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em1i2a3 · 5 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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societyfolklore · 3 months ago

Text

Kuritsa

Title: Kuritsa

Pairing: Winter Solider! Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Female Reader

Summary: You life has been stolen from you now held captive by HYDRA for breeding purposes, paired with the Winter Soldier. You dreamed of freedom.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: ::Explicit Content:: 18+, Minors DNI, Dub-con/Sexual contact initiated under coercion, programming, and captivity, Sexual Assault/Breeding Context (themes of being used as a vessel), Depictions of Violence and Blood, Brainwashing chair, memory erasure, Imprisonment/Captivity, Psychological Trauma, Mind Control/Programming, Sedation/Physical Helplessness, Dehumanization, Dark Sexual Content, blurring trauma and craving, Smut, Unprotected Sex (DONT DO THIS) ...angst..

A/N: fic inspired by Bo Burnham's "The Chicken." – In honor of April fools day... well I had the idea I'd post it than.. BUT THIS ISN’T A JOKE FIC.. so to be safe its getting posted now (Yes, technically its April 1st where I am.. But yeah..just.. DONT JUDGE)

You always heard him first. It was the sound that woke you up. A jagged scream, animalistic and raw, that tore through the sterile silence of the compound.

The screams were muffled through the walls, but they still split through you like wire dragged over raw skin. Wet, strangled, inhuman. They had him in the chair again. You knew it by the rhythm- shouts cut off mid-breath, followed by silence. Then the electric hum. Then the screaming again. Over and over. Mechanical. Precise. Cruel.

You flinched every time. Not because it was him. Because you remembered.

The same chair. The same straps. The same cold leather biting into your spine. The sting of the restraints as they tightened around your wrists. The stench of melted wires. The taste of your own blood from where you bit your tongue just to keep from screaming like that.

The same blank faces leaning over you, muttering notes while they pulled you apart neuron by neuron. Probing. Recording. Smiling.

You used to fight it. Kick. Spit. Bite.

That was before.

Then, you began mumbling names into the dark; yours? Someone else’s? A place with sun? The owner of the voice that laughed? The notes of a song you couldn’t quite remember? They were shadows now. Fragments. Ash in your mouth.

Your cage was damp. The walls sweat in summer, froze in winter. Mold crept along the ceiling. You slept curled, knees to chest, like a bird with clipped wings. Sometimes, your shoulder blades ached like phantom wings were trying to burst free.

They called you that sometimes.

“Back in your cage, little bird.”

Sometimes, you thought if you stared long enough at the rusted metal grate in the ceiling, it might dissolve. That maybe you'd float right up through it like smoke, disappearing into some unreachable sky. You used to imagine what that would feel like weightless, free. As if your body would just melt away, and your soul could slip between the bars like vapor. But you never did.

There was no sky. No smoke. Just the walls. Just the dark. Just the screams.

And him.

You would’ve clawed their eyes out if you had the strength. Some days, you tried. Weak swipes, trembling fists. They laughed. Sometimes they hit back. Sometimes they didn’t need to. Just dragging you down the corridor was enough to remind you what you were.

Your life was hell: invasive tests, sterile rooms, long needles that never seemed to stop. You were monitored constantly. Recorded. Measured. Bled. Injected. Re-injected. Burned. Frozen. Made to run until your legs buckled. Made to scream until your throat bled. They treated your body like a blueprint and a battlefield all at once.

Then they’d toss you into his cell when it was time nothing was said. Just the click of the door. The shove between your shoulder blades. The sound of it locking behind you.

And him. Already there. Still. Watching. Waiting.

The Winter Soldier didn’t beat you. Didn’t growl or leer or curse. He didn’t speak unless instructed. He mounted you like they told him to, like it was a drill, like your body was just another mission to complete. Another task in the protocol. Like you were a sheath. A target. A breeding container.

And still you preferred him to them.

You had a warped affection for the Winter Soldier. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was that he didn’t make it worse. Maybe it was the way, just once, he touched your face after. Or the way he sometimes hesitated at the door.

You didn’t know what it was. You only knew it was the closest thing to gentleness left in your world.

You could still taste the metal in your mouth from the bit they used to hold your jaw still. It haunted you; cold and tangy, sharp as betrayal. The phantom pressure of it still made your teeth ache, your jaw clench in your sleep. You had bitten down on it so hard once, a molar cracked.

Your cell smelled of bleach and old blood, the kind of stench that lived in your skin even after they hosed you down. The floor was always damp, the kind of damp that seeped into your bones and never left. Mold crept in the corners like it knew no one would care to clean it. The walls whispered in the dark, a constant hum of pain soaked into the concrete, voices of other girls who didn’t last long enough to be named.

