and the little laugh he let out in response had made your stomach flip. It wasn’t mocking–it was amused. A little pleased. Like he hadn’t expected you to say yes so quickly, but he liked that you had.

You gave him your address–your one-level, white-brick house with the green mailbox out front and the wind chimes that never stopped making noise even when there was no wind–and he said he’d swing by around seven.

Which led you to having an emergency FaceTime with Jen, who was on her bedroom floor, looking at the outfit options you had in mind. She shook her head at the third pair of denim shorts you held up.

”No. Absolutely not. We’re not doing shorts tonight,Y/N.” You groaned, throwing yourself down on your bed.

“It’s a diner, not a five-star restaurant.”

“I know it’s a diner. That’s exactly why this is the moment. You show up all soft and pretty in one of those summer dresses you never wear anymore and he won’t be able to keep his eyes off you. Especially if it’s the white one with the ties.” You raised your brow.

”The white one?” Jen nodded.

”Yes. The one that laces up in the front…It’ll be a little tease for him…And it’s pretty.” That dress lived tucked in the back of your closet like a secret–one you hadn’t pulled out since last July. It was soft cotton, thick enough to hold its shape but thin enough to breathe. The color was a creamy, near-milk white, with the faintest floral print etched across it in dusty blue. Not too busy. Just enough to catch the light when you turned.

The bodice hugged close, fitted with subtle seams that shaped along your waist without needing a bra. And right at the center of your chest, two long strings tied into a little bow, gathering the fabric just enough to create the softest dip of cleavage–barely there, but suggestive in the right light. The tie could be loosened or tightened depending on your mood, but tonight…You were already tugging it a touch tighter.

The sleeves were short, slightly puffed, ending right above the bend of your arm, and the skirt fell just past mid-thigh–flowy and gentle, not clingy. When you walked, it moved like it had a mind of its own. Soft. Slow. Like summer wind.

And best of all? It had pockets. Deep ones.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your hands over the skirt and adjusting the tie at the front.

“You look hot,” Jen said through the screen, tilting her head and lifting her eyebrows, “Absolutely jaw dropping.” You snorted, turning slightly to see the dress from the side.

”It’s not too much?” You questioned.

”It’s exactly enough,” She said, “Now fix that hair of yours, put some lip gloss on, and some of that fancy perfume you have…Because you’re going to have to look good for the mugshot after you kill this man tonight.” You shook your head, smiling down at your phone.

”You’re absolutely ridiculous.” She smirked.

”I want all the details tomorrow about how it went.” You nodded.

”I’ll be a waterfall of details.” Then the call ended.

About an hour later–right on time–Rhett’s truck rumbled to a stop in front of your house.

He cut the engine and stepped out, boots crunching gently over the gravel as he made his way up the walkway. The porch steps creaked beneath his weight–worn but solid–and as he approached the door, he took it in properly for the first time.

The house was one level, white brick with faded sage-green shutters that matched the mailbox out front. The roof sloped low and wide, and the porch spanned the front like a lazy hug, with a couple of mismatched chairs tucked beside the screen door. A potted plant hung off one of the wooden beams, and a wind chime–old, maybe copper–clinked faintly in the breeze. The whole place had character. Lived-in. Like a home someone loved, not just a place they stayed.

He liked it.

He raised a hand and knocked–three quick taps against the frame.

And when you opened the door…

It hit him.

Your perfume first. Soft and overwhelming in the best way. Like wildflowers and spun sugar, like some sunlit meadow had been poured into a bottle and sweetened with something sticky and decadent. It flooded his senses in an instant, made his stomach tighten and his throat go a little dry.

And then his eyes hit your dress.

And your boots.

God.

Those light brown cowgirl boots–scuffed just enough to look broken in, just enough to hint that you knew how to wear them–peeked out from beneath the flow of that pretty white dress. The fabric fluttered gently around your legs, and the delicate little bow that you had tied at the center of your chest made it impossible for him to look away for a good second too long.

You stood in the doorframe, golden in the early evening light, your hair done up soft and neat, a little shine on your lips and that scent clinging to your skin like a secret.

Rhett stared.

Then let out a soft breath like it punched right out of him.

“God, you look pretty,” He said, voice barely above a murmur.

You felt the heat bloom up your neck before you could help it, rushing straight to your cheeks.

Your eyes dipped to take him in as well–the forest green button-up he wore brought out the richness in his blue eyes, the sleeves rolled to the forearms again, his usual denim sitting low and loose on his hips, faded from wear. He wasn’t wearing a hat tonight.

Instead, you could finally see all of his hair–thick, tousled light brown with strands that caught the sunlight as it filtered through the trees overhead. It curled slightly at the ends, like he hadn’t fussed over it much. It made him look softer somehow. Younger. Warmer.

“You look good too,” You complimented, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the smile from spreading too wide.

He gave you a lopsided grin at that–boyish, slightly crooked, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the compliment but appreciated it all the same.

“C’mon,” He said gently, tipping his chin toward his truck. “Let’s get you fed.”

You followed him down the porch steps, the hem of your dress dancing over your thighs with every step, your boots thudding softly on the wood. When you reached his truck, Rhett didn’t hesitate–he stepped ahead and opened the door for you.

The inside was a little worn–the fabric on the bench seat stretched in places, a couple old stains on the floor mats–but it smelled clean, like pine and something faintly citrusy. The kind of scent that lingered from someone who actually tried to keep their truck respectable.

You climbed up and slid across the wide front seat–a bench, not two individual chairs. Nothing between the both of you but a cup holder and a whole lot of unspoken tension.

It was comfortable. Cushioned like an old couch. The kind of seat that begged for closeness.

You didn’t mind that. Not even a little.

Rhett closed the door behind you, circled to the driver’s side, and climbed in with one smooth motion. He glanced over once–just enough to check your seatbelt–before settling in and turning the ignition.

The truck rumbled to life.

“Alright,” he said, easing them down the drive. “Let’s get goin’, hmm?”

And just like that, with the windows cracked and the sky starting to gold, the night began.

—————————

The diner was a relic of another era—an ‘80s dream that hadn’t changed its tune in decades. The neon sign out front buzzed faintly in the twilight, casting a warm pink glow over the gravel lot, its cursive lettering spelling out Marlene’s Midnight Diner. Fluorescent lights bled through the wide glass windows, softening just slightly through layers of streaky Windex and time. A couple of vintage chrome motorcycles were parked near the entrance, and inside, the booths were upholstered in turquoise vinyl that squeaked every time someone shifted too much.

The walls were covered in framed black-and-white photos of rockstars, movie posters with curling corners, and a whole shelf of bobbleheads that lined the back wall like a chorus of silent, nodding critics. The floors were checkered black-and-white tile, clean but scuffed with age—evidence of late-night rushes and post-prom milkshakes long past. A jukebox flickered in the corner, playing faint snippets of something classic and upbeat, while the smell of fried onions, grilled meat, and hot coffee lingered heavy in the air.

It was cleaner than you expected for a 24-hour place. Not pristine, but tidy. The kind of clean that came from someone actually giving a damn, even if the linoleum was chipped in the corners and the sugar dispensers didn’t always unscrew right. A waitress in a powder-blue uniform with her name–Connie–stitched over her left breast had already come by, balancing a notepad in one hand and a pot of coffee in the other. She didn’t bat an eye at Rhett’s flannel or your dress, just took your order with a tired smile and a wink that said she’d seen every type of first date sit in this booth at least once.

You were settled into a corner booth, your dress skirt fanned just slightly along the seat beside you, and Rhett across from you, looking about ten shades more nervous than he had at your door. The overhead light buzzed gently, casting a faint golden sheen on the chrome napkin holder between you. Both of you had tall glasses of Coke sitting in front of you, tiny bubbles rising up through the caramel-colored fizz, the glasses sweating slowly in the humid summer air.

Rhett hadn’t touched his drink yet. His fingers rested near it, but he kept glancing up at you and then back down at the condensation ring on the tabletop like it held the answers to something he hadn’t asked yet. And maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the way your dress dipped just enough at the neckline, but he cleared his throat softly before speaking.

“So…what do you do?” he asked, voice lower than usual, a little rough. Like he was forcing the words out before he chickened out altogether.

You took a sip from your Coke, the straw catching the ice as you pulled it toward your mouth. The chill hit your tongue, sweet and sharp, and you let it sit there for a moment before answering.

“I actually just recently became a home health aide.”

Rhett’s brows lifted, genuinely surprised. “Oh really? That sounds like it’s pretty interesting. You work every day?”

You shook your head, swirling your straw slowly through the glass. “It’s about four days a week, but I can pick up shifts or give them away if I’d like. It’s pretty flexible.”

He nodded slowly, then bit the inside of his cheek–a habit you were already beginning to recognize. “Do you enjoy it?”

You smiled, and the warmth behind it was real. “Definitely. I have a lot of experience in home health, so it was an easy transition.”

His head tilted just slightly. Not in judgment–just curious. “Where’d you get the experience from if you just became one?”

Your fingers tightened on the straw. You took another drink to stall, letting the bubbles fizzle against your tongue before swallowing.

“Well…Umm… My dad got sick when I was still in high school, so I had to take care of him. I gave him all his medications and helped with, you know…Everything. He usually needed help keeping track of everything.”

Rhett caught it right away–the way you were speaking in past tense. His eyes softened a bit, and you could see it, like he made the connection.

He hesitated, then asked gently, “When…When did he pass? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You rubbed at the inside of your palm beneath the table, a nervous little habit that had never really gone away. “About a year ago.”

His lips parted, but he gave you a moment. Then, quietly: “I’m sorry for your loss.”

You shook your head slowly, meeting his eyes across the table. “Thank you, Rhett.”

There was a pause–not heavy, not awkward, but full. Like the air had thickened just slightly with understanding. He nodded once, then looked down at his Coke and back up at you again.

“Enough about me,” You said softly, offering him a small smile. “What do you do?”

He let out a small exhale through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching like you’d caught him off guard. “I work on my dad’s ranch,” He said, then after a beat, added with a sheepish little grin, “And I ride bulls.”

You blinked. “A bull rider?” Your lips parted slightly, and you leaned forward a little. “You certainly have the look…”

Rhett flushed, just a bit, but it was clear the compliment hit him square in the chest. He scratched the side of his jaw, eyes flicking down to the table.

“Is it the nice ass that gave it away?” He asked, teasing. “Or the muscular thighs?”

You laughed and the sound made his whole body relax visibly.

“Oh, it was definitely both,” You replied, biting your straw between your teeth for just a second. “But it’s the confidence that really gave you away.”

He raised his brows. “Confidence?”

You nodded. “You walked up to a table of four girls like it was nothing.”

His eyes sparkled, leaning in a little closer. “Truth is, I was only focusing on one…So that made it pretty easy.”

The warmth that bloomed across your chest that nearly knocked the wind out of you.

Your plates arrived just after that last teasing exchange, still steaming as Connie slid them across the table with the kind of efficiency only found in places like this–diners where the waitresses knew how to keep coffee hot and couples talking. The food was simple but good–crispy fries, thick burgers, golden grilled cheese with perfectly melted slices of cheddar–and both of you picked at it between laughs and lingering looks.

The conversation never stumbled. It rolled easy. Quiet confessions about favorite bands, childhood memories, the weird shit you believed as a kid. Rhett talked about riding his first bull at sixteen, about getting bucked so hard he chipped a bit of his tooth and never got it fixed. You told him about sneaking out during summer storms to sit under the porch roof and count how long the thunder took to follow lightning.

And somehow, it all blurred.

By the time you glanced at your phone, your breath caught in your throat.

“Shit,” You whispered, eyes widening as you leaned back from the booth, “It’s one in the morning.”

Rhett blinked, then laughed low and warm in his chest. “Should I be gettin’ you home?”

You nodded, sheepish. “I got work in the morning, so…I think that would be the best idea. I didn’t even realize how much time went by.”

He smiled at that–soft and a little proud, eyes glittering in the golden diner light. “Well… you’re very easy to talk to. And I guess I’m a pretty good distraction if you didn’t even realize how many hours passed.”

You laughed, cheeks warming again, “You really are…”

When the bill came, you reached for your purse–but Rhett was faster.

“Don’t even try,” He said, slipping a couple of bills onto the check tray before you could blink.

“Rhett–come on,” You protested, reaching across the table.

He shook his head, that crooked grin spreading again. “Next one’s on you, if it makes you feel better.”

It did. A little.

By the time you stepped out into the night air, the temperature had dropped. The warmth from inside clung to your skin as the breeze wrapped around your legs and lifted the hem of your dress just slightly. Goosebumps prickled along your arms. Rhett noticed. He tilted his head toward the truck without a word, guiding you across the lot like he was keeping you within orbit.

The ride back was quieter, but not uncomfortable. The windows were rolled halfway down, letting in a cool wind that tangled through your hair. The smell of summer dirt and far-off fields filled the cab. A country station hummed low through the speakers, barely audible over the soft growl of the engine. Rhett kept glancing over at you–quick, quiet looks that made your stomach turn each time.

When he pulled up in front of your house, he killed the engine but didn’t move right away. Both of you unbuckled at the same time, slow, almost hesitant–like the weight of the night didn’t want to lift just yet.

“We should do this again…” Rhett said softly, eyes flicking toward yours in the shadows. “I had a lot of fun.”

You nodded, the words catching in your throat before they came out. “Me too…”

The headlights cast soft light over your porch, reflecting faintly off the windshield, leaving his eyes half-lit in gold and shadow. It made the space inside the cab feel smaller. Closer. Intimate.

And when his gaze dropped–just briefly–to your lips, your breath hitched.

You looked at his mouth too.

Neither of you leaned in right away. It happened slowly–like gravity was inching you closer, breath by breath, heartbeat by heartbeat.

When your lips met, it was soft at first. A question. His mouth brushed against yours with careful, aching restraint–as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to have you this close. But once he felt you melt into him, he tilted his head just enough to deepen the kiss.

And fuck.

It was hot. It was deep. It was everything you hadn’t even known you’d been craving. His mouth moved against yours like he wanted to memorize the shape of your lips. His hand came up, rough palm cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek with a touch so gentle it made you shiver.

You kissed him back harder–desperate, drawn. Your fingers clutched the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as he let out a soft, guttural sound in the back of his throat, low and breathless.

Then you felt it–his fingers, tentative and curious, ghosting over the ribbon at the center of your dress. He toyed with the edge of the bow, brushing it with the backs of his knuckles like he was wondering if he could tug on it and feel you come undone.

You gasped into his mouth, and that’s when you pulled back.

Your breath was shallow, lips swollen, lashes fluttering as you stared at him in the dim cab.

“We’re gonna have to put the brakes on…For now,” You whispered, voice trembling from the heat that still pulsed under your skin.

Rhett looked wrecked in the best way. Hair mussed from your hands, lips pink and wet from your kiss. His chest rose and fell in short bursts. He nodded slowly, gulping like he was trying to rein himself back in.

“O-Okay,” He murmured. “Yeah… okay.”

You leaned in again, pressing one last, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Text me when you get home.”

He nodded, voice rasped raw. “I will.”

You slid out of the truck on shaky legs, dress clinging to the heat of your thighs, heart still pounding.

That night, alone in bed, it wasn’t even a question.

Your hand slipped under the sheets as you exhaled through your nose, your eyes fluttering shut. All you could think about was the rough scrape of his stubble against your cheek…The weight of his palm cupping your jaw…The way his mouth devoured you like it had been starving for years.

And God–his hands.

You imagined them on your waist, your hips, the backs of your thighs. Rough, wide palms gripping you like he meant it. Like he wouldn’t let go even if you begged him to.

You bit your lip to stifle a sound, thighs clenching as your fingers slipped deeper. Every flick of your wrist was guided by memory–by the sweet pressure of his kiss, the faint smell of pine and leather on his skin, the warmth of his breath when he whispered your name.

You came hard, quiet but breathless, curling into yourself as your body trembled beneath the weight of everything he’d left you feeling.

And as your heart slowed back to something manageable, one final thought danced through your mind–

If his kiss felt like that…

You weren’t ready for what the rest of him could do.

————————

“I need advice.” You announced during brunch a few weeks later. Jen, Leah, and Sam all looked up from their plates like hounds catching scent–forks suspended mid-air, brunch suddenly forgotten.

Jen blinked once. “Proceed.”

You took a breath, speared a piece of melon on your fork, then set it down again. “I think I’m going to sleep with Rhett tonight.”

Silence.

Then Leah, deadpan and unimpressed, muttered, “Fucking finally.”

The table burst into laughter–Jen clapping her hands once with glee, Sam nearly choking on her mimosa as she smacked the table.

“Well?” Sam grinned, wiping her mouth. “What do you need advice on, miss ‘finally going to ride a cowboy’?”

You groaned, letting your forehead fall lightly into your hand. “Y’know… how do I make this experience not so–shit?”

The laughter came again, softer this time. Not mocking–just warm.

Jen sipped from her iced coffee, eyebrows raised like she was trying to figure out exactly how much to say. “Girl…A lot of prep. That’s key. Especially if he’s the patient type. And Rhett seems like the patient type.”

“He is,” you said quickly, cheeks warming. “Very patient. Like…Painfully patient. I can tell he wants to take things further, but he’s never pushed. Not even once.”

“That’s because he respects the hell outta you,” Leah said, pointing at you with her fork. “And he’s probably scared of messing it up. Especially if he knows it’s your first time.”

You nodded, absently swirling your fork through your eggs. “I told him over dinner on our fourth date. He didn’t flinch. Just said, ‘We were all virgins once. I really don’t mind.’”

“Awh,” Jen cooed, mock wiping a tear. “The cowboy has morals and charm. We love that.”

Sam leaned in with a smirk. “And hands. Let’s not forget the hands.”

You pressed your lips together and looked away with a barely concealed smile. “Trust me. I’ve not forgotten.”

Jen pointed her fork dramatically. “Okay. So. Prep.”

Sam nodded, serious now. “Have some lube on hand. You’re probably gonna be nervous, and…If Rhett’s packing, better to be safe than sorry.”

You choked slightly on your juice, eyes wide. “Oh my God.”

“Sorry,” Sam said with a little shrug. “But he is a bull rider. Have you seen his thighs?” Leah cut in, ever the practical one.

“You’re on birth control, right?”

You nodded. “Of course. Been on it since grade nine.”

“Good. But have condoms anyway,” Jen said, gesturing firmly. “Because you never know.” You let out a long breath and poked at your toast.

“I should be taking notes.” Leah smiled softly.

“It’ll come naturally once you’re in the moment. Mostly. You just have to make sure to communicate. Tell him what you like, what hurts, what doesn’t feel good.”

“Yeah,” Sam added, “You don’t have to be a sex goddess. Just be present. Feel what you’re feeling. And trust him.”

“I do trust him,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

Jen reached across the table and gave your wrist a light squeeze. “That’s why it’s gonna be good.”

There was a pause. And then–

Jen lifted her brow. “Have you at least, y’know, explored yourself a bit? So you know what feels good?”

Your eyes shot up. “I’m not Mother Teresa, Jen, I’ve maturbated before…Just haven’t had someone else do it for me, that’s all.” Jen smirked.

”Right…Because now you’ve grown feral for the cowboy.”

“Shut up,” You muttered, grinning despite yourself. Your mind was already drifting. Rhett’s mouth. His hands. The way he looked at you like he was memorizing every detail for later.

“Is there anything else I should know?” You asked, half joking, half serious. “Tips? Warnings? Ritual sacrifices?”

Sam hummed thoughtfully. “You may bleed a little. Totally normal. But if you relax and take it slow, it won’t be bad.”

Jen nodded. “Just breathe. Keep talking. Let yourself enjoy it. It’s supposed to feel good.”

Leah leaned in one last time. “And if it doesn’t go perfectly? That’s okay. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. Especially with someone who clearly gives a damn.”

You looked down at your plate, heart a little fuller than it had been minutes ago.

“All right,” You said, lifting your coffee. “I think I can do that.” Jen leaned back in her chair, spearing a strawberry off her fruit bowl and pointing it at you like it was a mic.

“One last thing,” She said, tone mock-serious, “Don’t be surprised if you cry afterward.”

You blinked. “Cry?”

All three girls nodded in unison, as if they’d just been waiting for this part.

“Yeah,” Leah said, popping a piece of bacon into her mouth. “It’s super common. Doesn’t mean anything bad. It’s just…A lot.”

“A lot,” Sam echoed, sipping her iced coffee like she was preparing for a TED Talk. “All the nerves and build-up and hormones and oxytocin? Sometimes it just leaks out of your eyeballs. No warning. It happened to me with Dave. I went to the bathroom to pee and started crying like I just watched the end of Titanic.”

You stared at her. “You cried on the toilet?”

“Yup. Naked. Legs shaking. Dave panicked and brought me a fruit snack.”

Jen snorted into her mimosa. “Honestly? That man earned a gold star for that one.”

You couldn’t help laughing, the tension breaking a little. “Jesus.”

“It’s not bad,” Leah added, a little gentler now, “Just intense. First times can be overwhelming even if everything goes right. Doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. Doesn’t mean he did anything wrong.”

You nodded, tucking that somewhere in your brain. “Okay. I appreciate the heads-up.”

Jen leaned in again, all faux-seriousness. “But if he does do anything wrong, text us ‘cowboy down’ and we’ll come beat him up for you.” You rolled your eyes, laughing. “He’s not going to do anything wrong.”

“We know,” Sam said, softer now. “That man looks at you like he’d lay down and die if you asked him to…It’s just in case though.” Your smile wavered just a little at that. Not because it was wrong–but because it was true. And hearing it out loud made it all that much more real.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“Okay,” you said finally. “So lube, condoms, communication, expect the tears, maybe keep a fruit snack nearby…Any last words?”

“Don’t focus so hard on doing it right that you forget to feel it. You’ve waited this long–make sure you get something out of it too.”

You paused. Then nodded. “Yeah… Yeah, you’re right.”

And then Sam leaned over with a knowing little grin and murmured, “And hey… If his hands are anything like they looked when he brought you that drink, girl, you’re about to ascend.”

You buried your face in your hands as the table exploded into laughter again.

Because honestly?

You were counting on it.

—————————

When Rhett drove you home from the drive-in that night, he figured things would end the way they usually did–lips on lips, your thighs straddling his lap in the driver’s seat, the console digging into your side while your hands fumbled in each other’s hair. Maybe a little grinding, maybe a few low gasps muffled against his neck, your dress bunched around your hips while his hands found their familiar place on your waist.

But this time, when he eased the truck into park outside your house and leaned over to press a gentle kiss to your mouth, you surprised him.

You pulled back almost instantly–not to stop him, not to tease. Your hands came up instead, cradling his face between your palms, your thumbs brushing the soft skin just beneath his eyes.

His lips parted slightly, breath caught between questions he hadn’t dared to ask yet.

“Wanna come inside?” You murmured.

The shift was subtle, but immediate. His expression changed like the temperature had dropped twenty degrees. Eyebrows lifted just barely. His eyes flicked over your face, searching for a trace of a joke–anything–but all he found was sincerity. Soft, nervous, brave sincerity.

“You sure?” He asked, voice low, raspy, like it caught in the back of his throat. “Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

You shook your head once, deliberate. “I booked tomorrow off.”

That made him blink.

“You did?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, and the smile you gave him wasn’t teasing. It was warm. Quiet. Like you were holding a secret just for him. You leaned in, slow and steady, your breath brushing his ear as you whispered “Thought it would be best if I was going to sleep with you tonight…I want to spend the morning wrapped up in you.” His hands, resting on your thighs, tensed ever so slightly. He swallowed hard, the sound thick in his throat.

“You sure?” He asked again, softer this time. Almost reverent.

And you leaned back just enough to meet his eyes fully–no hesitation, no fear, just that same quiet bravery–and said, “I’ve never been more sure.”

Rhett unbuckled his seat belt with a click, his movements smooth but tense with anticipation. He cut the engine and stepped out, rounding the front of the truck in a few long strides, boots crunching softly against the gravel. By the time he opened your door, you were already sliding forward in your seat, heart fluttering against your ribs.

His hand found yours, warm and rough, curling around your fingers as he helped you down. You barely had time to settle your footing before he leaned in–just close enough for his breath to fan against your cheek–and whispered, “Lead the way, sweetheart.” You did.

Your fingers fumbled slightly as you dug through your purse for the keys, walking up the short wooden steps to your front door. The porch light cast a soft glow over the faded green paint, your wind chime clinking lazily in the warm summer air.

You found your keys just as Rhett stepped in behind you, his hands gently finding your hips, his thumbs pressing softly into the dip of your waist. He bent close, his lips brushing your bare shoulder in a slow, reverent kiss that made your breath catch.

Then you felt it–his fingers slipping through the back loops of your jean shorts. Not tugging. Just holding. Anchoring. Like he needed to touch you to make sure this was real.

You unlocked the door with a quiet snick and pushed it open, stepping inside.

“C’mon,” You murmured, pulling him in by the front of his white t-shirt he wore beneath his black long sleeve button up.

He followed without question.

The keys clattered onto the little table by the door–a narrow vintage piece with peeling white paint and a small dish full of quarters and hair ties. The entrance opened directly into your living space, and it looked exactly like you: warm, cluttered in a way that felt lived-in rather than messy, cozy without trying too hard.

A worn brown couch sat against the far wall, the cushions a little too soft from years of sinking into them after work. A crocheted throw blanket was slung lazily over the back, and the coffee table was full of mismatched coasters, a candle burned low, and a couple half-read books stacked unevenly beside a mug that still held the ghost of morning coffee. The TV was modest, angled toward the couch, and the rug beneath your feet was frayed at the edges, patterned with sun-faded florals.

Beyond the living room was the open-concept kitchen–small but bright, the kind of space that made use of every inch. White cabinets, a fridge covered in magnets and little post-it notes, a tea towel hanging off the oven door, and a row of spice jars on a repurposed shelf above the stove. A round wooden dining table sat between the rooms, one chair slightly pulled out like it had been left mid-thought.

Rhett looked around, eyes wide but soft, like he was stepping into a space he’d only seen in dreams.

“Really nice place,” He murmured, voice low and sincere.

You glanced over your shoulder and smirked, reaching down to toe off your boots. “Thank you.”

He kicked his off beside yours, then moved toward you with slow intent. His hands found your waist again, fingers curling over your sides as he pulled you in–chest to chest, breath to breath.

And then he kissed you.

It started deep. Immediate. No hesitation this time. His lips slanted over yours with heat and hunger, his mouth moving like he needed you to feel exactly how long he’d been craving this. Your hands threaded through his hair, tugging gently at the roots as your body molded to his, heart racing with every brush of tongue, every subtle press of teeth.

You moaned into his mouth when he bit softly at your bottom lip, and that was all it took for him to lift you.

His hands slid down, gripping beneath your thighs, and in one smooth motion, he hoisted you up. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, locking you in tight. He groaned softly against your lips as your bodies met, the pressure sending sparks through your core.

You barely broke the kiss to breathe, your nose brushing his as your mouth hovered against his.

“Tell me where…” He rasped, voice ragged, breath hot against your cheek. “Where the bedroom is.”

You nodded toward the hallway behind him, your voice coming out in a rush: “Down the hall…Just go straight.”

“Okay,” He murmured like a promise, shifting his grip as he started walking.

You didn’t make it easy for him.

Your lips trailed down his neck the second he turned, slow and teasing, pressing soft open-mouthed kisses to the curve of his throat. Your tongue flicked against the salt of his skin, and you felt it–his pace faltering for just a second, his breath catching, the thump of his heart beneath your lips pounding like it was trying to escape his chest.

He swore under his breath–something quiet and desperate–and kept going, the hallway dim around you, lit only by the soft glow of the porch light filtering in through the windows.

The door creaked open as Rhett stepped carefully into your bedroom. The moment the threshold was crossed, the world seemed to quiet even further, as if the very walls of your room were holding their breath, waiting for what came next.

His hands adjusted slightly under your thighs–warm, calloused, steady–and he dipped his head just a little, eyes darting past your shoulder to take in the space. Then, slowly, gently, he crouched, easing you down onto the bed with a care that made your chest ache.

The mattress dipped beneath your weight as you bottom met the comforter. The fabric was soft beneath you–well-worn cotton with faded floral print, not pristine or frilly, but cozy, the kind of bedding someone actually sleeps in, not just made for show. Pillows were stacked unevenly at the headboard, one still faintly creased from the way you’d curled around it the night before. Rhett stood for a second, straightening up as he looked around.

The bedroom was intimate without being staged–walls painted a soft eggshell, glowing warm in the dim light, one corner occupied by a small bookshelf full of worn spines and bent jackets. A framed print of a wildflower field hung crooked over the dresser. Your laundry hamper sat half-full beside it, one of his flannels folded neatly atop it from when you’d borrowed it last week and meant to return it. There was a window just above the headboard, cracked open to let the night breeze in–soft cricket sounds threading faintly through the screen.

To his left, the door to your ensuite bathroom was open, just enough for the warm tile light to spill out in a soft line across the wood floor. Inside, he could make out pale green towels hanging on the bar, a few bottles tucked along the edge of the tub. Your toothbrush sat in a small ceramic holder on the sink, beside a candle and a little jar of cotton rounds. Lived-in. Lovely. Yours.

And something about that hit him hard. The quiet intimacy of your space. The invitation of it. He was stepping into your world–and you were letting him in without armor, without distance, without fear.

Rhett exhaled slowly, his eyes dark with reverence. Then he turned to the small nightstand beside your bed, flicked the switch on the amber lamp, and let warm, golden light spill across the room.

It was the kind of light that softened edges. That wrapped everything in a dusky glow, like honey catching in the air. It made your skin gleam and your eyes catch fire.

Then–wordlessly–he shrugged off the black button-up, the fabric whispering as it slid down his arms. He let it fall to the floor beside him without ceremony.

Underneath, the white t-shirt clung to his chest and shoulders in ways that made your breath stutter. It wasn’t tight, but it didn’t need to be. The cotton hugged his biceps with ease, pulled slightly at the seams where his body curved broad and solid beneath it. The line of his torso cut clean down the middle, a faint shadow hinting at the muscle that lay beneath.

Your thighs clenched without meaning to. Reflexive. Hungry. Heat curled low in your stomach.

Rhett saw it. He could feel it. And his jaw tightened as he crossed the short distance back to the bed.

You opened your legs slowly, deliberately, inviting him in with nothing more than that movement–and he stepped between them, eyes never leaving yours.

Then his hands came up.

Rough palms cradled your face with startling gentleness, his thumbs brushing just beneath your cheekbones as he tilted your head up toward him. You looked at him and forgot how to breathe.

Because in this light…

His eyes were beautiful.

That striking blue had deepened to something richer now–like the sky right before night swallows the last of the day. They shimmered with something electric, something endless, framed by lashes that caught the glow like they were made for it. There were freckles scattered faintly across his cheeks now that you were close enough to see them, tiny sun-kissed pinpricks that spoke of days spent outdoors, of skin kissed by more than just light.

And the way he looked at you…

It was like he was starving and home all at once.

His gaze flicked down to your lips, then back up, and he wet his bottom lip slowly–deliberate, sensual, the tip of his tongue dragging over pink skin as if preparing for something sacred.

Then he kissed you.

This time, there was no hesitation. No breath of doubt.

It was heat and hunger, teeth and tongue, lips parting like they’d never tasted anything sweeter. His kiss devoured, coaxed, claimed. His body pressed forward as he kissed you deeper, urging you gently down onto your back until your spine met the mattress.

You didn’t even realize you were moving until your legs curled up, wrapping tight around his waist. The feel of him between your thighs, the weight of him pressing you down–it sent your mind reeling.

His hands braced beside your head. His hips settled low, just enough pressure to make you moan into his mouth, your fingers gripping at his shirt, nails dragging down the fabric like you needed more.

The mattress shifted with every movement. The room filled with the sound of breath and fabric and heartbeats and heat. Your hands slid beneath the hem of his white t-shirt as you kissed him harder, gripping the soft cotton and pulling him impossibly closer. The air between you was thick now, heady with heat and something darker—something slow and primal.

He moaned softly into your mouth, the sound like gravel dragged through honey, and your body answered with a full-body shiver.

Rhett’s hips rolled forward, slow and deliberate, and you felt him through the thick denim of his jeans–hard and heavy, grinding perfectly against the aching heat between your thighs. The friction made your breath catch, made your spine arch off the mattress. You clung to him, your thighs tightening around his waist as he rocked again.

Denim met denim in a blur of pressure and desperate friction–your shorts riding higher with every shift of his hips, the center seam of them pressed firmly against your core now, tugged taut by the weight of him. It was messy and maddening and god, it felt so good.

His body was big and solid above you, but never crushing. He was braced just enough–arms trembling slightly as he supported himself over you, careful not to let his full weight drop even as his pelvis ground into yours. Each motion was intentional. Controlled. He could’ve taken you apart if he wanted to.

But he didn’t.

He held back.

And that restraint–that quiet dominance, that held tension in his jaw, the way his hips ground instead of slammed–it made you dizzy.

His lips broke from yours only long enough to trail down your jaw, his breath scorching against your skin as he kissed a path to your neck. When he found the space just beneath your ear, he groaned low against it, grinding down again, and you gasped.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He whispered, voice ragged. “You feel that?” You could only nod, head tilting back as he rolled his hips again, slower this time, making sure you felt the full press of his bulge against your center. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders, knees pulling tighter around his waist.

It wasn’t rushed. It was feral. Careful. Contained. Like he was holding a match to a fuse and daring it not to blow.

And just when you thought you’d combust from the friction alone–he stilled.

He pulled back, lips swollen, eyes dark and locked on yours as he brushed your hair back from your face.

“Can I take your shirt off?�� He asked, voice low and reverent.

You didn’t hesitate. You nodded, breathless. “Yes. Please.”

His hands moved slowly, helping you sit up with a careful tug of your waist. His touch never left your skin. He peeled your shirt up and over your head in one slow motion, like he was unwrapping something sacred. He threw it off to the side and paused, his breath catching in his throat. Because beneath it–you were wearing a powdered blue bra. Soft lace, delicate straps. The kind of blue that looked barely-there in this light, washed in amber glow and moonlight.

Rhett’s eyes traced every inch like he’d never seen anything so beautiful. His hands came up, slow and open, calloused palms cupping your breasts through the fabric–gentle, almost awestruck, his thumbs brushing across the curved edges of the cups.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, eyes still locked on you. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You shivered as his fingers flexed ever so slightly, not squeezing, just holding. Like he needed to feel the weight of you in his hands, needed to remind himself this was real.

Then his mouth found yours again.

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize every breath–deep and open and hungry. And as he kissed you, he eased you further up the bed, one hand at your back, the other braced on the mattress beside your hip.

He followed you, slowly crawling forward on his knees until he was fully on the bed now–hovering above you, chest to chest again, his weight sinking into the mattress as it groaned beneath both your bodies.

The kiss never broke.

His thighs slid between yours again. The heat of him, the scent of pine and sweat and summer skin, the constant throb where your bodies met–it wrapped around you like fire.

And when his hips rolled forward again, this time braced against the bed, denim catching against denim, bare skin finally brushing cotton, you moaned into his mouth and pulled him closer, and Rhett swallowed the sound like it was the only thing that mattered. Rhett’s mouth broke from yours with a slow, shaky breath, his lips slick and parted, his gaze heavy-lidded as he pulled back just enough to take you in.

Then he dipped his head.

His lips found your throat first, brushing the skin there in a whisper-soft kiss, then trailing lower, open-mouthed and hot. His breath fanned out across your collarbone as he kissed it slowly, reverently, his voice tumbling out between the touches like he couldn’t stop himself.

“So damn pretty…” He murmured, nuzzling along the delicate slope of your neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful…”

His words were low and breathless, more praise than statement–like they were being dragged from his chest by the heat between your bodies. He kissed the hollow of your throat, then moved lower, his hair falling forward as he ducked down. The strands had begun to slip loose from the way he’d styled them, soft waves now tickling against your skin as he pressed his mouth to the top swell of your breast.

You gasped, spine arching faintly.

His lips dragged across the top curve of one breast, then the other, slow and teasing, the tip of his tongue just barely flicking against the edge of the lace as he groaned softly.

“Your skin is so fuckin’ soft,” He breathed, his hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing just beneath the band of your bra. “Can I take this off, sweetheart?”

You nodded, breath caught in your throat. “Yes.”

He didn’t rush. His hands were careful, respectful, as he found the clasp and eased it open, the soft snap of fabric releasing like a held breath. He let the straps fall away, the bra sliding off your arms, and he tossed it gently to the side.

Then he sat back on his knees for a moment.

Just looking.

The room was quiet but charged, amber light bathing everything in a molten glow. Rhett’s eyes were wide and reverent, drinking in the sight of your bare chest like it undid something deep inside him.

His hand came up, slow and open, and cupped one breast with tender pressure, thumb dragging softly over your nipple as it hardened beneath his touch. You gasped and arched slightly into him, your thighs flexing around his waist, your bottom lip caught between your teeth to stifle the moan threatening to break loose.

“Fuck,” He whispered, voice cracked. “You’re unreal…”

Then he leaned forward again, lips brushing the other breast as he murmured, “Can I kiss them?”

You nodded immediately, your voice trembling. “Please…”

That was all he needed.

He kissed the soft underside first, mouth hot and open, tongue flicking teasingly along the curve. Then he took your nipple between his lips and sucked.

Your whole body jolted.

The sensation ripped through you like lightning–sharp, electric, overwhelming. His mouth was hot, wet, focused as he laved over your nipple, then sucked harder, his tongue swirling as he groaned into your skin. His other hand massaged your other breast, palm wide and warm, kneading with slow, deliberate rhythm.

Your hips bucked into him, the friction of your shorts dragging against the denim of his jeans. His own hips rolled in response, grinding down against you in perfect, torturous time with his mouth.

The weight of him. The rhythm. The praise. The heat.

It was too much and not enough all at once.

“Rhett–” You gasped, one hand tangling in his hair as it brushed against your chest, thick and messy now, tickling with every breath. “God…”

He sucked harder, groaning at the sound of your voice, the vibration of it rumbling through your skin. He didn’t stop. He just kept grinding slow and heavy against your core, the hard line of his cock dragging exactly where you needed it, the pressure maddening.

“You like that?” he rasped, lips slick as he looked up, his hand still kneading at your breast. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You whimpered, nodding, your breath ragged. “Yes–yes, it feels so good–”

He kissed back across your chest to your other nipple and sucked there too, just as intensely, his hips never stopping their slow grind. You could feel how much he wanted you–how much he was holding back–and it only made the tension coil tighter between your thighs.

You were drowning in it–in the heat of his mouth, the drag of his hips, the praise whispered into your skin, the way his body crowded yours completely.

Rhett’s mouth lingered at your breast a moment longer, then released you with a soft, wet pop, placing a tender kiss over the nipple before moving lower. His lips trailed a slow, reverent path down the slope of your sternum, breath warm and ragged as he murmured soft things into your skin.

“So beautiful,” He whispered, brushing the tip of his nose along your stomach, kissing just beneath your ribcage. “So fuckin’ soft… Can’t believe I get to touch you like this…”

You felt his tongue dart out, licking slowly along the gentle dip above your navel. His groan was quiet but raw, like your taste knocked the wind from him. Then he did it again, slower this time, eyes fluttering shut as he tasted the salt and heat clinging to your skin.

He kissed you everywhere–your stomach, your waist, the faint stretchmarks at your hip. Sweet nothings fell from his lips like prayer: You’re unreal…Can’t get enough of you… never seen anything so perfect.

And then he reached the waistband of your shorts.

His mouth hovered just above the button, and he glanced up at you through his lashes–eyes glassy and dark, mouth flushed.

“Can I take these off?” He asked, voice husky, reverent.

You nodded instantly, already breathless. “Yes… please.”

His fingers moved with aching care, undoing the button, pulling the zipper down so slowly it might’ve been deliberate torture. Then he curled his hands around the waistband and shimmied the denim down your thighs, inch by inch. You lifted your hips to help him, legs parting slightly.

And when the shorts slipped off completely–when he saw what you were wearing underneath–Rhett stopped breathing altogether.

It was the matching set.

Powdered blue lace. Dainty straps. Barely-there coverage.

His jaw flexed, eyes flicking up to your face, then dropping again to the sheer fabric stretched over your soaked center.

“Jesus…” He muttered, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. One large hand skimmed down your thigh, then up again, fingers grazing over the lace. You arched ever so slightly into his touch, hips twitching in quiet desperation.

He groaned low, eyes locked on where you moved for him.

“I wanna see how you touch yourself,” He rasped, dragging his knuckles over the front of your panties. “Before I do anything to you… I wanna watch you, sweetheart.”

Your breath caught. You looked up at him with wide, unsure eyes–doe-eyed and flushed, heart pounding.

“O-Okay…”

His hands were gentle as he helped ease the delicate underwear down your legs, bunching them in his fist before setting them aside carefully, like they were something precious. Then he sat back, slow and deliberate, bracing himself between your knees. His hands slid up the outsides of your thighs and gently pressed–urging your legs open to him.

The air between your bodies tightened. You could feel yourself flushing from head to toe.

Your fingers ghosted down your stomach, trembling slightly, and Rhett didn’t say a word–just watched. Eyes wide. Lips parted. Kneeling before you like he was witnessing something holy.

You avoided his gaze as your fingers slipped lower, already slick with the arousal he’d built inside you with nothing more than his mouth, his words, and that grind. You gathered your wetness, circling your clit slowly, trying not to overdo it.

Rhett leaned in. His lips brushed the inside of your knee, tender and grounding.

“You’re very gentle with yourself…” He murmured. “Are you sensitive?”

You nodded a little, breath stuttering.

He exhaled hard through his nose, voice breaking as he whispered, “You look so pretty when you touch yourself like that…”

His hand came up to rub slow circles along your thigh while you worked your fingers in slow, rhythmic spirals. Your breath hitched. You circled again, and then again, each motion sending little shocks through your stomach.

And then you said, “Whenever I touch myself… all I’ve been thinking about is your fingers instead of mine.”

Rhett’s mouth curved into a smirk against your skin. His lips brushed up your thigh, closer now.

“Is that so, sweetheart?”

You whimpered. “I want your mouth on me so badly, Rhett.”

He kissed the inside of your knee again–gentle, sweet, steady.

“Alright,” He murmured, voice barely more than gravel and breath. “But if you want me to stop, you can tell me at any point, okay?”

You nodded instantly. “I won’t want you to stop…”

His eyes darkened as he pressed a kiss higher up your thigh. Then another. Then another.

And as he moved closer to where you ached most, your body shuddered with anticipation. His breath ghosted over your center, hot and unsteady. You could feel it–each exhale brushing across the slick folds of your core, stirring goosebumps up your thighs. And then his voice came, low and ragged, like gravel dipped in honey.

“You’re glistening, Y/N…” He murmured, his breath catching. “It’s so fuckin’ beautiful… Can’t believe I’m the first one who gets to touch you like this…To taste you like this.”

The reverence in his voice made your chest ache. Your thighs tensed beneath his palms, and he soothed them with a slow stroke of his thumbs–circling gently, grounding you. Then he leaned in.