You dreamed of green places, warm hugs, kind smiles. Sometimes, a soft bed. A blanket that smelled like flowers. A kitchen table. Your fingers curled around a mug of tea. A dog barking in the distance. Sometimes, you thought those dreams were real, like they weren’t just fragments of a life someone else lived. Maybe a life you had once. Before.

HYDRA guards mocked you constantly. Their voices were oil-slick and cruel, rehearsed jokes to entertain themselves while you wilted behind bars.

“Back in your cage, little bird.” “Don’t break her- we’ll need her eggs soon.”

Sometimes they laughed when they said it. Sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes they said it softly, like they meant it as comfort. Like you were a thing, not a person. A vessel. A hen.

You were underfed. Frail. Your ribs showed when you breathed. But their mistake was thinking that made you weak. They saw hollow cheeks and shaky legs and thought you’d given up.

But inside you, something still burned.

Because one day, when they came for you, you fought.

~#~#~#~#~

When the moment came you didn’t think. You just moved.

The second the cell door creaked open, something ancient and wild ignited in your blood. You exploded forward, driven by instinct, by rage, by a raw, primal need to live. A scream- feral and guttural- ripped from your throat as you slammed your elbow into the nearest guard’s neck with a satisfying crack. He dropped like a stone, choking.

Another guard lunged, but you caught him mid-motion, grabbing a fistful of his uniform and smashing his face into the concrete wall so hard the sound echoed like a gunshot. A third grabbed your arm, but you twisted under it with a snarl, your fingernails gouging deep furrows into his cheek, hot blood spraying across your face.

There were shouts. Alarms. The buzz of static in radios. Boots thundered behind you, but you were already gone, barefoot, bloodied, sprinting down the corridor like a bullet let loose. The red emergency lights strobed across the walls as your shadow leapt and flickered with every step.

You Ran, You flew.

The thing they put in your veins, the one they’d whispered about while jabbing you full of needles and watching you writhe. It surged now. It made your muscles coil and spring, made you faster, harder to catch. Not like the others, maybe. But enough.

You hurled your body into a security door, shoulder-first, and it gave way with a scream of twisted hinges. It slammed against the far wall, denting metal. You stumbled, caught yourself, kept going.

Footsteps thundered behind you. Shouts growing louder.

You took the corner too fast and your bloodied feet slipped on the polished floor. You crashed into the wall, pain flaring down your spine. But you didn’t stop.

Another door. Locked. You threw yourself at it. Again. Again.

It buckled. You screamed, the sound inhuman, your throat raw.

You weren’t running anymore. You were escaping. You were breaking through.

And still, behind you, they came.

The world outside was warmer than you remembered- oppressively so, like it was pressing down on you, trying to smother the panic clawing through your ribs. Pine needles slashed at your legs, carving sharp little welts into your skin. Branches whipped across your face, drawing blood, blinding you in bursts of green.

The trees blurred past you, but your vision pulsed with black spots at the edges. The air seared down your throat, each breath like swallowing knives. Your lungs burned. Your knees screamed. Your bare, bloodied feet hit roots and rocks, tearing skin, but you didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

Somewhere behind you- closer than before- voices shouted. Dozens of them. Radio static barked out garbled commands. Dogs barked. Boots thundered. Gunfire cracked so close it popped your ears. Bark exploded from a tree to your left. The trunk shattered near your ribs. A bullet.

You pushed harder.

You were being hunted.

Your legs were shaking. You weren’t sure if it was pain or adrenaline keeping you upright. Something hot was dripping down your shin. Your vision swam.

But you didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

And then

The trees broke.

A road.

Blacktop. Screeching tires. You stumbled forward, half-falling onto the guardrail. Horns blared. The scent of exhaust and heat and rubber filled your nose.

Across the road, you saw it.

A meadow. Vast and wild, stretching endlessly beneath a sky smeared with lavender and gold. The grass was green and thick, heavy with dew that sparkled like glass in the fading light. Wildflowers swayed- violets, daisies, yellow bursts of something unnamed. The breeze danced through them, carrying the soft hush of the earth breathing.

Above, birds wheeled through the sky, dipping and soaring, their wings catching the sun like flashes of silver. Everything here was alive. Unashamedly, impossibly alive.

You remembered green places, warm hugs, kind smiles. Fingers threaded through your hair while someone hummed a lullaby. The feel of warm earth between your toes. Laughter carried on the wind. Someone calling your name, not the one they gave you here, but the one that belonged to you before.

For a moment, the world tilted. Something inside you ached so sharply it stole the air from your lungs.

This meadow wasn't a fantasy. It was a memory.

You moved, climbing over the low barrier, the rough tarmac biting into your feet, still wet and blood-slick from the forest floor. Each breath in your chest came sharp and ragged, like your lungs were tearing with every inhale. The roar of engines filled your ears, deafening, and the scent of rubber and oil churned your stomach.