His stubble scraped softly against the tender skin of your inner thighs, just enough to make you flinch–not in pain, but in pure, sharpened sensitivity. He kissed your right thigh first, then your left, mouthing at the soft flesh with quiet devotion before shifting closer, lips parting.

The first lick was slow.

Long.

Deliberate.

The flat of his tongue dragged up your slit in one smooth, reverent motion, tasting every bit of your arousal like it was something sacred. He let out a low hum–a quiet, aching sound of pleasure–as his hands tightened ever so slightly on your thighs.

Then he pulled back just enough to kiss your clit–soft and wet and lingering.

“You taste amazing…” He whispered, lips brushing your folds. His voice was thick, almost dazed.

You bit your bottom lip hard, eyes fluttering as you looked down at him. He stared up at you with that same reverent hunger, mouth slick, cheeks flushed. And then he dipped his head again, tongue finding your clit in a slow, lazy stroke that made your hips twitch.

You shifted, gasping softly, instinctively wiggling against his mouth in search of more. Rhett responded immediately–pressing his face in deeper, his stubble rubbing raw and hot against your skin. You reached down without thinking, hand fumbling until yours found his.

He squeezed your hand gently.

And then, muffled against your core, you heard him ask, “You okay, baby?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes…” It came out like a whisper. “Feels so good…”

He kissed your clit again, murmuring, “Put your hand in my hair.”

Your fingers obeyed instantly, slipping into the thick strands and curling softly. He hummed in response, the sound vibrating straight through your core, and then he returned to you–tongue stroking slow, intentional patterns over your most sensitive point.

Everything about him was gentle, but relentless. He never rushed. He worshipped.

And then his hand slid off your thigh. You felt the shift–the weight of his palm dragging down, disappearing for a second.

He pulled back, panting lightly, lips shiny and pink. His voice was hoarse. “I’m gonna finger you…Is that okay?”

Your answer was immediate. “Yes. Please…”

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he dragged his fingers through your slick, coating them thoroughly. He leaned back in and kissed your clit again–soft and sweet, like a punctuation mark–before gently pressing a single finger into your entrance.

The stretch was perfect. Not painful. But new. Full.

Your lips parted in a soundless gasp, your thighs quivering as your body tried to adjust to the pressure. His eyes were locked on your face.

“Does it feel good?” He murmured, voice frayed at the edges.

You nodded. “It’s better than…Better than when I do it.” You were barely breathing.

He kissed the inside of your thigh again, his eyes glinting with something soft and primal all at once.

“You’re flutterin’ around me, sweetheart…” He whispered. “God, you feel so good.”

He slid his finger in slowly, curling it just right–and then, when you were ready, he added a second.

You moaned out loud.

Loud and aching and raw.

Your hips lifted off the mattress at the stretch, and Rhett caught you–his other arm bracing across your stomach, pinning you down with just enough pressure to steady you.

His fingers moved in slow, careful thrusts, curling deep until they found it–that spot you could only sometimes graze on your own. But he didn’t stop there. As his fingers moved, his mouth returned to your clit, tongue swirling, flattening, lapping.

It was too much and still somehow not enough.

The heat started to bloom in your belly–sharp and fast and unbearable. His fingers were soaked. The squelch of them moving inside you echoed through the room now, tangled with his quiet groans and the soft gasps falling from your lips like prayers.

He sucked your clit deep into his mouth and moaned around it, the sound vibrating through your whole body. His fingers curled again.

Right there.

“Rhett–” You gasped, voice trembling. “Rhett, it feels like I’m gonna–”

His eyes snapped up to yours, wild and focused and god, he was smiling. “Just let it out, sweetheart,” He rasped, never stopping. “Let me drink you in.”

That did it.

The heat snapped like a whip.

Your hips bucked hard–legs trembling, your back arching off the mattress. A strangled moan burst from your throat as your orgasm tore through you like wildfire.

You came hard–rushing wetness spilling out over his fingers, soaking the comforter beneath you. You gasped, nearly sobbing with the intensity, your hands tangled in his hair and fisting hard as your whole body convulsed against his mouth.

Rhett held you there.

Firm but tender, one arm anchoring you while his mouth slowed, his tongue gentling against your clit as he rode out your high. You twitched beneath him, thighs shaking, as the overstimulation began to bleed in.

“Okay…Okay…” You whimpered, barely coherent.

He eased off slowly, kissing your thighs, your stomach, your hipbone–anywhere he could reach as your body trembled down from the high. He held you until your breath evened, until the quaking softened, until your hand loosened in his hair.

Only then did he raise his head, lips flushed and glistening, eyes blown wide with awe and reverence.

“You’re incredible,” He murmured, voice shaking. “Never seen anything so goddamn beautiful.”

And then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed you–deep, slow, still tasting of you, and all you could do was pull him close and kiss him back, letting the weight of that moment settle over both of you like a blanket made of heat and something sweeter.

His tongue slipped past your lips with slow confidence, and you welcomed him, your moan melting into his mouth as your hands tangled in his hair again. It was wet and hungry, the kind of kiss that made your toes curl, the kind that made everything else disappear.

The weight of his body, the grind of denim against your bare core, the deep, soft drag of his tongue against yours–every piece of him was searing into you, and you didn’t want him anywhere else.

You could feel how hard he was through his jeans now. Thick, unrelenting. It pressed up against you, heavy and hot, even through the fabric–and you reached down between your bodies without thinking. Your fingers found the button of his jeans, popped it open, and tugged at the zipper slowly.

That was when he pulled back, just enough to breathe. His lips were swollen, chin wet, pupils blown wide. “Let me go grab a condom,” He rasped, already shifting to move.

But you caught his wrist, held him there, and your voice came soft and breathless.

“I’m on the pill… I want to feel all of you, Rhett. Please… Please, I want to feel you.”

His breath hitched–like the air was knocked out of him. His gaze darted over your face, trying to make sure he heard you right. The way you said it. The way you looked at him, wide-eyed and aching and brave.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice cracked with restraint.

You nodded, slow and deliberate. “I’ve never been more sure.”

That was all it took.

Rhett sat back slightly, and with one hand, he peeled off his shirt in a smooth, practiced motion. The fabric caught the light as it was tossed aside, revealing sun-warmed skin stretched over lean, corded muscle. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, every inch of him tanned and freckled and golden. Your eyes trailed down his stomach–over the faint trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his jeans–your breath catching in your throat.

He pushed himself off the bed and stood to undo the rest. You watched as he slid his jeans and boxers down in one slow motion, revealing himself fully.

Your stomach flipped.

He was big.

Beautiful, too–thick and flushed, heavy against his thigh, his length curving upward slightly. You swallowed hard as your eyes followed the slope of his hips to the strength of his thighs–thick with muscle, dusted with dark hair, tense as he stood before you, letting you take him in.

He watched your face as you looked at him–searching for fear or hesitation–but all he saw was awe.

“I-I have lube,” you said quietly, pointing to the nightstand. “Top drawer.”

Without hesitation, he turned, grabbed it, and crawled back onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, and he settled between your thighs again, kissing you before you could even catch your breath.

This time, it was messier. Hotter. Slick with spit and need and the taste of you lingering between your mouths. His hands roamed–gripping your waist, cupping your jaw, brushing your hair back with aching tenderness.

The heat of his erection pressed against your core again, and the moment he rocked his hips forward, you gasped. He groaned into your mouth and pulled back just enough to look at you.

“You ready?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your mouth again. Then he leaned back just slightly and gently pushed your thighs open a little wider. The cool air hit your skin, but it didn’t last–his hand came next.

He popped the cap of the lube and coated himself first, his breath catching as his hand stroked his erection with slow, slick pressure. Then he reached between your thighs, and you gasped as his fingers spread the lube carefully over your entrance, gentle and reverent.

Then he moved closer again, one arm sliding beneath your neck, cradling you as he brought his forehead to yours.

“I’ll go slow,” He whispered, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks between each word.

“Okay,” you whispered back.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

You nodded again, breath shallow.

Then he reached down, adjusted himself, and began to guide his tip to your entrance.

You could feel him there–warm, slick, thick–and your hands clenched around his biceps as he slowly began to press in. The stretch was immediate. Hot. Sharp. Full.

Your breath hitched. “Oh–”

He stopped instantly, holding himself steady, brushing your hair back again.

“You okay?” His voice was ragged, restrained. His whole body trembled with the effort of holding back.

You nodded, jaw tight. “Just…Give me a second…”

He kissed your temple and murmured, “Take all the time you need, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

He stayed still, every muscle in his body taut and waiting, his cock barely halfway inside you, while you adjusted. And he kept kissing you–your hairline, your cheekbone, the tip of your nose–whispering soft things.

When you finally exhaled fully, your hips relaxed, and you whispered, “Okay…You can keep going.”

He did–so slowly it almost hurt with how careful he was. Inch by inch, the stretch deepened, and your hands scrambled for something to hold–his shoulders, the sheets, anything.

But then he bottomed out, fully seated inside you, and everything in your body stilled.

You were full. So full. It was overwhelming and delicious and dizzying, and the feel of his cock pulsing inside you made your whole body tighten.

“Oh my god…” You whispered.

Rhett was breathing hard above you, lips parted, eyes clenched shut.

“You’re so tight, sweetheart… You feel…Fuck, you feel incredible…”

He didn’t move yet. He just stayed there, kissing your shoulder, letting your body adjust around him, trembling with restraint.

“You okay?” He asked again, voice nearly breaking.

You nodded slowly, lifting your hand to stroke his jaw, “You’re so big Rhett…Fuck you’re filling me so good.” Rhett sighed hard against your mouth, the sound frayed and heavy, like he’d been holding it in for years. You felt it in your chest. In your thighs. In the way his body trembled, barely restraining itself inside you.

Your walls fluttered around him, tightening and loosening in sync with your racing heartbeat. He groaned deep in his throat, his breath catching as your body clung to his, pulse and pressure locking him in place.

His free hand found yours, fingers interlacing, his palm warm and calloused where it cupped yours into the mattress. Then he leaned down, kissed your forehead. Your cheek. The corner of your mouth. Every kiss was soft, reverent–like a thank you in skin.

Then one small kiss to your lips, barely a brush, and you whispered:

“You can move…”

He nodded, eyes locked on yours. “Okay…”

And then he did.

The first roll of his hips was slow. Careful. Shallow. But even that made you gasp.

He paused, breathing against your mouth.

“Okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice shaking. “It’s just…A lot. A really, really good lot…”

Rhett gave a breathless laugh, then kissed you again—and this time, when he rocked into you, he went just a little deeper. Then again. And again. Short strokes at first, easing you open, your body adjusting with each slow drag of him moving in and out.

Every inch was pure heat. Every motion coaxed more of you open, more pleasure, more need. Your hips started to lift with his rhythm, chasing the feeling, meeting him halfway in a messy, desperate grind.

He groaned–low and sharp, his head tipping forward so his forehead pressed to yours, sweat starting to bead at his temples.

“Holy fuck, Y/N…” He breathed, voice cracked with pleasure. “I’m already fuckin’ addicted to you. Jesus Christ.”

And then he pushed in harder–just slightly, just enough to steal your breath–and kissed you with all the weight of that confession.

You moaned into his mouth, legs tightening around his waist. Your hands slid up his back, clinging, fingernails scraping lightly as you arched beneath him.

One hand found his hair and tugged–gentle, desperate–and he let out a soft, broken sound against your lips.

Then your voice broke out, wild and shaking: “Rhett, oh my fucking god…Please. Please fuck me.”

He pulled back, just enough to look at you. His hair was damp and messy, his cheeks flushed, his eyes dark with a heat that burned straight through you.

“You want me to go a little faster?” He asked, voice barely holding on.

You nodded instantly. “Yes…Please…”

He kissed you again–deep and hungry–and then he did.

His hips began to move faster, deeper. The slick drag of his cock inside you was dizzying, perfect, each thrust brushing places that made your breath come in strangled gasps. The mattress creaked beneath your bodies, your moans filling the space between the slap of skin and the thick, humid sound of him fucking into you.

He buried his face in your neck, panting against your skin, and you clung to him, crying out as your thighs trembled around his waist.

The tension coiled in your belly again. The kind that burned slow, that built behind your ribs until it was a scream in waiting.

Sweat slid down his spine. Yours, too. The room smelled like sex and heat and skin. You could feel his muscles flexing as he fucked you, his body straining with effort, with restraint.

“Fuck…” He gasped, hips stuttering slightly. “I’m gonna cum…”

And without thinking, you whined:

“I want you to cum in me, Rhett… I want to feel you drip out of me… I want to remember you until the next time you fuck me…”

He let out a broken groan against your lips, his whole body jolting. “Jesus fuckin’–”

Then his mouth crashed into yours as his hips bucked.

His cock throbbed inside you, twitching hard as he spilled into you with a choked, whimpering moan. Hot ropes of cum pulsed into you, thick and deep, coating your walls as his whole body tensed, then sagged forward, trembling with release.

You could feel it. Every drop. The warmth, the weight of him filling you.

He kept kissing you, slow and breathless, as his body rocked through the last of it. Then he collapsed gently onto you–careful not to crush you, but unable to do anything but melt into your skin.

His breath came in hot, heavy bursts against your collarbone. Your fingers threaded through his messy hair, stroking softly, both of you pulsing together in the aftermath.

You tilted your head and kissed his shoulder. Then again. Then you opened your mouth and sucked gently, letting your teeth graze the skin just enough to sting.

He laughed. A breathless, wrecked sound that vibrated against your chest.

“You just gave me the best orgasm of my life and now you’re marking me up?” he murmured, smiling into your neck.

You kissed the spot again. “Mhm. Wanna make sure you remember me too.”

He groaned, low and content. “Like I ever could forget.”

And then he kissed you again–slower now.

The kiss lingered–soft and slow, no heat behind it now, just breath and closeness and the raw tenderness of being seen. When he finally pulled back, Rhett exhaled gently against your lips, eyes still half-lidded, lips brushing yours with each word.

“We should take a shower together,” He whispered. “Clean off…Then cuddle. Sound good to you?”

You nodded, voice caught in your throat from how gentle he was being with you. How careful. Like you might crack if he touched you too roughly now.

He kissed you again, barely a press. Then murmured, “I’m gonna pull out, okay?”

Your hands rose without thinking, cupping his face, your thumbs brushing the flushed heat of his cheekbones. “Go ahead,” You whispered.

He moved slow–achingly slow–as if trying not to jar anything loose inside you. His hips drew back, inch by inch, and the moment he slipped out, you gasped softly at the emptiness. It wasn’t pain. Just…The absence of him. Of fullness. Of connection.

He looked down instinctively, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the smear of red on the tip of himself. Just a trace. Just enough.

His eyes flicked up immediately. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice low and urgent.

You nodded, resting a hand on his chest, the rise and fall of it still heavy from exertion. “I’m okay,” You whispered. “I promise. Just sore.”

He held your gaze for a moment longer, then leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Alright,” he murmured. “Let’s get you cleaned up, sweetheart.”

He stood first, reaching for your hand to help you up gently. You wobbled a little on your legs, but he caught you before you could sway too far. Wordlessly, he guided you to the washroom, one arm around your waist, the other bracing you.

You sat on the toilet while he turned on the shower, the sound of the water filling the small room. The bathroom lights were still dim, the warm tiles grounding beneath your bare feet. You leaned forward slightly, your elbows resting on your knees as you peed, feeling the soft, warm leak of him spilling from between your thighs–a small gush that made you shiver.

Rhett noticed. He turned, saw your face, and came to crouch in front of you. One hand cupped your knee, the other brushed your hair back as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re okay?” he asked again, voice like velvet.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Just… feelin’ it, that’s all.”

When you finished, he helped you up again, kissed your shoulder, and led you to the shower. The steam had already begun to fog the mirror, the tiles warm beneath your feet as you stepped in together. The water cascaded over both of you–hot and comforting, like being wrapped in the weight of the moment all over again.

Rhett stood behind you, arms around your waist, kissing your shoulders, your neck, the back of your ear with a tenderness that nearly undid you.

And then it hit you.

The comedown.

It came quiet at first–just a tightness in your chest, a knot in your throat–but then the tears came. Hot and sudden and silent, slipping down your cheeks before you even had the words for them.

Rhett felt the shift immediately. He stepped back just enough to turn you in his arms, his hands rising to frame your face, thumbs brushing your wet cheeks–not from the water this time.

“Y/N…” he whispered, heart in his throat. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

You shook your head quickly, the motion jerky. “No–fuck, no. It’s just…The come down.” Your voice broke, cracking like a branch.

His thumbs kept stroking your cheeks, his lips soft and close. “Sweetheart, are you sure?”

You nodded again, more firmly this time. “Yes. I’m okay. You were so fucking good, Rhett. I just…” You exhaled, choking a little on the emotion. “My emotions are all over the place. I promise I’m okay.”

He kissed your tears. One cheek. Then the other. Then your lips–soft and slow and grounding.

“Okay,” He murmured, pulling you against him. “Let’s get you cleaned up… then I’m gonna hold you in bed. Alright?”

You nodded against his chest. “Yeah…Okay.”

And he did. He reached for your body wash–your scent, your favorite brand, that sweetness he always smelled on you–and poured it into his palms. His hands moved with reverent care, smoothing over your skin with slow, deliberate tenderness. He washed every inch of you like it mattered. Like it meant something. He took his time with your arms, your back, your stomach, between your legs–gentle, never rushing.

You let him.

Because it wasn’t just about being clean. It was about being cared for. About being held in the aftermath of something big and beautiful and raw.

When he was done, he rinsed you slowly, pressing kisses to your shoulders between handfuls of water. Then he shut the water off, wrapping a towel around you first before doing the same for himself. He dried you off, careful and quiet, and then scooped your clothes from the floor and carried them out, returning a moment later to help you back into bed.

He tucked the blankets around you, kissed your temple, then turned to clean up–putting the lube away, picking up the scattered clothes, folding them gently and setting them aside. Then, finally, he crawled into bed beside you.

His naked body pressed to yours, all warmth and strength and safety.

One arm slid beneath your neck. The other wrapped around your waist, drawing you in tight. Your head rested against his chest. His breath was steady now. So was yours.

“I love you, Y/N…” he whispered, voice nearly lost to the night.

You curled into him tighter, lips brushing his collarbone. “Fuck, Rhett… I love you too.”

He smiled. You felt it against your temple.

And then the room fell quiet. Just the soft hum of the night air through the cracked window, the cooling scent of soap on your skin, and the steady beat of his heart under your cheek.

It was everything.

#rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #rhett abbot x reader #rhett abbott fluff #lewis pullman the man you are #lewis pullman characters #lewis pullman #outer range #fluff #fluffiness #smutty smut smut #smutty fanfiction #long fic #the hot hot heat of my steamy mind #SoundCloud

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gilverrwrites · 3 days ago

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ꜰᴛ. ᴅɪᴄᴋ ɢʀᴀʏꜱᴏɴ, ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ ᴛᴏᴅᴅ, ᴋʏʟᴇ ʀᴀʏɴᴇʀ, ʀᴏʏ ʜᴀʀᴘᴇʀ, & ᴡᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴇꜱᴛ

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪɴꜱᴇʀᴛ: ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴛᴏ ʏ��ᴜʀ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ ᴀɴɴᴏᴜɴᴄᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴀ/ɴ: ᴀɴ ᴀᴍᴀʟɢᴀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!

ᴅɪᴄᴋ – ᴡᴇ’ʀᴇ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀ ʙᴀʙʏ, ʙᴀʙʏ! ᴛᴡ: ꜰᴇʀᴛɪʟɪᴛʏ ɪꜱꜱᴜᴇꜱ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ (ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ/ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰʏᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ)

After months at it like horny rabbits, a feat you didn’t think possible considering Dick’s baseline libido, it had seemed like an impossible task. You’d long since given up trying, at least until the fertility treatment appointment Bruce has dropped big bucks on, which wasn’t for a few more weeks.

It’s why you didn’t get your hopes up when your period didn’t come as expected. It’s why you didn’t reach for a pregnancy test straight away, why Dick didn’t push the subject. Neither of you wanted to deal with the sting of disappointment that the inevitably negative test would administer.

At least that’s what you’d thought the mutually agreed up status would be. When you emerge from the en-suite, limbo status pee stick in hand, Dick keeps his head down, but you see his stormy blue eyes, peeking out from under his dark locks, his yearning clear as day. It breaks your heart as you picture his face in 10 minutes' time, the same look of disappointment, of grief you’d seen too many times before, plastered on his face, only adding to your own feelings of pain and inadequacy.

But at the same time, it’s Dick who makes you feel better when you’re low, so you climb into the bed beside him and curling up in his arms. Eyes closed, focused only on the soothing fluctuation of his chest and the feel of his lips against your forehead.

“Hey, baby.” Dicks voice stirs you. You’re not sure if you’d been sleeping for a while or if you’d just started to doze but your eyes feel heavy as you look up at your partner. He’s trying to keep a straight face, but the corners of his eyes are creased in a way you recognise as his attempt to hide a smile, and you have to remind yourself not to expect anything. “Look.”

Something shifts in your peripheral, Dick is waving the test back and forth to grab your attention, but the movement makes it hard to read the test window until you reach out to grab it from him.

Two lines.

Two beautiful, beautiful lines.

“We’re…”

He finally cracks, lips twisting into a genuine, sunny smile. One you’d missed wholeheartedly. It doesn’t leave his lips as he presses it to your face, over and over, words marred as he smothers you with his affections. “We’re gonna have to give you a new nickname, cause we’re having a baby, baby!”

ᴊᴀꜱᴏɴ – ɪ ᴡᴏɴ’ᴛ ꜱᴀʏ ɪ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ. ᴛᴡ: ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴀʀɢᴜɪɴɢ.

There isn’t even a hint of irony or humour in his face. He’s stone-cold serious. More than 200 lbs of muscle, scar tissue, and don’t-fuck-with-me- face, standing in front of you with an unopened pregnancy test.

“You can’t be serious.” He doesn’t falter at your dismissal, position and face held firm even as you roll your eyes and attempt to gently bat the box away. “I think I’d know if I was pregnant.”

“Would you?” The stern look on his face finally waivers, making way for a cocked brow and a teasing smirk. He can be so smug sometimes; Thinks he knows you better than you know yourself.

You might regret giving him an inch, but you concede, slightly. “Okay, maybe I wouldn’t know know, but I’d have a hunch.”

“Yeah? Well, I have a hunch.” He fires back, following close behind you as you attempt to walk away. Right on your heels until you collapse on the couch. “Humour me.”

“A hunch based on what?” You ask as he joins you, lifting your legs to make space for himself before letting them fall back down onto his lap.

“Well…” Milky eyes land on your breasts just long enough to make a point before they trail back down your body, stopping at your ankles, which admittedly have been giving you trouble recently. When he pressed his thumb hard into its joints and starts to massage them, you don’t complain, but you’re not willing to admit defeat just yet. “You’ve been… swelling, and you’ve been peeing a lot. Weird things make you nauseous, things you used to like.”

Of course, you’ve noticed these things too, but when he starts listing them back-to-back like this you can’t deny that his case is might just be a teensy bit compelling.

“You’re tired all the time, and I’m pretty sure you’re-”

“Okay, fine.” You yield, playfully glaring at him as you grab the box from the coffee table where he’d placed it before joining you. “I’ll take the test, but when I’m right, and I will be, you have to go to the store and buy me ice cream.”

“Random food cravings, that's also a sign.” Before you bite back he already raises his arms in surrender, a cheeky, boyish laugh rolling off his tongue under the burn of your glare until you close the bathroom door behind you.

Jason can be quite the sore loser when his stake is high enough, but he’s always been a surprisingly gracious, if quietly complacent, winner. You know this, as you sheepishly exit the bathroom 20 minutes later, positive test in hand.

You’re not quite sure what you’d expected to find upon your emergence, but Jason, grinning ear to ear, ice cream and a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting in hand is certainly a sight you could get used to.

ᴋʏʟᴇ – ᴍoᴍᴍʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ.

He’s clueless. Tired as a worn-out rag, as he drags his feet around the apartment. He’s greeted you with a cheery smile, and a long-awaited smooch, undoubtedly happy to be home and with you once again. But Lantern business is arduous, and while his heart might be all in on being home, his brain certainly isn’t switched on.

“I can do all that for you.” You volunteer, watching closely as he boils the kettle, tries to undress, and attempts to unpack what he can, but he’s having none of it.

“No, no, it’s fine. I can do it.” He reassures you, love in his eyes as he blinks slow and sleepily at you, tasks at hand almost forgotten. “I- um- you- you rest. I’m home now, so um- so you don’t have to do everything around here.”

With his attention on you for a moment, you try to avert his gaze downward to the growing bump in your belly, or your t-shirt which states; ‘MOMMY TO BE’ in big, bold, colourful font, but the kettle starts to sing before he comprehends anything, and he’s turns away from you all too soon.

“You do everything all over the universe.” You point out as you join him at the counter, retrieving two mugs for him to fill. “I don’t see why you should have to do everything around here too. Not yet, anyway.”

“Not yet?” He questions slowly, eying you confused, following your hands as you smooth them down your shirt before resting your palms against your stomach. “Mommy to be.”

He reads your shirt aloud, slowly sounding out each syllable before repeating, “Mommy. Momm-eee… Wait, you’re gonna be a mommy?”

Already his drowsy eyes are several inches wider, his mouth agape, curling into a wide grin as you nod. “You’re gonna be a mommy, which means I’m gonna be a dad? Me! A daddy!?”

“Yes!” Clutching your hands tight and bringing them to his chest.

“Oh, this is the best news! This is amazing! I love you so much.” Kyle is the first to start jumping up and down, newfound energy now coursing through his body, but you follow his lead soon after, briefly. All that hopping can't be good for the baby after all.

ʀᴏʏ – ᴘɪɴᴄʜ ᴍᴇ.

Telling Roy became more of a spectacle than you’d hoped. Despite all your best efforts to play things cool, you could feel their eyes on you across the table. Roy’s, Dinah’s, Ollie's. Every glance might seem totally innocuous to any onlookers, but you could see the curiosity behind every prolonged stare and quirked lip as you declined alcohol, and coffee, and coke. Who knew there were so many boundaries on what pregnant people should and shouldn’t eat. No eggs, no poultry, no cheese, no fish.

Obviously, you couldn’t have known that Roy would have succeeded in his long-standing purpose to knock you up when you’d agreed to dinner with the soon-to-be in-laws, but man, had you known, you’d have declined.

At least then you wouldn’t be sweating like a sinner as you try to stomach the only thing on the menu that meets all your new dietary requirements. They're some of the smartest people you know, surely they can tell.

“So,” Dinah starts, and you can feel yourself unraveling. “Are you-”

“Yes! Yes, fine, I’m pregnant.” The word vomit escapes you under the mounting pressure before you even think them through, and you realise very quickly, as you process the barrage of wide, confused eyes staring at you, that your confession may have been unnecessary.

“I was going to ask if you’re enjoying your food.” Dinah clarifies, smiling as her eyes find Roy’s over the table. “But congratulations, how exciting.”

“That is great news. I think another round is in order, don’t you Di? Lemonade all round!” Ollie continues, and you nod and smile politely, but really, your energy is focused on Roy, who hasn’t moved an inch or said a word since your impromptu announcement.

His expression gives nothing away, and his eyes don’t even land on you until he feels the palm of your hand drape over the top of his. “Roy, are you okay? I thought you'd be excited.”

You thought he’d be happier. He’s been begging for this for months, but you have to strain your eyes when he finally speaks up, forest green eyes detached as he whispers. “Pinch me.”

“What?”

“Pinch me.” He repeats, and the relief floods through you as you watch his lips crack into a triumphant smile. Unadulterated joy flooding his face all at once as he grabs both your arms and pulls you closer. “This is the best thing to happen since Lian was born!”

ᴡᴀʟʟʏ – ꜱᴄᴀʀᴇᴅ. ᴛᴡ: ᴍɪʟᴅ ᴀʀɢᴜɪɴɢ.

“Open up I gotta take a leak.” Your husband calls from the other side of the wood that separates you, stirring you from your disoriented train of thought.

As a couple, you’d been trying for a baby ever since you’d tied the knot, but now that it’s really happening, the reality of the situation has hit you like a ton of bricks. A baby. A real flesh and blood child, a fragile little being who will be reliant on you, who will look to you for guidance and for, well, everything.

“You good?” Wally shouts again, this time knocking on the door, stopping your descent into internal panic before it happens again.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You lie, shoving the cap back on the test before hiding it in your back pocket, opening the door, and greeting Wally with a smile that even you know doesn’t reach your eyes.

He smiles back at you, but his gaze lingers on your expression, those emerald irises seemingly looking right through you, but the pressure in his bladder must win out because he doesn’t follow you as you swap places, and the sound of his zipper fills your ears before the door is even closed.

You barely make it downstairs before the telltale rush of wind that signifies his presence hits you, however. He’s waiting for you on the couch by the time you reach it, bottom lip between his teeth and he looks at you with big sad eyes.

Before you can even ask him what’s wrong, he pipes up; “So, when where you gonna tell me?”

He looks as troubled as you feel, but apparently for different reasons.

“Tell you what…” You trail off as you clock it; the pink plastic stick that has been in your pocket now twirls deliberately between Wally’s anxiously animated fingers. “Of course I was, I just needed a little time to process first.”

When Wally talks-faster-than-he-runs West has nothing to say, you know there’s something wrong. There is rarely silence between you, and while you’ve never felt the need to justify anything to the man you love, you do feel an itch to make some noise, so you keep talking. “It’s just, I know I should be happy, and I am! I’m just also, scared. You know?”

In an instant, the concern etched into his features melts, replaced by the sunshine you’d come to love; his freckles shifting under the stretch of a smile. Your own tense muscles relaxing at the sound of his laugh. “Of course you’re scared, I'm scared too” Having kids is terrifying!”

“Yeah?” You ask quietly, feeling silly for getting so in your head about the situation.

“Yeah!” Wally replies. You watch as he starts to stand before disappearing from view, and reappearing right behind you, arms wrapped tight around your torso, bringing you in for a hug. His lips are soft against the back of your neck as he nuzzles into you. “But we’re gonna be scared together, right, Momma?”

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julietcpulet · 1 month ago

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The hair stick: anime vs light novel.

So I’ll admit I was a bit disappointed at how I think the anime left out some of the subtlety with the hair stick. I get that a lot of how we’re able to interpret what Maomao actually feels vs how she comes across is either in her internal monologue or in her actions, things the anime can’t always capture given the limits of time. She’s a character that often has to be interpreted, not taken at face value. In regard to Jinshi’s hair stick the light novel gives the impression that Maomao is more possessive over it than first anticipated. Although she feigns disinterest she won’t give it to Shisui and it’s the only personal possession left to her.

“Someone gave it to me,” she replied. Given to her without much ceremony true enough, still. “What if I asked you to give it to me? Would you do it?” After a moment’s pause, Maomao said carefully, “I’m afraid not.”

The anime, however, chose to go with a more direct approach that did make it seem as if Maomao has little care for the object and is merely keeping it out of fear from reprisal by Jinshi which isn’t how she actually sees the situation. (Spoilers under the cut)

In the novel, her saying that Jinshi will just find a way to bring the stick back to her because of his persistence is just dancing around that she doesn’t actually want to give it away. It’s also a hint at how well Jinshi knows her, unlike others.

But Jinshi was oddly skilled at reading Maomao’s expressions. Partly because they’d now known each other for a fair amount of time, true, but even by that standard he was quite sensitive to slight changes in her face.

There’s also the small matter of the anime having Shisui retrieve the stick from next to the bed vs the novel having had Maomao place it next to her pillow. Yes, these are small details but overall important. Especially when she gives the stick to Shisui in their final moment together. That’s when it becomes clear it has more significance.

This particular hair stick was plain, yet of uncommonly fine make. The one who had given it to her could be especially obstinate, so there was every possibility that just like its original owner, it would somehow manage to find its way back to her.

We realize that Maomao’s appearing fixation on Jinshi’s obstinance and the hair stick could be linked to her subconscious hope that by having it he would come find her, which he did, although entirely unrelated to the object. It’s her way of wishing for something she couldn’t voice out loud, which was to be rescued. She also uses it as a prayer for her friend, saying that like Jinshi had found his way to her, if she gives Shisui the hair stick maybe they’ll see one another again. But with the anime giving the impression the stick is merely an annoyance, I feel that any greater meaning is lost. Unfortunately I get how it can be difficult to get some of this across in the anime but given how much more there is left of season 2 and even deeper nuance coming up between characters, it does worry me a bit if they’re going to start leaving things surface level. Especially because some fans want to see Maomao in a light that casts her as having little attachment to Jinshi and lacking emotion which isn’t true. If the anime always plays up the joke of their dynamic being him as overzealous and her seeming so put off, as that is the outward appearance, then we’ll never get to see the payoff of all the layers underneath.

#the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #jinmao #jinshi x maomao #maomao #jinshi #shisui #jinmao rambles #maybe I analyze too much #but the hair sticks are a big thing in the novels #episode thoughts

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prettyfastcars · 19 days ago

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that bit of fuel to your fire

Mob!Lewis x Reader

Summary: Lewis makes you nervous. Yes you’ve been married to him for months now, but still. And no matter how much you crave him, you can’t seem to muster up the courage to openly ask for what you want. So you keep dropping little hints, you keep playing this little game. Hoping that he would catch a hint one of these days… and he does.

Themes: age gap, arranged marriage, smut, fluff, explicit language

“Can you please help?”

Lewis looked up from the papers scattered all over his desk, and saw you standing at the doorway of his home office, looking at him with those mischievous eyes. “Sure, what do you need, wife?” He asked, smiling.

Gods. He looked divine sat there behind his desk in his suit. The two of you had just gotten back from another fancy dinner party, and once home, he was already working again. Always busy working. You sighed dramatically and said, “The zip at the back of my dress is stuck.” You walked into his office and leaned against the side of his large, ancient looking desk, “Can you help me take the dress off?”

Nice choice of words. He thought. “Anything for you, darling.”

Lewis got up and reached you in less than a second. You turned around and gave him your back, with the zip halfway down. You caught the way his fingers ghosted over your skin before he grabbed the zip to lower it down. Which he did agonisingly slowly. And it had you shivering in no time.

You’d been married for months now. It was an arranged marriage so Lewis was basically a stranger. And you’d heard of him before getting married and he made you nervous ever since. He was older, dangerous, and he was quite famous with the ladies…

Getting married was the easy part. But living with him? Living with a drop dead gorgeous older man was… tricky. Especially when he was so sweet, attentive, and kind to you. You soon found yourself thirsting after your own husband. But you were too nervous to initiate anything. You never sought him out for sex. Ever. After all, given his age and the rumours, he was much more experienced than you were. Plus, he was intimidating as it is. And to imagine all that power unleashed upon you…

“You know,” He began, breaking you out of your reverie, while tugging on the zip that was actually stuck, “I hope you know you’re not being as subtle as you think you are.”

You turned your face to the side and asked, “What do you mean?”

“Oh really? We’re back to playing this game then.” Lewis chuckled, his fingers still brushing against your exposed back, his cold rings tracing down along your spine. “You think I haven’t noticed you’ve been making eyes at me all night? You think I don’t know what you’re doing? What you’ve been doing for weeks now?”

You held back a smirk. Not that he would’ve seen it anyway. “I still don’t know what you mean.”

Zip undone, but he didn’t let you go just yet. You watched as one of his large, tattooed hands reached around your waist to pull you back into him. Your exposed back pressing against the cool, expensive fabric of his suit.

“Don’t act so innocent, wife.” He said, nuzzling your neck and letting his lips brush against your skin. “You think I don't see right through you? Your little antics, huh?” He kissed up your neck till his mouth reached your ear where he whispered, making you shiver, “Accidentally pressing against me at night? Always wearing those little things to bed that barely hide anything? Walking around in those tight leggings? Wearing your little running shorts in the morning?” He chuckled into your ear, the sound making you almost moan.

His hand drifted downward, getting dangerously close to where you needed him the most. That damp spot in between your legs getting wetter, pulsing for him.

“You’re my wife.” He reminded you. “You don’t even have to seduce me. You just have to ask for it.” He reasoned. “Just ask for it, whatever you want. I’ll give it to you.” You heard the smirk in his voice. “I’ll give it to you good and you know that.”

“I… I–”

He turned you around so you faced him.

And that didn’t help at all. Lewis’ beauty was lethal. His pretty brown eyes, his smooth skin, the tattoos all over his neck… he looked like a god.

“Say it, wife. Tell me what you want.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against the corner of your lips. “Ask me to fuck you. Ask nicely.”

Shit.

“Please Lew… please…,” You couldn’t even beg properly. Your mind was melting already, he was too close, his scent, the look in his eyes, it was too much.

“Oh baby…” He leaned in closer, rubbing this thumb over your chin gently, “Can’t even ask for it, huh?” He chuckled, “It’s okay. I’ve got you now. I’m gonna take care of you.” He whispered, before he pressed his mouth to yours.

You melted immediately. Sliding your hands up his chest as you kissed him back with just as much passion as he kissed you. You were starving for him, for this. You had been for way too long now. His mouth moved against yours perfectly, his facial hair felt rough against your skin but you welcomed it.

As he pushed you onto his desk, making you sit on the edge, you mumbled against his lips, “I want you so badly.”

“Yeah?” Lewis smirked into the kiss, “How long have you been dreaming of this, huh? Of me touching you? Of me fucking you?”

He pushed you onto the table, stepping in between your legs already. You spread your thighs, “Too long.” You answered, your dress falling off your shoulders to bunch around your waist. “Way too long.”

He gave you another smug chuckle. Then he got impatient so your underwear came off of you immediately, and in pieces because he ripped it off before he leaned in to kiss you again, as his hand reached in between your legs to play with your wet folds.

He smiled into the kiss upon finding you already wet for him. “All that for me?” He teased, sliding a finger, then another inside of you, Lewis stroked your walls gently, preparing you for more.

You clenched around his fingers, moaning into the kiss as he finger-fucked you relentlessly, his rings cold against your warm skin, making you whine in need and desperation.

You held onto his broad shoulders and kissed him deeper as he made you come all over his fingers in no time. He smirked, looking down at you, given how quickly you came. “You couldn’t hold back, huh? Do my fingers feel good inside you, wife?”

“Yes…”

“I know it does, baby. Look how quickly you came all over my fingers.” He whispered, removing his fingers and shoving them into your mouth without another thought. “Now clean them.” He said, watching intently how you sucked on his drenched fingers.

He couldn’t wait anymore.

He unzipped his pants and took his cock out, looking deep into your eyes as he did. He watched how the sound of his zip made you shiver with lust and desire. He smirked, watching you as you looked down to where he lazily stroked himself. That tattooed hand moving lazily up and down his cock…

Lips parted, heart pounding, you watched him play with himself like you were starving for it. Which you were.

“You want it?” He asked, teasing you with an even slower stroke.

You whined at the way his big hand moved up and down his erected cock. You squirmed, trying to scoot closer to him, “Please…”

“Ask nicely,” He demanded.

You would give him whatever he wanted in that moment, so you fisted the fabric of his shirt and looked up at him, pleading, “Please, Lewis. I want you so much it hurts.” You begged. “I want it, please. Please, can I have it? Can I have your cock?”

He just smirked in triumph, “Of course you can, baby. It’s all yours.” He said, spreading your legs and sliding his cock into you finally. You wrapped your legs around him and welcomed him inside you.

And fuck, he felt good.

You were a moaning and whimpering mess as he began moving in and out of you so perfectly that it felt like you were losing your mind.

“I’ll fuck you whenever I want now,” He whispered, staring into your eyes while he pounded into you relentlessly. His possessive tone only lit your body on fire even more. “You made me wait long enough, baby. No more waiting. I’ll fuck this tight pussy all the time because it’s all mine, isn’t it?”

You nodded, unable to utter another word.

“Yeah it is. I’m your man, and you’re my wife and I’ll fuck you whenever you want me to, you hear me? You’re all mine.” He said, fucking deeper into you like he did own you. He bent down to kiss your open mouth, swallowing all your moans and whines in the process. “All fucking mine.”

His mouth, his taste, his scent. The way his strong body moved to bring you pleasure like only he could. It was all that existed in that moment. The rest of the world was not here. Just him. All of him.

You could only gasp and moan, unable to form coherent sentences while he pounded into you like he owned you. Your entire body tingled. “Lewis…” The pressure between your legs was getting hotter, tighter, and it would snap at any moment now.

Then he pulled away just a little, looking down to where your body swallowed his cock each time he thrust in and pulled out. “Look,” he said and you followed his eyes, letting out an even louder moan when you saw what he was looking at. “I’m fucking my wife, do you see it?” He purposely slowed down his thrust just so you could see.

You nodded.

“You’re mine, then why did you wait this long, huh?” He asked, leaning in to kiss you. A messy, desperate kiss. One that demanded answers. “Why did you keep yourself from me? Why torture me all this time?”

Fuck. Why now?

“I don’t know…” You gasped. “I was too nervous.” You mumbled, looking into his deep, brown eyes.

“Babygirl,” He chuckled, “I’m all yours. There’s nothing to be nervous about. Do you know how hard it was to hold back from touching you?”

You whined, regretting all the time you wasted, and pressing your face into the crook of his neck. You kissed his skin as best you could while moaning and whimpering, “Please,” You begged, “Please, can I come?”

He smirked and sped up into you again, “Wait for me, baby. Just a little more,” He sounded all growly and it only made you clench around him even tighter.

Hearing you moan and squirm under him only encouraged him to thrust deeper and faster into you. He was relentless as his body moved perfectly against yours.

A tear fell from your eye, out of pleasure. He was quick to wipe it away as he bent down and kissed your lips again, pounding into you rapidly. “Come for me,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice strained and raspy. “Come all over your man, baby…”

And that was all you needed. You cried out as you came around him, the pressure finally exploding and a familiar warmth washed over you.

“There we go, baby. That’s it… milk that cock, it’s all yours.” He murmured, his voice like a distant memory given how loud your heartbeats echoed in your ears.

You felt Lewis come as well, his cock throbbing against your walls as he came with a grunt, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise your skin surely as he filled you up nicely. His cum leaking out of you already, even though he was snug, deep inside you still.

“There,” He sighed, “All mine.”

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton smut #mob!lewis #f1

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kesujo · 3 months ago

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Baby, Mommy's Here

I HAD TO WRITE AN EMERGENCY TAEYEON FIC BECAUSE OF THESE PICTURES (those who follow me sorta have gotten some not-so-subtle hints of the release of this fic :p)

ALSO, ENJOY THIS ONE TOO

I didn't edit/revise this b/c I'm sort of in a hurry. Please let me know if you find any mistakes! :D

Word count: 12.8K

Never in your life did you think you’d be in such a relationship. The past you might’ve judged you for it—scratch that, the past you would’ve hard judged you for it, maybe even going so far as to looking down on you for letting yourself acclimate to such a relationship. However, now that it’s happening, it’s like you’ve been truly awakened. This is the best way life is to be lived; sure, there are many people who give you weird looks, sure, some of your friends make fun of you and in fact, you get the feeling that some of them have distanced themselves from you upon learning of the type of relationship you’re in, but you’re long past the point of caring about that. In fact, Taeyeon herself has helped you get over the judgmental attitudes the ones who were close to you have adopted towards you.

What have you ever done to deserve your current lifestyle? You figure you must’ve been Mother Theresa or Mahatma Gandhi in your previous life to get this type of treatment and attention from the peak specimen of a woman that is Kim Taeyeon.

Beautiful, sexy, confident, but also kind, caring, gentle, empathetic … what does she not have? Money, certainly, isn’t the answer to that question: and while, as you’ve experienced, her level of wealth very much grants Taeyeon the ability to live as lavishly as any other multi-millionaire CEO, and the combination of her attractive appearance and personality makes it so that she should be able to get together with any man in the world. But, for some reason, she settled for you.

Rather, it’s not ‘for some reason’.

“This is a secret from the public, and I prefer you keep it this way.” Of course, you nod frantically. It was one of the first times you’ve seen Taeyeon in person, and being this close to her is making your heart go haywire and turning your brain to goo. “I am … shall I say, nearly infertile.” It was one of your first meetings, so hearing her being so vulnerable to you makes you feel thankful that she feels like she can be this way with you but also unworthy of bearing this knowledge. Still, you say nothing and let her continue. “That is to say, there are only certain men that I am compatible with, and even amongst those men, it would still be troublesome for me to become pregnant. And, as a woman who wants to have children of her own, you can see where my issue lies.” You nod again. Frankly, you don’t trust your voice to crack or to not stammer out even single-word replies.

“And that’s where you come in. I believe you participated in a test group regarding your own fertility?” You rack your memory – did you? You’ve signed up to participate in all sorts of studies, because you figure, why not, really? It can’t hurt that much, you’re helping the advancement of science, and you’re so unremarkable that you figure no one would the type of information these test groups ask for. “The researchers did indeed, use your specimen for its intended purpose, but in return for funding them, I had them also test for compatibility with me.” That sounds … vaguely illegal? But honestly, you can’t care less. Of all the test groups you’ve participated in, this is by far the greatest outcome, the best reward you’ve ever gotten. “And, it turns out, we’re compatible. Also, it doesn’t hurt that you’re quite cute.”

As a man, you perhaps shouldn’t have felt so happy hearing that from a woman. However, given that Taeyeon is almost a decade older than you, you’re more than happy to be her cute little partner. “Th-Thank, Thank you.”

Your face turns beet red, but Taeyeon simply smiles at your stammering. “No need to be shy. You’re mine now, and likewise, I’m yours.”

So she says, but the dynamic of the relationship quickly becomes clear: because Taeyeon has a lot of business to attend to, it’s often times you helping take care of the house along with the staff of house caretakers Taeyeon has at her disposal. She’s the one with the money, and she’s also insisted that your only job to be help her out with her job whenever she so asks for it, which you feel is much less frequently than she could be.

Essentially, realistically, Taeyeon is your sugar momma. And this relationship, while you figured might’ve felt a little demeaning at first, is perfectly fulfilling.

When Taeyeon is home, she’s the typical caring, doting wife, albeit with the caveat that she sometimes requests massages from you after a long day of work or vents to you about a project that’s being bottlenecked by something or another. When you’re outside with Taeyeon, the paparazzi that seems to be perpetually following you probably would never guess this bit about your dynamic: you pay for the meals as much as Taeyeon does, you still hold the door open for her, and you still drive the car more than she does if you two ever feel like not utilizing her personal chauffer.

In private is where the dynamic is a little more obvious: whenever Taeyeon requests something of you, you instantly drop whatever it is that you’re doing and rush to her side—but then again, that could just be seen as a doting, caring partner. And, of course—

“Ooh, honey, yes…”

It’s an absolutely hypnotic sight, seeing Taeyeon grinding against your crotch with your dick buried inside her to the hilt, her head thrown back and her hands on your waist. You’ve, of course, seen pictures of her all over the place, but the novelty of seeing those sizable tits hanging out in the open, each decorated with a squeezable bud at the tip that’s begging to be squeezed, but you don’t dare act out of line. In the first few months of your budding relationship, you feel like you’re fighting to show her your worth.

“Gosh, it feels so good…”

The sex is amazing, and you can’t get over how great Taeyeon’s pussy feels, and that in combination with the soft, velvety texture of her skin against your hands drives you insane, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel that this is still somewhat transactional.

“Fuck, Taeyeon…”

That thought only slightly detracts from the sex. The moment you entered this relationship with Taeyeon, she requested you to leave your previous job and to work for her—she doesn’t give you much work, though. It’s more like menial tasks, like, ‘please sort through my email inbox every morning and delete all the obvious spam and junk mail’, ‘please help me find a good place for a dinner with some stockholders’, that kind of stuff. You don’t particularly mind: you want to make yourself as useful to Taeyeon as possible.

“Does that feel good, honey?”

You can tell Taeyeon is putting in effort into this relationship, though: from day one, she all but ditched calling you your real name in favor of these pet names, such as ‘honey’, ‘baby’, ‘sweetheart’, et cetera. You’re thankful of her for that. In fact, it only makes you want to prove your worth to her even more.

“Yes, it feels so good, Taeyeon.”

You, on the other hand, don’t feel like you’ve earned the right to call her those pet names yet. It almost feels like you’re a puppy wagging its tail at its owner, seeking approval and validation and attention, something you might’ve ordinarily felt as demeaning now feels actually somewhat fulfilling. Every day, you strive towards this singular goal: be worth of being the man Taeyeon chose as her partner.

“Are you close?”

“Almost…”

Taeyeon takes your hands and places them on her boobs. “You like these, don’t you?”

Would it be ruder to blatantly, but honestly say, ‘yes, I love them so much, I sometimes find myself unable to stop looking at them’, to not say anything at all, or to deny it?

“You don’t have to deny it, baby.”

Seeing the reassuring smile on Taeyeon’s face is what lets you respond with, “Yes, I love them.”

“You know, you’re my partner. You don’t have to sneak peaks at my boobs, you can just look at them.”

It’s a growing process, for sure. Gradually getting used to each other, getting over your initial feeling of intimidation of Taeyeon after learning about how much of a sweetheart Taeyeon is outside her sharp, crisp, always-fashionable and always-beautiful CEO look takes some work, and Taeyeon is helping along with that process tremendously.

“Thanks, Taeyeon.”

You try to resist squeezing those almond nipples for as long as possible, but in the end, you’re only human. And then, hearing Taeyeon moan when you finally give in feeds the fire, and suddenly, you’re all over her boobs, grinding and smacking into her pussy while your hands carefully knead and massage her tits and give her nipples the occasional squeeze that sends Taeyeon into another moaning frenzy.

“Yes, keep going!”

“Taeyeon, I’m close. Where…?”

“Go ahead, baby! Inside me!”

You almost don’t know why you asked. Every single time the two of you have had sex, without fail, Taeyeon has insisted that you cum inside her—and, despite the sheer number of times it’s happened, she still has yet to become pregnant. It’s gotten to the point where you’re starting to wonder if it’s an issue with you, but Taeyeon has reassured you that isn’t the case—the test group that you partook in also returned results of your own fertility, of which is in the normal range for the average male.

“Fuck, cumming—”

And, without fail, every time you burst inside her, the hot, sticky walls of Taeyeon’s pussy squeezes you dry, coaxing out every last drop as if milking you for all that you were worth.

After letting you ride out your orgasm, Taeyeon dismounts you and lays by your side. “That was great, honey.”

How kind and considerate Taeyeon is only makes you feel worse, knowing that you still have yet to make her cum a single time. At least, as far as you know. You don’t dare bring this up, though; it’s an awkward subject, despite how many times you’ve came inside her already, and you don’t want to remind Taeyeon of your inadequacy.

“Yeah, it was,” is all you can say, for now.

In any romantic relationship, mutual attraction is a must. At least, in your books, it is. Maybe it’s the nature of a CEO like Taeyeon to take a more calculative stance on romantic relationships—but then again, you don’t believe that, seeing how Taeyeon takes the time out of her busy day to spend time with you: watching movies, having meals, chatting about random things, going golfing or go-karting or renting out an entire amusement park for a few hours to have fun in. For you, attraction to Taeyeon is instant, and only solidifies over time: for Taeyeon, you can tell it’s taking some time.

You do everything in your power to expedite the process: you take on cooking, taking lessons from Taeyeon’s personal chef so that you can cook meals for your 100-day and 200-day anniversaries, and although you consider yourself more knowledgeable than the average guy in this area, you still take more time to learn about fashion and makeup so that you can be at least somewhat presentable next to Taeyeon in public, you carefully plan out surprise dates for her to get her to stop thinking about work for a bit, and as time passes, you can start noticing the difference. Taeyeon is gradually, actively, making more effort to spend time with you, even going so far as to push deadlines or forgo work once every month or so, and it’s immensely gratifying to see your hard work paying off.

There are other ways you can see your hard work paying off, too.

“Oh my gosh, baby, I’m—!” Taeyeon, relentless as ever, demanded a second round before going to sleep that night, and it’s before your second orgasm that you’re finally able to see Taeyeon succumb to hers, purely by your efforts. “—I’m cumming, oh my go—!”

Her svelte frame shudders and convulses beneath your own, her eyes now fully shut and her head pressed deep into the pillow. Her hips violently buck against your crotch, so you obey the unspoken request of her body: you don’t relent, you continue to fuck her fiercely, to let her ride out her orgasm by adding pressure your right index finger and thumb are applying to her clit, and drink in this marvelous sight. It’s a whole other type of novelty, to see Taeyeon’s climax before your very eyes. If you thought the sight of her nude body was a mind-shatteringly sexy sight, the sight of seeing that body rocking and vibrating as your cock continued to slam into the deepest parts of her womb is on a completely other level—and then, to know that it’s you who did this, who turned Taeyeon into this moaning, screaming, convulsing mess brings you to your own orgasm.

“Fuck, Taeyeon, I’m also cumming…”

“Let it all out, baby! Give me everything!”

When your orgasm subsided, you spent a few seconds recovering from the sheer intensity of that climax, taking a second before pulling out of her and letting your body fall onto the bed next to her.

“Wow … baby, that was amazing.”

“It was. You were amazing.”

“Mmm. Thank you so much, honey.” She gave you one last peck on the cheek before drifting off to sleep, a normally harmless and cute gesture of her gratitude that kept you up far too late. However, when you drifted off to sleep yourself, you found that, the next morning, you felt more refreshed than ever.

There were certain complications with your night activities, first and foremost being how often you needed to get your bedsheets cleaned. The fact that Taeyeon always went to sleep with your cum still leaking out of her pussy is definitely the reason behind it, and you’re somewhat shocked to find out that the normally pristine and proper Taeyeon didn’t think twice about soiling the bedsheets every time you bred her.

The second complication was, as the two of you grew closer, the sex started happening in places outside of the bedroom: at first, it was relatively private places like the shower or her wardrobe, but gradually evolved to such places as—

“Mmm, yes, right there, babe!” The sound of her ass slapping against your crotch echoes about the spacious kitchen. Taeyeon’s knuckles having turned white from the intensity of her grip on the kitchen’s island table as you relentlessly pound her into it. “Keep going!”

Taeyeon’s house is rather big—not mansion big, but still big enough to mandate a cleaning staff. In addition, Taeyeon’s personal chef comes every morning and leaves around noon: the schedule of the caretakers of her house is very precise, but there is still some kind of novelty in having sex somewhere other people frequent.

“Fuck, Taeyeon…”

It’s something you can never get tired of: the feeling of her soft waist in your hands, the sputtering of her juices onto your groin, the way your hips bounce off her bubbly butt, the beautiful melody of her moans, the sight of her, sweaty and hot and aroused, her back arched and her sizable tits jiggling with the force of your every thrust, watching your cock disappear between her flopping, glistening pink folds over and over again, all of it.

“Yes! Pound me into the table! Harder!”

Of course, you’re all too willing to comply. Given her rather small, frail-looking frame, you’ve learned that Taeyeon is able to take quite a bit of punishment, something you are more than willing to dish out whenever she asks for it. This isn’t the first time she’s asked you to be rough on her, so you’re more or less used to this type of dirty talk: however, what she says next is not something you’re used to.

“Grab my hair! Push my face into the table!”

You’re a little hesitant at first, but with how fervently she’s taking your cock, you realize she isn’t really giving you much space to argue. So, as always, you obey.

“Yes, mommy.”

As you reach out to grab a fistful of her hair, she turns a surprised eye to you. It’s only then that you realize what came out of your mouth.

“‘Mommy’?”

Why did you say that? You try to be careful with your words, but have lately been finding it easier and easier to let words slip out of your mouth without a second thought. And now that she was looking at you, a sudden pang of fear crept up inside you. Did you fuck up? “Um, I’m, I’m so sorr—”

“No…” There is clear conflict on Taeyeon’s face. On one hand, she’s surprised to hear you call her that, and part of her feels like she ought to be repulsed by it in some way, but part of her finds it hot. It’s not lost on Taeyeon that the nature of your relationship with you makes you her sugar baby, especially with the age gap that exists between you two. It’s … fitting. “…don’t be sorry. Keep going, baby.”

What happened? Is Taeyeon not mad? She seemed to be … somewhat accepting of it?

You don’t decide to push your luck though, and when she turns back around, you continue where you left off by grabbing her hair and, gently, pushing her face into the cold marble surface of the island table.

“Fuuck…”

You’re genetically compatible with her, and even your physical build is compatible with her: you’re at just the right height to comfortably drill into her from above like this, with her feet slightly raised and her ass in the air, smacking into your damp groin repeatedly. The wet sounds of the impact echo about the otherwise empty residence: outside, the gardener should be attending to the multitude of flowers and trees that surround the house, but there is no view inside the kitchen from anywhere the gardener might be.

“Yes, keep going, ruin me!”

“Fuck, Taeyeon—” you other hand leaves her waist and comes down, hard, onto her ass. She lets out a noise that lays somewhere between a squeal and a moan. “—you’re so much.”

“More, babe! Keep going!”

It’s second nature to you, by now, to obey her every command, but this is something you don’t need her to tell you to do. The second smack, then the third, the fourth, the fifth, and by the sixth, you can start to see a red imprint in the rough shape of your palm appearing on her otherwise pale, snowy-white romp.

“Fuck! Babe, please, it’s so good!”

Her words are slightly muffled by the fact that you’re pushing her face into the table; her face is turned to the side, but even still, her cheeks are so slim that even the slightest bit of pressure nearly causes her lips to be touching the marble.

“You’re so insatiable.” You’re using your knees to keep yourself aligned with her, one hand adjusting its grip on her silky, chocolate hair while the other alternates between caressing and smacking her juicy ass. “I love it.”

“I’m so close! Babe, please!”

The coolness of the marble surface is also pressing into her tits, and specifically, her erect nipples. On top of the ferocious pounding you’re giving her, the ass-smacking from one of your hands and the pressing on her head into the table from the other, the temperature play at yet another one of her erogenous zones is stimulating Taeyeon to the max. The longer it draws on, the more the intensity of your thrusts and the force of your hand onto her ass increases, and the higher she pushes herself onto the balls of her feet, doing everything she can to maximize the contact between you and her.

By now, you can more or less tell how close Taeyeon is to her climax; although you haven’t gotten it down to an exact science yet, you can tell that you’re going to reach your peak first. Ever since you’ve gained the ability to make Taeyeon climax, you selfishly want to make sure she’s reaching it every single time: of all the things you can never get tired of from Taeyeon, seeing her coming to an orgasm because of you is at the top of that list.

So, you use the cheat button. You stop slapping her ass, the red imprint on it just about glowing by now, and your hand dives between her legs. It takes a second to find her clit, but when you do, you don’t use it right away: you’ve learned that it’s more effective if you do what you’re doing now, which is to tease it by rubbing the perimeter of it first. Taeyeon, on the other hand, starts losing her mind; her moans become desperate yelps and whines, and when you finally reward her patience by squeezing on her pleasure button, she unfolds all at once.

“Fffuuuck!”

The goal was to at least align your climaxes at least somewhat, but you definitely weren’t expecting to make Taeyeon cum first. In fact, you’re so stunned by this that you momentarily stop moving, only reminded to keep going by Taeyeon’s urging.

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck, I’m cumming so hard, oh my god, oh my—”

This is the first time that Taeyeon has reached her climax before you. Try as you might before, even doing foreplay such as cunnilingus or using your fingers, it was always you that buckled first. But now, seeing your misses unravel so completely, shaking and lathering your cock and your groin with her love nectar, turns you on so completely that your climax follows shortly after.

“Fuck, cumming—”

Taeyeon jolts again as the jet of warm, viscous liquid enters her womb. “Unng, fuck, yes, fill me up, babe!”

This time, Taeyeon didn’t have the benefit of the bedsheets to soak up the fluids flowing out of her hole; you help her clean up, and when she’s done, she pecks you on the lips. And that’s another thing you can never get tired of: the feeling of her soft, velvety lips on yours, and the fragrant aroma that wafts into your nose when her face presses into yours.

“I can’t believe how amazing that was, babe. You were … wow…”

You let out a laugh. “I’m glad you liked it. You were so sexy, as always.”

There wasn’t a room in the house that was spared from your and Taeyeon’s antics: the dining room, the living room, every room in the spacious abode became witness to your breeding attempts. Each had their own benefits, too: the dining room had the comfortable chairs that you could use, the living room had the open space and a TV to use to add into the fun, the game room was filled with various makeshift tools that enhanced the experience—such as using a pool stick as a yoke or restraint bar, forcing Taeyeon’s arms behind her back and leaving her completely helpless to you—and the music room, which she apparently had installed into her house because of some vocal lessons she eventually dropped due to lack of time, but something for which you can personally vouch for her insane natural talent of, whose excellent acoustics allow you to hear Taeyeon’s beautiful, musical moans in ways you’ve never heard them before. It wasn’t an everyday thing, though, nor even necessarily a once-a-week thing—in fact, there would even be stretches of two, three months with no sex. Someone as busy as Taeyeon simply didn’t always have the time, or would just come home and let you guide her to her bed and fall asleep to the full-body massage you’ve spent so much time learning to do.

It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, though—being the publicly-known boyfriend of perhaps the world’s first idol-CEO, who first garnered attention for her immaculate looks at the fashion shows she would attend, then further fame from appearing on the Forbes’ ’30 Under 30’ list. What would the fanbase of an idol-CEO look like? It turned out, pretty similar to the fanbase of a singer-idol: from the moment your relationship with Taeyeon went public, the two of you were met with waves upon waves of backlash. Taeyeon, being used being in the spotlight and frankly, not particularly caring for these kinds of matters as her job wasn’t as closely tied to public sentiment as a singer-idol’s was, was barely phased by it. You, however: someone who was a nobody before this, who was a five or six out of ten at best, and now with the amount of effort you put into fashion and your appearance now, is perhaps a seven or maybe an eight if you squinted real hard and captured the exact perfect angle, but who looks like a four next to the perfect ten out of ten that Taeyeon always was, was bound to be met with heaps of jealous, indignant, angry fans.

It was easy enough to stop using social media—‘easy’ enough, that is—but when you’re just walking about normally, shopping for furniture or new shampoo or fetching some new makeup products that Taeyeon has you pick up? When Taeyeon proposed to hire a bodyguard for you, you immediately shoot it down. You, need a bodyguard? Who are you to require such a thing?

The answer was simple: the news articles of random people on the street harassing you, throwing junk at you, something you tried to keep quiet about but met Taeyeon’s wrath regarding when she found out, not from you telling her, but from a news article.

“How could you not tell me?!”

“I’m … I’m so sorry…”

“No! It’s not—” Taeyeon sinks into her chair and buries her face in her hands. “—it’s not you who needs to be sorry.” Her voice softens considerably, and it doesn’t take long for you to realize: she’s crying.

“Taeyeon? Honey?”

“You need to tell me about these things!” When she lifts her head to speak to you, your suspicions are confirmed: eyes sparkling, cheeks glistening with tears, lips pulled into a pronounced frown. “I can protect you! Why would you—”

“Because I’m a man!” You don’t intend to yell, but it’s too late. “I don’t want to need my girlfriend to protect me! I have a pride as a man, too, even if you’re the—” you don’t dare finish that sentence. You’re already yelling at her, you don’t need to step over that line.

“I’m the what?” she snaps. “I’m the CEO? I’m the older one? I’m the one with the money?”

“It—none of that matters. It wasn’t that big of a deal, anyway. A bruise here and there, it’s fine.”

“But it’s not fine! What if something worse happens down the line? If you continue to let these people walk all over you, what if they start throwing bigger, heavier things at you? What if you get hospitalized? What would I do then?”

“Why would you care, as long as my penis works fine.”

…

Wait.

What the fuck did you just say?

The silence is deafening. You can hear your heart racing inside your chest. It’s painful. It’s a twisting, churning sensation inside you, but worse than that is the fact that Taeyeon isn’t saying anything. You want to take it back. So badly. But, you can’t. What would you say?

“I—I need to go.”

“Honey, wait—”

For the first time since you’ve started this relationship, you disobey her. You continue walking, straight out of her office, and don’t stop until you reach a bar.

Is doing this going to ruin your reputation, and more importantly, Taeyeon’s reputation even more? Almost definitely. But at that moment, you don’t care. You probably don’t need to care much about Taeyeon’s reputation for much longer. You don’t remember the rest of the night at all, and wake up the next morning with a terrible, pounding headache. It takes a while to acquire your surroundings, and when you do, you realize you’re in the VIP room of the hospital Taeyeon’s doctor works at: a place you’ve visited to make sure you are, indeed, fertile, and for a few vaccines that you didn’t think of getting until Taeyeon suggested it.

Taeyeon, Taeyeon, Taeyeon. Your whole life revolves around Taeyeon. And now, what did you do to her? Imply that she’s only using you as a breeding horse, as if you can’t feel how much she loves you in the voice messages she sends you when she can’t come home about how she misses you, or the meal she cooked for you on your 400th day anniversary, or the various other gifts she showers you with because of some passing comment you don’t remember making the next day. All of that, and then that terrible thing you said to her, and she’s still taking care of you?

When the nurse bursts through the door and calls your name, your head is buried inside your hands. “Do you still have a hangover? I’ll get—”

“No, it’s ok.”

“…ok. Ms. Taeyeon is on her way.”

“I—” who are you to make demands of others? Especially since you’re only in this room because of her. Does she still love you? Does she still believe in you?

The next person to burst through the doors and call your name is none other than Kim Taeyeon herself. “Oh my god, sweetheart, I was so worried when I couldn’t get a reach of you and couldn’t find you at home…”

You listlessly try to escape her embrace, but Taeyeon is having none of that. She squeezes your head against her chest, and from the way you can feel her shaking, you can tell that she’s crying. Again. Because of you.

“I don’t deserve you, Taeyeon.”

“What?”

“Let’s be honest. I’m a nobody. You’re … you’re probably the only CEO in the world who has such a dedicated fanbase. Or, one of. Yet, you’re tying yourself down to me?”

“Don’t say that! I chose you because I love you!”

“No, you didn’t.” Taeyeon releases her embrace of you. This time, you meet her gaze. You feel like you need to. “You chose me because I’m compatible with you, right?”

“Oh…” Why does Taeyeon look so crestfallen? Seeing her in such a state twists at your heartstrings, so you stay silent and let her gather her thoughts. “…that’s not what I meant. It’s true, that I initially chose you because of that, but … I meant, I chose to stay with you because I fell in love with you. I chose you. Not because of your compatibility with my condition, but because of you. Not because of your penis, or your genes, or anything.”

And, the thing is, you know this. Is it simply because it’s hard to believe? That an amazing, a perfect woman like Taeyeon would ever want to be with someone like you? Is it that pride you have, as a man, that makes you want to be stubborn?

“I’m sorry.” It doesn’t matter what it was. Taeyeon, just her being here with you, despite how busy she must be, despite the fires she must be trying to put out regarding news articles that have probably been released about the boyfriend of the famous idol-CEO Kim Taeyeon found passed out drunk at some random bar, is enough to forget all of that. “I didn’t mean to say those words. It was wrong of me.” Taeyeon’s lips are already being pulled into a frown, and her eyes are already starting to tear up again, but when you say, “I know this is asking a lot … but can you forgive me?” she bursts out into a sob.

“Of course! Of course, I forgive you, honey!”

The bodyguard was only necessary for the next two months; after Taeyeon released a public statement, threatening to sue for damages and the netizens for their defamatory comments, you found being in public much more bearable. That hurdle in your relationship seems to have flicked something in Taeyeon, who finally started giving you more work after you asked her so many times for it, in the hopes that you can help alleviate her immense workload. Was it your comment about still having pride as a man? Who knows, really. What was important was that, now that you could help Taeyeon with her duties, she could be home much more often. The times she couldn’t be home, for the various business trips her duties as a CEO dictated, however, she decided to start taking you along.

As any multi-millionaire CEO, Taeyeon has her own private jet and her own crew for the jet, including a pilot and co-pilot. However, what was different about this jet was one aspect—a rather large aspect, honestly. One room inside the jet, with stabilizers in three dimensions to reduce the impact of turbulence for the people inside the room. Why would that be necessary when seatbelts are the common solution to turbulence?

“Mmm, ooh, ooh yeah…”

Taeyeon’s face is inches above your own, her eyes gently closed as your cock, firmly wedged between her legs and inside her swelteringly hot pussy, pries apart her tight walls. With every thrust, more of her juices sputter out onto the comforter covering the bed you’re lying on, and with every thrust, Taeyeon’s moans split through the loud hum of the jet’s engines.

“Fuck … I’m going to miss this so much…”

“So this is why you had this bed installed in your jet, huh?” Your hands are firmly planted on either side of her hips; even though the room is being stabilized in all degrees of motion, you still need to keep her in place so you can plow into her with the force her tight pussy demands of you. “To get some last-minute cock before toiling away on this business trip?”

Taeyeon smiles at you. It’s a mischievous, playful type of smile, one that reminds you that Taeyeon is more than the strict, calculating CEO, or even than the warm-hearted, kind and caring girlfriend, that she makes herself out to be. “So what if I did?”

“I would’ve said, ‘I didn’t know my girlfriend was such a fiend for my cock’, but then, I would be lying, wouldn’t I?”

Ever since that incident, the two of you have grown closer than ever before. It’s maybe something about voicing your insecurities about the relationship, how you feel inadequate in your desire be the protector despite Taeyeon having more of the means to act in that capacity, but after smoothing all that out, the hesitance of teasing Taeyeon too much or of belittling her a little in jest has gone away once you realize, ‘Oh. Taeyeon just wants me to treat her like any other girlfriend would. Just because she’s my sugar momma, doesn’t mean she’s my superior. In a relationship, both partners are equal, and this one shouldn’t be any different.’

“I would be sad if my boyfriend didn’t already know how much I loved feeling his cock destroy my wet, tight little pussy.” There’s something about Taeyeon’s dirty talk, too. It just … gets to you. Taeyeon has such a regal appearance in public, and in private, such a cute, traditionally pretty appearance, that hearing such filth coming out of her lips almost feels wrong. It feels like it doesn’t belong somehow, and that contrast is exactly what does it for you. “And how I love it so much, I spent millions to get this built for us, just so I could squeeze in an extra few hours of feeling his thick, veiny cock splitting my walls apart and feeling his hot, creamy cum spill into me.”

You’re going to go crazy. That’s for sure. It’s how you feel every time Taeyeon dirty talks to you, which you have noticed has been increasing in frequency as of late.

“God, I can’t believe you, Taeyeon…”

“I’m right here, babe. Believe in me.”

“You’re … what did I ever do to deserve you?”

Taeyeon doesn’t answer, and instead places her hands on your cheek and leans in for a kiss. It’s an incredible feeling every time, feeling the warm, plump, soft texture pressing against your lips, and then feeling her tongue against yours, but especially when in combination with the feeling of her body pressed against yours, and feeling her wet, hot snatch trying to squeeze the life out of your cock—you feel even further above the clouds than you already are.

Your bodies move in unison, both of you moaning into the kiss that are subsequently drowned out by the ever-present roaring of the jet engines. For privacy reasons, Taeyeon had the room soundproofed and doors locked; even meals were served on a food tray through a tiny slit that could only be opened from inside the room. And here lay the millionth benefit of dating the finest specimen of a woman on planet Earth: Taeyeon was always so thorough, especially when it came to your combined private time, that you knew you could enjoy it thoroughly without fear of any interferences.

“God, I love you so much, babe.”

“I love you too, Taeyeon.”

“You always tell me that you feel lucky to have me, but haven’t you ever stopped to consider how lucky I feel to have you?” Your movements aren’t forceful and vigorous as they are usually; this time, they’re slower and more sensual. This time, it feels more like lovemaking than baby-making, and you don’t really know how to deal with that. “You adapted to such a different lifestyle so quickly, you’re always willing to help me even in ways I couldn’t imagine, you’re always so patient with me, and you’re even willing to learn all the weird and highly-specified parts of my job so that you can help me with it, all so you can spend more time with me. I’ve met with and talked to many men in my life, but I doubt a single one of them could do as amazing of a job as my partner in life than you.”

It’s pretty overwhelming. Scratch that, it’s insanely overwhelming. Taeyeon, as any doting girlfriend, gives you compliments all the time, but none feel as heartfelt and sincere as this one. It feels like a balloon growing inside your chest, that you can imagine is your ego or sense of self-worth or something, and Taeyeon is pumping air into it with all the strength her skinny little arms can manage. Which is a surprising about, mind you.

What can you do with all this … this elation? A sense of pure love and warmth and caring and everything—it feels too much to bear. So, you do the only thing you know to do in such a situation.

“And none of them could fuck you like I do.”

The loving gaze in Taeyeon’s eyes shatters, her eyes disappearing into upside-down crescents and her lips pulled apart to allow for her laughter to spill out. She smacks you on the shoulder. “I’m trying to be serious here!”

You laugh along with her. “I love this. I love you. Everything. I’m the luckiest person in the world right now, to have you with me.”

“To feel such a hot, tight pussy squeezing your cock?”

“Oh, now who’s being the unserious one here?”

Taeyeon grins at you. “I’m like this because of you. You know that, right?”

“What? Little old me, corrupted the pure, innocent idol-CEO Kim Taeyeon?” Taeyeon smacks you on the shoulder again.

“I told you I don’t like being called that.”

“What? Kim Taeyeon? But that’s your name.”

“No, the other thing.”

“Oh, you don’t like being called pure or inno—” this time, Taeyeon interrupts you by suddenly starting to ride you, hard, causing your words to be cut off by a groan. “—fuck, babe…”

“Looks like mommy has to punish you for being such a naughty boy.”

Even with the constant droning of the jet engine’s roar, it’s like your ears can selectively pick out Taeyeon’s musical moans as she reaches her climax, and as you watch her ride you even more fiercely, you can only watch in absolute awe at the spectacle of Taeyeon succumbing to her orgasm atop your body, and the following visual of the creampie filling her cunt slowly trickling out of her hole and onto your body, and then onto the comforter when she rolls off you.

“So you’re coming around to that word, huh?”

Taeyeon nods. “I can’t believe I’m saying this … but it’s really hot.”

“Hmm, but not as hot as my mommy.”

Taeyeon nudges you a little, albeit with a smile on her face. “Shut up.”

Her response brings a smile to your own face. “Seeing as we’re not going to sleep, since it’s still probably around 6pm in our time, are you sure you don’t want to clean up?”

Taeyeon shakes her head. “I like feeling it inside me. Your cum. It’s so warm, and it feels like part of you is still inside me.” She leans against you and rests her head on your shoulder, which just so happens to fit perfectly into the crook of your neck. “Which, of course, it technically is. Or, was. Now, it’s mine.”

You let out a chuckle. “I didn’t know you were so possessive of my sperm.”

“I am! Your first baby should be with me. And all your babies in the future.”

“That’s the plan.”

Because of the privacy of the room, neither of you have to put on your clothes again, which are neatly stored in the modest closets that are also attached to the room. A little while after, the two of you enjoy dinner in the seats sat on the opposite side of the bed, facing it, while watching a movie on the TV hanging above the bed’s headboards, and then resume the movie cuddled up on the bed, watching it on the other TV situated between the seats, facing the bed.

There have been many instances in this new life that Taeyeon has pulled you into that made you realize that the wealthy actually live entirely different lives than most other people, and this is one of them. Even closing in on three years together, you’re still discovering all these new kinds of luxury that you couldn’t even fathom before meeting Taeyeon.

As the second movie’s credits start rolling, Taeyeon turns to you. “Ready?”

“Hm?”

Taeyeon swings her legs to the other side of your legs, her hands reaching down to rub your now growing erection. “I want more.”

The next time Taeyeon took you on a business trip, you immediately notice something different.

“Honey, who’s that seat for?”

Situated underneath the TV facing the bed is another, slightly wider, seat, with its backrest folded down. There seem to be some other things attached to it, but you can’t quite make out what they are.

“What do you mean? That’s for us.”

Taeyeon doesn’t elaborate further, only giving you a mysterious smile as you buckle yourselves up into the seats for takeoff. Once the captain notifies you that you’re free to move about the cabin, Taeyeon unbuckles herself from the seat and beckons for you to come.

“I still don’t understand…” you watch as she pushes the TV into the wall, pulls the seat out a little, and pulls up the backrest. And, as you watch it unfurl, you can start to see what she was going for.

“What are you doing with your clothes still on?” You chuckle but obey, storing your clothes into the closet, with Taeyeon following shortly. “Go ahead, sit down.”

“You seem … awfully excited about this.”

“I am!”

Both you and Taeyeon are switches. Sometimes, Taeyeon takes the lead and you’re more than ok with it, and sometimes, she lets you take the lead; sometimes, Taeyeon comes home from a long day of high-stress situations and you make sure she doesn’t have to make any more decisions, and sometimes, Taeyeon’s extended leave of absence from home makes both of you miss each other, which would more often than not result in Taeyeon exerting her will on you and you more than happy to be with her again. So, when you saw the wrist clamps extending about neck-level on either side of the backrest of the seat, you wondered who they were for: both of you, is probably the correct answer, but today, it was evident that Taeyeon wanted to use them.

“Hmm…” As your cock slides into her hot pussy, Taeyeon lets out a low moan, leaning back a bit onto your chest as she feels her walls being pulled apart, once again, by your girth. “Mmmm~”

“Always so tight for me, babe.”

“Always so hard for me, baby.” You plant a kiss next to her ear, eliciting a giggle; when you’re fully inside her, she directs you, “Help me with this?”

You turn your eyes to her hands—or, more accurately, her wrists, both of which are already inside the open wrist clamps. “You really want this?” Taeyeon nods fervently, so you waste no time in locking her wrists in place. And, just like that, her arms are suspended in the air, giving you full, unadulterated access to her entire body, left entirely to your whims.

“I’m all yours, baby.”

Such a situation is a dream-come-true for any sane, straight man: one of the most attractive, sexiest woman on the planet—in your eyes, the most attractive and the sexiest woman on the planet—giving herself up to you, fully. The only limbs she can control are her legs, but after you start pounding into her, even those start shaking about helplessly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, babe—”

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” You take advantage of her raised arms and wrap your arms around to grab a handful of those voluptuous boobs she was so carelessly showing off at the walkway to the airport—because, as an idol-CEO, fans still congregate to take pictures of her airport outfits, for some reason—and start palming them. Taeyeon lets out a sigh, arching her back and pushing her tits further into your hand. “You want a break from everything and just want to be coddled and pampered, right?”

Taeyeon nods, and although you can’t see it, you can feel how her head bobs up and down against your cheek.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take great care of you.”

“Ooh…”

Her voice hitches when you give her nipples a light pinch, but just as quickly as the stimulus surges through her body, so too does it dissipate. Your motions slow down to a sensual grind, and you can start to feel Taeyeon’s impatience building.

This is her doing. She chose to submit herself to you, and she should know how much you like building up the tension. As much as her display of ultimate submission makes you want to pound her into next Tuesday, you know this will yield a better result, for both you and Taeyeon.

“…baby…”

You plant kisses on her crown, then move to her cheek. She tilts that side of her head to you, giving you better access to her ears, which you take advantage of by nipping slightly. Every time your lips touch her face, Taeyeon seems to be holding in her breath a little bit more, and every time your fingers come dangerously close to her nipples, you can feel a sigh waiting to be released, desperately wanting to be released, but being held in at the last possible moment.

“Your boobs look so good in that outfit.”

“You told me this morning, honey.”

“So you can’t blame me for wanting to play with them a little bit more right now.”

“You can play with them while you’re fucking me harder, ri—” you interrupt her by planting a kiss right next to her lips, but not on them.

“You put me in charge, right?” Taeyeon nods. “Then, relax. Don’t think. Let me do everything for you, baby.”

Taeyeon follows your commands to a tee, sinking and sinking into your slow movements, practiced motions that you’ve taken years to perfect. Every square centimeter of Taeyeon’s body, you know, and you use that knowledge to tease out every last ounce of desire and wanting from her small, skinny, but somehow curvaceous frame.

“Ooh … my god…”

Your left hand leaves her boobs and travels south, and all it takes is one careful swipe of your finger along her entrance to reassure you how absolutely aroused Taeyeon has become.

“Hmm…”

“Open up.”

Taeyeon obeys, and you stick the finger slick with her juices inside her mouth. Instantly, her velvety lips close around the digit and her tongue goes to work, swirling around the finger and licking it clean. It’s not the first time you’ve done this to her, and it’s also not the first time you’ve wondered what letting loose a load between those pretty lips of hers would be like. To this day, all these years you’ve been together, all the various ways you two have fucked, and Taeyeon has still yet refused to let you cum anywhere but inside her. Not that you particularly mind, but every now and then, your mind starts to wander—what would she look like after a nice facial? How sexy would it be to see those slim cheeks puffing from an overabundance of your cum, with trickles of it escaping the corners of her mouth that she captures with her finger and feeds back into her mouth? What would these delectable tits, that have been the object of your fascination since Taeyeon put her airport outfit on this morning, look like with your cum smeared all over them? Or what about the juicy ass that she’s currently grinding against your crotch?

“You’re so unbelievably fucking beautiful, and so irresistibly sexy, Taeyeon.”

Taeyeon only responds with a sigh. You can hear the impatience in it—and, frankly, you’re nearly at your limit, too. You can start to feel her juices start to trickle down onto your legs and it’s this that becomes the last straw. The next sound Taeyeon makes is a loud yelp, in response to your fingers suddenly squeezing both nipples at the same time. “Ffuck!”

You start pounding into her, using the grip your hands have on her boobs as leverage to push her back and forth in your lap. Eventually, as you build up momentum, Taeyeon starts raising and falling, each time she lands back in your lap creating a nice, satisfying smack! sound that gets quickly drowned out by the airplane’s engines. Coincidentally, some faint rattling sound cuts through the air that you’ve come to realize is turbulence, something that the stabilizers attached to the room have prevented you from ever feeling. Unfortunately, you can’t make use of the bouncing of the airplane, but Taeyeon is light enough that you don’t need much help anyway.

“God, yes! Baby, please, more!”

You’re letting your hands follow the wild bouncing motion of her boobs as you bounce her on your lap, giving them the occasional squeeze as it does so. It always marvels you, how someone so small and so skinny can have such proportionally big boobs. She usually dresses a bit more conservatively in public, which is what made her choice of outfit this day so mouth-watering—Taeyeon rarely gives hints of her cleavage to the public, so when she reveals this much? You can only assume she was trying to seduce you, and it worked beautifully; before you even boarded the plane, you were having trouble trying to hide your boner. And now that it’s buried deep inside her, and now that her boobs are filling up your hands, especially since she’s given you full reign to do whatever you want to her, you intend to act on your horniness to its fullest extent.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll give you more.”

Among the many beautiful things about Taeyeon is her natural speaking voice, and that doubled for the voice with which she moaned her pleasure with. It only ever invigorates you more, to hear her moaning so animatedly, and your intensifying actions cause those moans to come out more frequently and with more frequency. It’s a self-feeding loop, a loop that only ends one way.

“Oh my gosh, babe, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum so hard—”

Your climax follows shortly after hers, and as you slump back into the backrest of the seat and Taeyeon rests her head against your chest, the salacious mixture trickles out of Taeyeon’s battered hole and onto the cushiony seat you’re seated upon. Your dick is still wedged inside aforementioned hole, and while you can feel some fatigue settling in, your dick’s efforts to soften is met with the fierce resistance of Taeyeon’s tight snatch, ever the hard worker.

“Baby…”

“Sorry, honey, just give me a minute…”

“…there’s a setting. On the right, there should be a button. On the armrest.”

When you first saw the button, you assumed it was to lean the seat back like any normal airplane economy-class seat, but now that you think about it, you realize how dumb that assumption was. There’s barely any space for this seat to lean back, and this seat is clearly not ‘like any normal airplane economy-class seat’.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Press it.”

“Hm, ok—oh, what the—” the seat starts bouncing, causing your dick to push a little bit deeper inside her. Taeyeon lets out a soft moan.

“Mmm, I’m so glad that works.”

“Taeyeon, what—”

“Do you mind?”

You can’t help but think of the meme that you aren’t sure is exactly a meme, ‘soaking’, the Mormon work around for couples to have sex without going through the physical motions of it. If it is indeed a thing, you wonder how much this kind of a chair would be worth to them.

“Does it feel good for you?”

Taeyeon nods. “Yes. God, yes, I love that feeling, of your cock fucking our creampie back inside me.”

If you weren’t being hit with your refractory period, Taeyeon saying such a filthy sentence would’ve caused you to instantaneously jump her—now, all you could do is let out a groan and put your hands back on her boobs.

“Fuck…”

“Do you like it?”

“I … I’m still, I still can’t, but fuck, I love the feeling of your boobs in my hands.”

The bouncing of the chair is rather slow—Taeyeon makes a comment about how she needs to tell them to modify it to have varying speeds, and then you briefly think about the poor engineers who have worked on this plane and have installed all sorts of various, weird things in it, with a probably pretty good idea for its use case but having to go along with it anyway—but the two of you stay like this while you recover. The chair pushes you in and out of Taeyeon while your hands continue to knead and squeeze the addictively soft and plush texture of her tits, and as your refractory period fades, you start adding to the chair’s efforts. You eventually transition to a standing position, with Taeyeon now facing the seat, her wrists again trapped by the wrist clamps, and you standing behind her.

“Fuck, yes, please, more!”

No longer having to fight gravity, the sound of her ass smacking against your drenched groin nearly overpowers the roar of the airplane’s engines. “Fuck, Taeyeon, I’m so close…”

“Give it to me, give it to me! Fill me up to the brim, baby!”

You let out a final, warning grunt before exploding, your second load bursting inside her—a notably lesser load, but one that still sends Taeyeon into a moaning, squirming frenzy. By the time your orgasm subsides and you pull out of her, it’s like a dam burst; Taeyeon’s poor cunt barely had a few minutes in the last hour or so not being stretched open by your cock, and the rough shape of it can still be seen by how widely her labia is still parted. Out that hole, the combined cum of two orgasms, from both herself and from you, are gushing out, following the curve of her ass and down her leg. Somehow, Taeyeon doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest and throws herself onto the bed.

“What do you want to watch, baby?”

How Taeyeon can switch from sexy seductress to adorable girlfriend is beyond you. All you can do is smile and join her in bed. “I don’t know. Let’s take a look.”

Slowly, you started to notice a reduction in your workload, but it somehow didn’t come with less time with Taeyeon. In fact, Taeyeon’s workload seemed to decrease along with yours, and when you asked her about this, she confirmed your suspicions: she’s slowly offloading her duties and responsibilities to others so that she can focus on the baby that you finally managed to impregnate her with.

The dream didn’t last long though; a few false positives from the past has taught you two to be cautious about your excitement, but when the two-week mark passed and everything seemed to be going well, you could feel Taeyeon’s excitement building and building, and you couldn’t help but get infected with that same excitement. So, when news came a month later that the fetus suddenly, inexplicably died in the womb, Taeyeon was beyond devastated. It took Taeyeon a full three days to get back to work, which, for such a hard worker as her, was a long break. Between taking over some of her basic day-to-day duties in that down time and comforting her, your own hands were quite full those three days, but honestly, you’re thankful to finally be able to give back to Taeyeon.

Over the next few weeks, Taeyeon slowly got back on her feet, and after the third month passed, it was almost like nothing happened. You’re sure you helped, but the timing couldn’t be any more immaculate: or, perhaps, you could say that the news came at a terrible time. Taeyeon had been preparing to step down as CEO for a while, and move to a chairwoman position in her company, but there was one last thing she couldn’t offload any work with: a merger with a smaller company, but still one that ate through a lot of her time and effort. In the final stretches of the process, after a stretch of one week without being able to come home, you decide to make a surprise visit to her office, to which she welcomes you with open arms. Open arms, or rather, parted lips.

“Yes, fuck, I needed this so bad~”

Taeyeon’s hands are gripping the edges of her desk, holding on for dear life as you plow into her from behind. Your clothes are strewn haphazardly about the room, the door firmly locked and, without the threat of interruption, you feel free to use 100% of your efforts into alleviating all the pent-up stress the merger has caused Taeyeon.

The view from the front, of seeing her face twisting with pleasure as you slam into her; the view from the side, seeing her ample tits jiggling wildly with the force of your thrusts; the view from the back, the one you’re currently enjoying, watching her juicy romp rebounding with every pistoning motion—there isn’t a single view of Taeyeon that isn’t immaculate.

“I missed you too.”

Taeyeon can barely hold it together, her entire body shaking in response to your vigorous movements, her legs only able to stay upright thanks to the support your own legs are giving them. The whirring of the air conditioning mixes in with the wet clapping of her ass against your crotch, and the cool air only serving to further stimulate the CEO, devoid of all clothing, being plowed from behind at her own desk.

“I-I, I love you so much, so much, baby.”

Taeyeon gave you only a minute after you arrived before jumping you. Honestly, this wasn’t your plan in the slightest, but who are you to complain? When such a bombshell beauty is so horny for you that she physically cannot contain it, especially if that bombshell beauty happens to be your girlfriend of just about five years.

“I love you too, mommy.”

Although you’re fucking her from behind, it was clear from the moment she crashed her lips onto yours that she is the one in charge. And, of course, you don’t mind. You also don’t mind how readily she slipped into the roleplay, her first words to you after the kiss being, “Mommy needs her baby’s cock, now.”

When she’s submissive, you find yourself wanting to thoroughly fuck her and ruin her in every way imaginable; but when she’s assertive, you find yourself instantly kneeling in obedience, worshipping the ground she walks on. Which leads you to this moment, where her pleas of, “faster!” and “more!” and “harder!” are instantly met with obedience. It isn’t long before Taeyeon isn’t able to maintain her grip of the desk any longer, so you take her arms and use them as handlebars to fuck her harder.

“God, mommy’s cumming, mommy’s cumming!”

The office fills with the beautiful, ecstatic sounds of Taeyeon’s climatic screaming moans, and not shortly after, it’s joined by the sounds of your own moans as you imbed stream after stream of your seed straight into her womb.

“Oh … my god…”

“Do you feel better now?”

Taeyeon nods, but when she turns around, it’s clear that this isn’t over yet. “You know what would make mommy feel better?” You shake your head. “First, in the second drawer from the top, there’s a false bottom that you can bypass by pushing on the side.” You nod, and sure enough, the false bottom gives way. “You see that plug?” Again, you nod, and take it out. It isn’t the first time you’ve done this, nor even the first time you’ve done this in her office really, but what follows after she inserts it inside herself is a first. “You know what else I’ve been thinking about recently?”

“Hm? What?”

At this point, Taeyeon has directed you sit down in her chair. You obeyed, confused, and now that she’s pushing you away from the desk and kneeling between your legs, you can start to see why. “Mommy.”

“Sorry. What have you been thinking about, mommy?”

Satisfied, Taeyeon smiles. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but it’s only this past week that I could get it out of my mind.” You’re still recovering, but Taeyeon is certainly making the recovery process easier. “That warm, thick, creamy cum that you always fill me with, that’s inside me right now … I want to taste it.”

At this point in your relationship, you figure nothing about Taeyeon can really surprise you. You’ve even talked about some of the deeper aspects of your relationship, such as why Taeyeon doesn’t want to get married yet: her parents only stayed together because they had her, and eventually, their relationship healed to the point where they, now, are perfectly happy in their retirement. It’s this experience that molded Taeyeon’s opinion of relationships: if she were to have a romantic partner, she wanted to only have one, and to ensure that, she wanted to have a child with that partner before getting marriage, as a sort of insurance.

It’s why Taeyeon seemed so eager to bear your child recently, and why she became so utterly devastated when her first pregnancy ended the way it did. Many aspects of Taeyeon, you figure you already know, and every aspect of her, you cherish and love.

But this?

This is not something you expected.

“Are … you sure?”

Taeyeon nods, eyes glimmering with excitement. “Yes! Do you mind?”

“Of—Of course not, mommy!”

You have become so accustomed to releasing every load inside her womb—or at least, going into sex with the idea of that being your target—that even the thought of unloading anywhere else seems foreign. But, of course, over the years, your mind has drifted and fantasized, and you’re for the most part able to quash these fantasies pretty easily. After all, the price of being in a relationship with Taeyeon, and having somewhat frequent sex with her, is just that you’re only allowed to cum inside one of her holes? It’s a trivially easy price to pay.

“Oh, thank you, baby!”

That thought, of being able to unleash your first load deep inside her throat, combined with the kisses Taeyeon peppers all about your length, shortens your refractory period down to just about ten minutes. That feeling, of her soft, succulent lips pressing against your member, the audible smacking sound of the kiss as she presses her lips against it, the careful way in which she almost caresses your cock with her lips and her tongue sends you straight to cloud nine, and when she swallows your glans, you’re rocketed straight into outer space.

“Ffuck, mommy…”

It isn’t often that Taeyeon gives you blowjobs, but she’s done it enough that she can take your entire length in one go. She wastes no time, deepthroating you with all the enthusiasm the excited gleam in her eyes showed you, and all you can do is grip the armrests of the chair and buck your hips to the rhythm of her lips.

“Fuck, oh my god, please, mommy, it feels so fucking amazing…”

The feeling of her lips gliding up and down your shaft, her tongue caressing and massaging every square inch of your dick, all the while suffocating it with the sheer tightness of her throat quickly overwhelms your senses. This blowjob—this deepthroating is unlike any Taeyeon has ever given you: she’s more intense, she spends less time coming up for air, spitting on your cock, and rubbing it along your length with her hands, and without needing to care about your orgasm, she completely loses herself in it.

More and more intense, faster, harder, you’re losing your goddamn mind, Taeyeon slobbering all over your dick, the excess drool dripping down her chin and all over your thighs, but she somehow looks ten times sexier like that. Her normally slim face and sleek jawline are now noticeably bulging from your girth, her plump lips stretched wide across its circumference, her head bobbing up and down and her hair flying all over the place, chasing after the wild motions of the head it’s attached to.

“Fuck, mommy, please, I’m so close…”

Hearing this, Taeyeon’s eyes, which were previously glued to your lap, dart upwards, and she adjusts her position so that she can look you in the eye, full-on. You’re unable to tear your eyes away, every bobbing motion of her head and every suction that hollows her cheeks pushing you further and higher until—

“Mommy, I’m cumming!”

Taeyeon doesn’t break eye contact the entire length of your climax; it’s your second load of the session, so it’s not so much that she can’t handle it, but her cheeks still noticeably bulge as her mouth fills with your semen.

Carefully, making sure she doesn’t spill a single drop, Taeyeon’s lips come back up your length. In that moment, you, for a second marvel at the fact that your seed is now occupying two of Taeyeon’s holes, but that fact remains short lived as, shortly after, Taeyeon’s throat flexes and your fluids disappear down her gullet.

“Mmm…”

“So, how was it?”

“I think I like it.”

The two of you didn’t have much time to talk afterwards as she had a meeting to prepare for. Being someone who essentially knew everything Taeyeon did about the company, you figured you would sit in on the meeting in case she needed help with anything, but ended up being distracted with the thought that Taeyeon had yet to take the plug out yet, and was talking to her stockholders, present and future, with your cum still sloshing about inside her.

After the merger successfully resolved, Taeyeon stepped down as CEO and transitioned into a chairwoman position, as promised; and, with the increased amount of time on her and your hands, and with the memory of that fiasco in her office fresh in her mind, Taeyeon began proposing you to cum elsewhere quite frequently: a few more times in her mouth, but also on her ass, on her tits, smearing that tight little tummy of hers, splattering across her legs, and after a fair bit of experimentation, inside her ass.

The most memorable moment, by far, was—

“How do I look?”

Taeyeon insisted your first load be across her chest; needless to say, Taeyeon’s boobs are as sexy as she is beautiful, so to see them smeared with your cum amplifies that tenfold.

“So unbelievably fucking sexy.”

“I feel sexy too, so I was hoping…” Taeyeon reaches into the nightstand next to the bed and procures a bottle of pills. “…that you would help me feel even sexier.”

The pills turned out to be a performance enhancer mixed in something that helps increase ejaculation density. That night, the two of you went through all sorts of sex positions, every load being sprayed across a different part of her body: her stomach area followed a mixture of missionary and cowboy, then her face after a blowjob, then her back following doggy and her legs following prone-bone. Even with the drugs, you had to take considerable breaks in between sessions, especially at the tail-end; the end product was Taeyeon caked in a fine layer of your cum, smeared across just about every square inch of her body. When the two of you fell asleep, it was well past 5am, and the following morning—rather, the following afternoon, being the time the two of you awoke—you enjoyed a nice shower together.

That wasn’t to say you stopped entirely in your baby making attempts. Far from it: now that Taeyeon’s workload decreased so severely, the two of you had much more time to fuck—there even was a stretch of two weeks where you had sex every day, only paused by your need to rest and recover from all of the intense activity. None of it seemed to affect anything though: weekly pregnancy tests, all resulting in negatives or false positives; you can feel Taeyeon start to get impatient, not with her failure to get pregnant, but holding off marriage for so long.

By now, over half a decade together, you can’t imagine life with another person. If, God forbid, the two of you ever broke up, you figure you would just stay single for the rest of your life; after all, how could you settle for any other woman after Taeyeon? It was clear that Taeyeon was hoping to get married around the time she stepped down as CEO, but now that a year passed since that day, Taeyeon began to talk to you, in more earnest, about getting married first.

So, about 7 years from the day you two solidified your relationship, you got married. It was a very small and private affair, consisting only of the immediate families of both parties, seven of Taeyeon’s closest friends, and the handful of friends that had never judged your relationship with Taeyeon after learning about it.

The sex following the wedding night was easily the most rambunctious the two of you have ever been, lasting well until the sun rose the next day, and during the honeymoon was … a different kind of intense.

“Mmm, that smells so good, honey.”

Taeyeon lets out a soft gasp upon feeling your erection pressing against her bare ass. “I had Andre teach me.”

It was a quaint, quiet, isolated destination, your and Taeyeon’s choice of honeymoon. The house was packed with enough food to feed a family of four for two weeks, probably, enough wine for a battalion for one night’s celebration—the backup generators had backup generators, and there were at least five failsafe methods of communication in the worst case scenarios. The fact that you two don’t require a single other person to live luxuriously in the sizable estate, and the fact that other people are forbidden to enter even the premises of the estate, serve the singular purpose of allowing both you and Taeyeon to follow one rather simple rule: no means of covering one’s body is allowed except for an apron while cooking, gloves or other protective gear when handling hot surfaces or otherwise dangerous objects, or clothes if you’re, for whatever reason, expecting company.

Which explains this scenario, in which you are teasing at her hole as Taeyeon tries to focus on making brunch for the two of you.

“Baby, please…”

“You should focus on the food, babe.”

“I can’t … I can’t focus, your dick is driving me crazy…”

“Then all the more reason why I shouldn’t put it in, right? Because then, you’ll be even more likely to burn the food.”

“Just … babe, please, I need it so bad, just—”

“Are you gonna burn the food if I listen to you?”

“No! Please, I promise, please—”

You don’t need to hear much more, and when you shove yourself inside her, Taeyeon lets out a loud yelp. “Hmm, fuck, so hot and so tight, baby…”

“Fuck, oh my god, after all these years, it still feels like you’re stretching me out so much every time…”

Being near a hot stove, you can’t be as relentless as you have been the last few days, but seeing her trying her best to focus on the food she’s cooking while moaning and trying, but failing, to maintaining a steady hand, ending up sprinkling in a bit too much salt.

“Baby!”

“But you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“But you don’t have to—unng, fuck!”

You finish inside her, and shortly after, Taeyeon finishes her cooking—some of it did, in fact, get slightly burned, but otherwise was great.

Taeyeon instigates nearly as much as you, though—like, when you were napping on a lounge chair by the poolside, something only possible to do while naked in the winter because of the tropical climate of the destination, and awake to the feeling of Taeyeon climbing on top of you.

“Taeyeon?”

“I miss you.”

“How long have I been napping here? An hour?”

Taeyeon pouts, and your heart completely melts at the sight. “That’s an hour too long.”

“Aww, poor baby.” You lean forward and plant a kiss on her lips, which instantly turns the pout into a smile. “Is that better?”

“Mmhm. But, I could be even better…”

It turns out, having sex on a lounge chair isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing, especially if you’re being as vigorous as you and Taeyeon are. You end up breaking it, so you finish inside the pool and then go back inside to do some couple’s yoga in one of the estate’s living rooms.

In the two weeks that you two spend there, every room becomes witness to your hot, sweaty activities—in fact, you aren’t even sure if the bedroom is where you and Taeyeon end up fucking the most. For the span of those two weeks, Taeyeon insisted on having every drop of cum being deposited inside her pussy, although you end up cheating a little and cumming a few times in her other two holes, once on her face, and once on her boobs after a mind-blowing blowjob mixed with a titjob.

And, it turns out, getting married is all it takes—either that, or the two weeks of what essentially amounted to nonstop sex—for Taeyeon to get pregnant. After various double and triple checks, her personal doctor is able to confirm it: finally, again, after all these years, Taeyeon is pregnant. You can’t describe why exactly you feel this way, but there’s something about things—how much more solid your relationship with Taeyeon is, the fact that you’re married now, the significantly less stress Taeyeon deals with on a day-to-day basis—that makes you feel confident that it’ll work out this time.

“Have you thought of a name?”

“Hm…”

You laugh. “After all this time?”

“Well, I have thought of a name if it’s a girl.”

“Hm? What is it, then?”

“How does ‘Minjeong’ sound?”

#kpop smut #smut #snsd #snsd smut #taeyeon #kim taeyeon #taeyeon smut #creamp1e #mommy k!nk #mommy Taeyeon #sugar mommy Taeyeon #this might be the fastest I've ever written almost 13k words holy shit #Taeyeon making me go feral for no reason #breeding k1nk

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therealsaintscully · 3 months ago

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The year is 2025, and here I am, still very troubled about BBC Sherlock. Now, it's been a while since I wrote any Sherlock meta, but there's something that's been bugging me, and I’d love to get people’s input and thoughts.

I'm a screenwriter—not a professional one, but an autodidact. I haven’t had anything produced, but I have written several original screenplays. One of the most basic things you learn as a writer in general, and especially in screenwriting, is the concept of the character arc. It’s the art of starting a character off as one thing, taking them through a process of deconstruction or challenge, and letting them emerge as something different.

An exercise I enjoy is watching films or TV shows and analysing a character’s arc. I try to spot hints of how a character will change by the end of an episode, a season, or the entire series. That’s part of why I particularly love Michael Schur’s shows—Parks and Recreation, The Office, Brooklyn Nine-Nine. In the Michael Schur universe, character arcs are blatantly laid out for you in the pilot episode. There’s absolutely no need to philosophize or guess: the characters often state it themselves, or it’s clearly expressed through others.

Take, for example, Michael Scott.

In the Office pilot, he’s genuinely a terrible boss and a trashcan of a person. But we’re immediately shown his arc via one simple prop: a coffee mug. “World’s Best Boss.” That’s his journey—to become that boss, if not in the world, then at least in Dunder Mifflin.

Or take Jake Peralta. In B99’s pilot, Terry introduces the squad to Captain Holt with:

“Jacob Peralta is my best detective — he likes putting away bad guys, and he loves solving puzzles. The only puzzle he hasn’t solved… is how to grow up.”

From that alone, you know where Jake is headed. By the end of the show, he’ll still be the squad’s best detective, but he’ll also be a grown-up: a dad, a partner, someone who takes his job seriously and earns the respect of his captain.

In the Parks and Rec original pilot script, Leslie outright declares that she’ll be America’s first female president. In the aired pilot, the message is softened a bit when Leslie says:

“You know, government isn’t just a boy’s club anymore. Women are everywhere. It’s a great time to be a woman in politics. Hillary Clinton, Sarah Palin, me.”

There it is: Leslie’s arc will involve her rising through the boys’ club of American politics and becoming a truly great public servant (and maybe—even if it’s never clearly stated—the first female president).

So now that I’ve set the scene a bit—understanding how a character arc is seeded in a pilot—let’s talk about Sherlock.

What are we told about John and Sherlock in the pilot that sets up their character arcs?

Let’s start with Sherlock, because that one is spoon-fed to the audience—by none other than Lestrade. In response to John’s question, “Why do you put up with him?”, Lestrade says:

“Because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think, one day, if we’re very, very lucky, he might even be a good one.”

That’s it. That’s Sherlock’s arc. The writers are telling us outright: here’s a brilliant but emotionally disconnected man. And the journey ahead of him isn’t about intellect, but about goodness. About connection, humanity, compassion. Becoming not just great, but good. And, if I might add a bit of Johnlock, not just to anyone—but through John, with John, and ultimately because of John.

Now, John’s arc is a little less obvious in my opinion, though just as important—and it’s given to us by Mycroft, who says:

“You’re not haunted by the war, Dr. Watson—you miss it.”

To me, this says: here is a traumatized soldier who never fully came back from war. He’s unmoored, disconnected, half-alive. "Nothing ever happens to me." And the arc we should expect? A man who, over time, things happen to him and he finds peace. Who finds meaning in his civilian life—back in London, in friendship, in purpose, in (perhaps) love. Who, by the end of the series, no longer misses the war.

That’s the setup. That’s what we were promised. Or at the very least, that's what I feel I was promised.

Only… whatever I feel was promised never actually happened.

In fact, Sherlock ends up delivering the complete opposite. In Seasons 3 and 4, the show leans into Sherlock as a mythic, near-supernatural figure—the “adult who never was a child.” This directly contradicts the idea of humanising him. The sudden introduction of Eurus shifts the focus from internal growth to external spectacle. His evolution becomes a reaction to trauma, not a conscious transformation toward goodness.

By the end of The Lying Detective, Sherlock is still fundamentally isolated and emotionally unavailable. Despite supposedly learning to “connect,” he doesn’t share emotionally in any meaningful way—not with John, not with Eurus, not with Molly. The “I love you” scene is a puzzle to be solved, not a moment of genuine vulnerability. John and Sherlock’s confrontation at the end of TLD achieves absolutely nothing in terms of their openness or intimacy.

Sherlock's arc—of becoming a good man—is never achieved. Now, we can argue about that, because Sherlock is a softie at times. He is kind. And don’t get me wrong—when Michael Scott leaves Dunder Mifflin, he’s by no means a perfect boss. But he’s loved by Pam, he’s missed by Jim, and the Dunder Mifflin team has learned to respect him in their own way.

I know some of you are itching to shout that Sherlock's arc won't be complete without S5 and in theory, I agree! But! Lest we forget, Lestrade’s “prophecy” (supposedly) comes full circle in The Final Problem:

"No, he’s better than that. He’s a good one."

This, supposedly, is the great moment of The Payoff. Here stands Sherlock, A Good Man™.

Which… always makes me scratch my head.

Is he, Lestrade? Really? What is it, exactly, in those last few days that convinces you of that? What moment between The Six Thatchers and The Final Problem gives you that impression?

Nothing. Really—nothing. This, for me, is absolutely zero character arc payoff.

Now, what about John—who was supposed to come back from the war, or at most, get his adrenaline kicks chasing criminals with Sherlock through the streets of London?

Mary’s death completely hijacks John's growth as a character. Rather than showing John finding stability in his marriage and family (or with Sherlock, in whatever shape that takes), the show strips it all away. And worse, it distances him from Sherlock once more—throwing him into another spiral of guilt and rage, effectively rebooting his trauma rather than resolving it.

The finale gives John no closure. We don’t know where John is emotionally by the end of The Final Problem. Is he at peace? Are we supposed to believe that a happy montage fixes everything? Does he still crave danger? Does he still feel violent impulses toward Sherlock?

I can’t even begin to think when or how Mycroft’s seed of John’s arc—“you miss the war”—comes full circle in The Final Problem. Unlike Lestrade’s line about Sherlock, there’s nothing that brings that theme to any kind of resolution. It’s as though Moftiss forgot to give John a conclusion altogether.

I’ve sometimes wondered if Sherlock’s words to John in TLD—“We might all just be human”—were meant to gesture at John’s arc. But… why would it?

John never struggled to understand that he was human. That wasn’t his arc. That wasn’t his flaw. He knew he was human and he always craved for that humanity from Sherlock. So what, then, was that line supposed to resolve?

I can play devil's advocate here. Character arcs can be negative. A character doesn't always have to have a happy ending, and had Moftiss boldly done that, I would have appreciated it. But they hadn't- they give us a weird ass montage with John and Sherlock happily giggling at Rosie. It's just feels like there's absolutely no conclusion for John, whether negative or positive.

Adding insult to injury, Mary’s 'speech' during the final montage is actually dismissive of their "growth":

“There are two men sitting arguing in a scruffy flat. Like they’ve always been there, and always will.”

Which completely negates the idea that they’ve changed. At that point, they’re not like they’ve always been. John's quite possibly worse than when we met him.

“The best and wisest men I have ever known.”

Again—what’s with the John erasure? Let’s say, for the sake of argument, Sherlock is better now—what makes him wise? And John’s arc was never about becoming wise, so what does that even mean?

“My Baker Street boys.”

Are they? Are they still the Baker Street boys (I hate that nickname)? We’re never told if John and Rosie move back in. In fact, in a Q&A Moftiss declare John does not return to Baker Street.

And that’s just it, isn’t it?

The Final Problem finale doesn’t fail because it was mysterious or ambiguous or hilariously bad or tragic. It fails because it abandons the emotional contract it made with its viewers in the very first episode. It forgets the arcs it promised, the healing it hinted at, the people these characters were meant to become.

We didn't need a happy ending. But we did need a real one.

#my meta #bbc sherlock #sherlock meta #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #moftiss criticism #sherlock season 4 #the final problem #sherlock the lying detective #sherlock analysis

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jays-bonnie-on-the-side · 2 months ago

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WHAT’S DONE IN THE DARK, COMES TO LIGHT

PAIRING : sam winchester x fem!reader | dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY : sam and reader have been together a few months. after a night out with her friends, she comes back to the motel, determined to have sex with her boyfriend. too drunk to notice, she climbes into the wrong bed.

WARNINGS : estalished relationship. strong language. fluff. angst. smut. oral (m. receiving). unprotected p in v. daddy kink. misunderstandings. violence. cheating. pining. mutual jealousy. mentions of alcohol.

A/N : had this idea in the archives for a while and thought it was time to share it. hope you like it as much as i did. also, if you need a clue: y/f/n-your friend’s name, y/o/f/n-your other friends’s name. y/n/n- your nickname

You and the boys had a case close to the city your best friends lived in. So, after the gruesome hunt, you catch up with them at their favorite bar. The brothers decide to join, eager to celebrate your victory while meeting your childhood friends. You walk into the bar, hand in hand with your handsome and tall boyfriend, his brother following behind as you search for the girls. Their eyes land on you, and their faces drop.

“Hey!” You shout as you see them making their way through the small crowd.

Letting go of his hand, you wrap your arms around your two best friends. They squeeze you tight, having not seen you in almost a year. It felt so good to be in their presence. You loved the company of the Winchesters, but it was due time to see your girls. And with luck on your side, they dropped all their plans to get together.

“Ugh, I’ve missed you guys!”

They let you breathe, pulling away from the embrace. “We missed you!”

“We’re glad you made it in one piece!”

They knew you were a hunter. You couldn’t lie to them. When you dropped out of college after learning about the supernatural firsthand, you couldn’t find an excuse good enough to tell them why and where you were going; You didn’t want to either. They begged you not to join the life, but they knew that whatever they said, wouldn't stop you.

“Thanks to these two,” You turn and intertwine your fingers with his before facing them again. “Guys, this is my boyfriend, Sam.”

Their eyebrows raise, and their lips curl. “Boyfriend?”

Sam extends his free hand for them to shake. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“You too,” they say as they each accept his strong hand.

Dean stands beside you, eyeing up the girls. You glance toward him, swallowing your annoyance as you introduce, “And this is his older brother, Dean.”

Like every straight woman, they stare at the gorgeous specimen with hungry eyes. You knew your friends well enough to know what they were thinking. You couldn’t blame them; He’s magnificent to look at. When you began working with the boys, you had the same thoughts, but they vanished once you started dating Sam.

Like his brother, he reaches and shakes their hands. You felt a strange tinge in your body when Dean’s touch lingers. Unsurprisingly, the girls liked it, and pretty soon, they were paying more attention to him than you. After ordering drinks, everyone moves over to the pool table, to play a game of Cutthroat. The match wasn’t much of anything; Dean took turns with them, his arms wrapped around theirs, taking his sweet time to show them how to align and hit the ball just right.

You roll your eyes, feeling jealous, and you aren’t sure why. After prying your eyes away from the scene before you, you lean into Sam. He wraps his strong arm around your waist, kissing the crown of your head. Given he’s much taller, you tilt your chin to the ceiling and meet his gaze. He gives you a small smile, already knowing your request.

He clears his throat and calls over to his brother, “Hey, man, it’s getting kinda late. I’m gonna head out. You ready?”

Dean looks up from your friend and over at Sam. “Late? It’s only 10:30.” Your boyfriend gives him a look, and he takes the hint. “Oh, right.”

“Well, I’ll catch up with you boys later,” Sam pulls you into an embrace, and you whisper in his ear, “Don’t wait up.”

He plants a sweet kiss on your lips before turning his attention to your friends. They smile and give him a quick discussion on the consequences of what’ll happen if he doesn't treat you right. Sam chuckles at their attempt to be threatening but understands where they’re coming from. He would never hurt you, and you knew that. They exchanged their goodbyes with your boyfriend before turning towards Dean.

“Well, ladies, it was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Maybe we can catch up tomorrow,” “You know, somewhere more private.” They purr in his ear.

It had been a while since his last threesome, and though the attractive women were tempting, he had his eyes on another girl, one that already belonged to someone else. He knew he could never make a move, and he had no choice but to be okay with it. After all, he only has himself to blame for constantly putting his brother’s happiness before his own. He plasters a fake smile and shakes his head at the proposal.

“I would, sweethearts, but the world ain't gonna save itself.”

"You're so brave," one of them fawns.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the tenth time. Hell, you’re surprised they haven’t rolled out of your head already. However, you’re the tiniest bit relieved when he declines their offer. You wouldn’t know who to be more angry with: him or them. Your friends weren’t the kind to have one-night stands but Dean never would’ve guessed. Knowing so, they would’ve gotten attached if they weren’t already. He says a final goodbye before walking towards you and Sam.

“Let’s go before I regret it.”

Sam gives you one last kiss, one that leaves you wanting more, earning a side glance from Dean that no one catches. “Have fun.”

With that, the three of you watch as the handsome brothers leave.

“They’re so hot.”

“How you get any work done is beyond me.”

With a chuckle, you shake your head. “It ain’t easy.”

“I could take them both and not in a fight,” Y/F/N says.

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at your friend’s quip. Y/O/F/N laughs in agreement. Your mouth had fallen open, taken aback by her blunt honesty. Could you blame her? Not one bit.

“Well? Aren't we all thinking it?”

“Of course not!” You squeak.

“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have a threesome with them if the opportunity arose?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“I mean…” You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to lie but not wanting to tell the truth either.

“Ha! You totally would!”

Shaking some sense back into your head, you speak over the loud, drunken individuals. “I love Sam. I don’t think I’d be with him if Dean and I ever…”

“Fucked?” Y/F/N finishes.

“Yes.”

“I could!” Your second friend shouts.

“I’ll drink to that!” says your first one, holding up her shot glass and waiting for you two to do the same.

You clink glasses and down the hard liquor. The alcohol burns in your throat, almost making you regret drinking it in the first place. You missed your girls. You adored Sam and Dean, but you couldn't get as rowdy and loose in front of them as you needed to sometimes. A few hours had gone by, and you each had switched to water after one too many shots of tequila.

“You’re telling me…tha you‘n Sam…haven’t donnit yet?” Your friend slurs.

You nod but stop when your head begins to spin. “Not once. I think ‘e wants to take it ssslowww.”

“Nuh-uh! You have ‘ta have’a drink from that talllll glass’iv wat-ter.” Your other friend says before raising her empty glass to her lips. She frowns and waves the bartender over. “Can I have’a tall glass of waterr?”

You three burst into laughter at the “coincidence.” The fading alcohol makes you all tear up a bit, making the not-so-funny joke hilarious. The bartender comes over, and sets your friend’s hydration on the counter in front of her, paying half a mind to your boisterous trio. A few minutes had passed and the joke began to die.

“Seriously, Y/N/N. You need to’ride that man, like yesterday!”

“Yeah! You go back to that motel ‘n get dicked down!…Dick him down!”

Despite her words, you knew exactly what she was saying. With confidence, you stand from the bar stool. “Youknow what? I willl! ‘M gonna go and do my boyfriend!”

“Yeah!” The cheer.

After downing the rest of your water, you throw your share onto the bar. “All right, bitches. Ima go get laid,” You wrap your arms around their necks and pull them in for a hug. “I’ll see ya guys, tomorrow.”

“We want alllll the details.”

“You b-better not hold out on us.”

“I promise!”

Fortunately for you, the walk wasn’t long. The motel was down the street from the bar they chose. The cool air helped sober you up, not much but enough to see straight. Once the Impala’s in sight, you smile to yourself. You pull the key out and silently struggle to get it in the keyhole. Finally, you hear the lock click.

“Aha!” You exclaim before shushing yourself.

You push the door open to the dark room. Sam had gone to sleep over an hour before you showed but Dean was wide awake. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn't been able to since he realized he had feelings for you, his brother unknowingly beating him to the punch. The moonlight shined across the floor, eliminating the foot of the beds. You quietly shut the door, and stumble to your duffle bag near the table.

Assuming the Winchesters were asleep, you don’t bother going to the bathroom to undress. You kick off your shoes, holding on to the table to keep your balance. Dean squints in the dark and sees your shadow, watching in secret. You pull your shirt over your head and his eyes widen. He looks away, knowing he shouldn’t watch, but he can’t help himself.

You wiggle out of your jeans, and Dean practically drools. Though the darkness engulfs you, the moonlight peeks through the thin curtains, casting a perfect glow over your curves from where you stand. You were in nothing but your undergarments, causing his pants to tighten. He knew he was wrong for watching you, for wanting you, for being so turned on but it wasn’t his fault. He can’t be blamed for how he felt, especially when you were almost naked in front of him.

Unsure if it was the confidence from the alcohol or the anticipation, you eagerly stroll between the beds. Dean closes his eyes, fearing that you’d catch him staring. You lift the bed sheet and the mattress dips softly beneath your weight. He stirs, forcing you to stop. Once he stills, you move again, this time between his legs. You kneel in front of him, grabbing the front of his jeans. His large hands stop yours, squeezing gently.

“What’re doing?” He whispers.

You push them away, whispering back, “I want you.”

With haste, you unbutton his jeans and yank down his zipper, allowing his boner room to grow. You lower his boxers, enough to expose his untrimmed hair, and though he wants to stop you, his mind clouds with lust as you pepper his pelvis with kisses. He wanted nothing more than you to take him into your pretty little mouth. To feel your lips around him, your cheeks hollowing as you suck harder and harder—no! You couldn’t.

“We can’t, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

He heard the drunken drawl and figured you only wanted him while under the influence. Though a pang struck his heart, he would never take advantage of you. Even if that wasn’t the case, even if you did want him, his brother was in the bed beside yours. No, he thought. We can't. He sighs, hating his decision but knowing it was the right one.

“But I’m sober enough to know I want this.” You straddle his hips, setting your heat on his erect and clothed member.

“We shouldn't…” He weakly fights but a gasp escapes once you move.

“Please,” You grind, enticing him with every word. “I want you so bad, baby. I’ve wanted you for sooo long. I’ve dreamt of your perfect cock inside me, filling my pussy with your cum. Please don’t make me wait any more. I need you.”

He bites his lip; He could spill his load right now if he chose to let go. Fuck! You had him so whipped. He couldn’t say no to you, not like this. But his brother invades his thoughts.

“But what about—?”

“What about him? I want you.” You feel his hesitation so you curl your fingers around his shirt, pressing your palms to his abdomen and sliding them up to his chest. You lean down and kiss his tattoo. “Don’t you want me?”

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Fuck, princess, I want you so bad.”

“So fuck me,” You sit up and grab his hand, bringing it to your damp panties. “I’m so wet for you, baby.”

He huffs in shock; You weren’t exaggerating. You were drenched, just for him. His thumb rubs against your folds, smearing the wetness against the soaked underwear. He runs his digit upward, applying light pressure to your aching clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your impatient body. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He needed you just as much as you needed him. He nods, and you see the shadow before you agree.

You nearly squeal with excitement but the quietness reminds you why it has to stay that way. After all, you didn’t want his brother waking up to the intimate and long-awaited scene. You return to your previous position and eagerly pull both his boxers and jeans down. With your face so close, his erection pops out, lightly smacking your cheek. The harmless slap goes directly to your core making it tingle with anticipation.

All you want to do is pounce and bounce on him, but you desperately want to swallow what he’s packing. You drag his pants to his ankles and he quickly kicks them off. Your hand wraps around his member and you’re thrilled by the size. He was thick but not too thick, long but not too long; Like you suspected: He was perfect.

He forces himself to keep still, letting you take charge. His breath quickens as he feels your own fan against his sensitive sack. You take his tightened nut into your hot mouth, sucking gently. His body flinches, not out of discomfort but out of immense pleasure. You stroke his twitching cock as you show love to his other testicle.

His breathing comes out in huffs; He isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last and you haven’t even taken him in your mouth yet. As if you read his mind, your mouth travels upwards, your tongue licking the underside of his dick until it reaches the tip. Your mouth swiftly closes around it, tasting his delicious pre-cum. His fingers weave through your hair, desperately wanting you to go further but not wanting to rush you.

You get his unsubtle hint and take him down your throat, inch by inch. He throws his head back, loving the way your mouth feels. Needing air, you retract and breathe through your nose. You go down again, your cheeks beginning to hallow. Soon, you determine a steady pace, sucking harder with each bob.

The longer you pleasure him, the wetter you get. Your saliva escapes your mouth, traveling down his shaft and over his balls. He was so close, closer than he wanted to be. He was half tempted to cum down your throat but held off, wanting to fill you elsewhere. You’re so lost in giving him the best head he’s ever received, that you’re confused when he pushes you back.

“W-what? What’s wrong?” You whisper, dazed.

“Get on, sweetheart.”

Your pussy flutters at his words. Finally, you thought. Fingers hooked on the hem of your black lace thong, you drag it down your legs and toss it on the floor. You move so your knees are beside his hips and you hover above his erection. His tip brushes against your drenched folds, causing you to whimper.

His hands fly to your hips, helping you maintain your balance while trying to hide his eagerness. You’re so close to fulfilling his, and your, dreams of being deep inside you. Sure, he was always respectful of you, never objectifying you, but he’s a man after all. Yet, it was more than wanting sex. He wanted that connection; He craved it.

You reach between your legs and take hold of his awaiting phallus. Without prolonging it any longer, you align him with your entrance and slowly ease down. Your head falls back as you each moan softly, finally getting the touch you desire. His wet member and your soaked pussy allow a smooth acceptance and you’re damn thankful for the preparation. Your core meets his base, and you smile at being able to take him fully. After all, he’s bigger than what you’re used to.

He sheds his shirt and rubs your thighs as you adjust to one another. You place your palms against his torso, readying yourself to move. He positions his hands on your hips again, prepared to assist. You lift yourself, and he glides out of your tight hole. His breathing quickens as he watches himself disappear.

The pain of him stretching you out is drowned by the alcohol in your system. If it wasn’t for the liquor, you could’ve sworn you were just drunk on him. It doesn’t take long before you create an unholy rhythm. He was captivated by you. The way your hips roll and your body bounces…It was intoxicating. The line between the best ride he’s ever gotten and it being you was blurred. No, it’s definitely her talent.

What he wouldn’t give to see you and not your shadow. His hand cups your covered breast, squeezing lightly. When it doesn’t suffice, he reaches around and unhooks your bra. After tossing it with your underwear, his fingers twiddle your hardened nipple. Groans and quiet moans fall from both your lips but once his other hand moves to your front, you forget why you were trying to remain silent. His thumb instantly finds your clit, eliciting a loud whimper.

“Shh, sweetheart. ‘Don’t want to wake him up, do you?”

“No, Daddy,” you whine. “‘M sorry.”

The nickname sent chills down his spine and he wanted more. It wasn’t the first time a woman had addressed him that way in bed but you were the only one he wanted to hear it from. It egged him on, so much so that he found himself thrusting up into you, taking control. I’ll show her who her daddy is, he thought.

You moan again, just above a whisper. The hand he used to fondle your breast goes back to your hip, guiding your body up and down, up and down. His hips meet yours and his thumb adds more pressure. You begin to squirm above him, the pleasure raking over your body as it also builds in the pit of your belly. Heavy pants mix with the sweet sound of skin slapping—a symphony to your ears.

With his rhythm so vigorous, and your aching thighs, you were ready to topple over. His thumb rubbed harsh circles on your sensitive clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You were so close and so was he, but he refused to cum before you did. His hips snap up, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. Your nails dig into his skin, as you teeter on the edge of your most powerful orgasm yet. Fuck, keep going, Daddy, you thought what your mouth just couldn’t say. Just like that. He knew you were close by the way your walls clenched around his shaft. Just a few more—

“Dean, seriously? You—” The lamp between the two beds is switched on, blinding you and your partner.

Your high’s disrupted. You squint in the light, and when you see your boyfriend sitting up and across from you, your eyes widen. W-what the—? Your head whips to see the man still buried deep inside your guts. D-Dean?!

Suddenly, you become very sober. With a gasp, you push yourself off your deceiver. His mouth was agape, a mix of shock and guilt. We weren’t that loud, were we? But that wasn’t the point. No, he just had sex with his brother’s girlfriend.

Sam’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. The combination of moans, the collision of skin, and the mattress bouncing had awoken him. He groaned to himself, annoyed his brother would have sex in the same room he lay asleep in. Unable to ignore it, he decides to stop the fornication. What he didn’t expect was to find you on top.

“What the fuck?!” He shouts, throwing off his covers.

“Baby, i-it’s not what you think.”

You’re terrified. It wasn’t your fault, you thought Dean was Sam. In a way, it wasn’t Dean’s, either. He assumed you wanted him. You begged him. It didn’t matter. It was both of your faults. You should’ve known it wasn’t your boyfriend and he should’ve told you no and stuck to it.

“Sammy,” Dean holds his hands in defense. “Hold on a second—”

Sam leaps toward the bed, striking Dean across the face.

“No!” You cry, trying to pull your boyfriend away.

He lands another punch across his brother’s face. And again. You continue your pleas but he doesn’t listen. All he can see is red. You and Dean try to stop his violence but his strength overpowers you both.

“Baby, stop!” You tug his arm once more but he shoves you away.

He doesn’t mean to do it so hard. The force pushes you off the mattress. The room spins, not because you hit your head, but because of the alcohol and complexity of the situation. The possibility of you being hurt, of him hurting you, breaks through his fit of rage. He stops his punishment against Dean’s countenance and checks on you.

You sit up and see Sam with a worried look. Seeing you’re fine, he steps into his shoes before grabbing his duffle bag, and the keys to the Impala. With as much haste as you could gather, you begin to stand. He stomps to the door, throwing it open then storming out. You quickly wrap a sheet around your body before running out of the motel after him.

“Sam, wait!” You jog towards him, trying to catch his attention. “I swear it’s not what it looked like.”

He stops abruptly, and you run into his back. You stumble as he turns on his heel, “Really? ‘Cause it looked like you were fucking my brother!”

You shake your head frantically. “I thought it was you!”

“What? How the fuck do you get him and I confused?!”

“I—It was dark, I was drunk—I am drunk. I forgot which bed was ours,” he stared at you wildly. “Baby, I would never cheat on you. I’m yours, only yours.”

He chuckles darkly, sending shivers down your spine. “Yeah, well, not after this.”

Sam spins around and in a few strides, he’s beside the Impala. The door creaks open and he throws his bag into the passenger seat. He hops in and shuts the classic door behind him. You run towards the car, and put your hand against the glass. Tears begin to well in your eyes, afraid he’s serious. How could he not be? His girlfriend and his brother…the perfect recipe for disaster.

“Please, don’t go. We can work this out,” You plead, your eyes reflecting the desperation.

He ignores you and starts the engine. It roars to life and you’re petrified of the sound. You know if he drives away, it’ll haunt you forever. And that’s what he does. You begin to pound on the window, following the car as it backs out. The tears spill over and your breathing is erratic.

“Don’t go! Please! Sammy, don’t leave! Please, baby, I love you! No, no, no!”

Your boyfriend peels out of the parking lot, leaving you a crying mess. You didn’t know what to feel most ashamed of: The fact you cheated on your loving partner or how good it felt before the light turned on. Back in the motel room, Dean gets dressed. He touches his sore cheek, wincing from the pain. He had heard your confession and he couldn’t have been any more devastated. You thought he was his brother.

What was he thinking? He should’ve known better. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken the girl Sam liked away but this was the first girlfriend. He couldn’t help himself; He’s in love with you. You should’ve been his for the start.

He isn’t sure which is worse: That he might’ve lost Sammy for good, or that he doesn’t regret what happened.

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