“Kuritsa.”

You froze.

His voice. Low. Steady. From behind you. From the tree line.

“Come back.”

You turned.

The Winter Soldier stood there, framed by shadows and pine. Expression unreadable. Gun lowered but not discarded. His eyes locked on you like he was tethered- like if you moved too far, something in him would snap.

“Don’t fly, little bird,” he said, quieter this time. Almost… pleading. Even at this distance you could hear him. “They’ll clip you again.”

A choice..

You looked back.

The meadow. The other side. Golden, glowing. Wind stirring the wildflowers like hands reaching out to welcome you home.

Your head jerked back and forth, heart pounding so hard it hurt. Left. Right. Left. Right. The cars flew past like metal beasts, one after another, their horns screaming. Your ears rang. Your knees shook.

There- a gap. A breath. A beat of silence in the thunder.

You lunged.

Rubber screeched behind you. A side mirror clipped your arm and spun you halfway around, but you caught yourself, pushed forward, legs burning.

You ran.

You ran like you never had before.

Like your soul depended on it.

You barely heard the gunfire anymore.

You dodged between honking cars, the wind of a speeding van nearly toppling you sideways. Someone screamed from a vehicle, a horn blared, a voice cursed- but none of it registered. Your focus tunnelled to the other side.

You leapt the last guardrail and your feet hit the soft earth of the field- mud, grass, roots all giving beneath your weight. The ground didn’t hurt. It welcomed you. Your knees buckled, but you caught yourself, palms scraping the soil, fingers sinking into it like you'd been starved of its touch your whole life.

The sun hit your face.

Warm.

Golden.

It wrapped around you like a second skin. You stumbled forward, breathless, and the sharp roar of the road fell behind you like a door slamming shut. The farther you went, the quieter it all became. The birds circled overhead. The sky opened up above you. Wind moved through your hair.

The grass brushed your legs like fingers. Wildflowers bent toward you. Every step you took felt lighter, like gravity had loosened its grip. Your chest still burned, your legs still trembled- but it didn’t matter.

You were free.

For a moment, you were free.

~#~#~#~#~

You woke up.

Your body hurt. Aches radiated deep in your joints, muscles stiff and sluggish as the sedative wore off. Your skin prickled like it had been dipped in ice water, and there was a heavy, smothering pressure in your chest that made it hard to breathe. It was always like this- the return. The slow drag back into a body that felt more like a cage than a home. The familiar fog of waking, like surfacing from a nightmare only to realize the nightmare is where you live.

Your cell. Concrete. Cold. The old mattress on the floor, the spring dug into your spine like punishment, its stuffing long since thinned to nothing. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead like insects chewing through your skull.

The contrast made it worse.

You had just been in the sun. You had felt the warmth on your face, tasted freedom, heard birdsong. And now- this. Gray. Sterile. The walls loomed like tombstones. The air was sour with bleach and mold. Your blanket was gone. The cot felt harder than usual, like it was punishing you for dreaming.

You started to cry.

It hadn’t been real.

You bit your knuckles to keep from sobbing loud enough for the cameras. But it was no use. The pressure in your chest cracked open like a fault line, and the whimpers slipped free, shaking, hopeless. Your body curled tighter, trying to fold in on itself, to disappear into the cold concrete floor.

You pressed your forehead to the ground. Tears smeared across the filth. Your shoulders heaved.

You had felt it. The wind. The sun. The way the earth gave under your feet instead of fighting you. You’d tasted freedom- and now it was gone. Ripped from your ribs like something delicate torn apart by teeth.

You were breaking.

Just the soft scuff of a boot on concrete. A shift in the silence.

You froze.

Your breath hitched.

Slowly, you lifted your head.

He was already inside the cell, standing just feet away, still and silent. Watching.

The Winter Soldier. Motionless. Built like a monolith. Cold light caught on the metal of his arm.

His eyes found you- and they were blue. Flat. Empty. As emotionless as frost.

He said nothing.

He just looked.

He stepped forward slowly, like you were a wounded animal, like he was afraid you’d break. His boots barely made a sound against the floor, each one placed with deliberate care- as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly.

"You had to be good, Kuritsa," he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "They wouldn’t tell me to hurt you if you were good."

There was something in the way he said it- like he wanted it to be true. Like he needed to believe it more than you did.

He reached for you. Not like a soldier following orders, but like someone trying not to scare the ghost in front of him. His hand hesitated in the air between you. Waiting. Wanting.

And you let him.

Because no one else reached for you. Because even this broken, programmed shell of a man was gentler than the rest. Because his touch- hesitant, calloused, human- was the only thing anchoring you to the world in that moment.

He stripped you gently. Despite the cold, he was warm. You both were. His body radiated heat, and when your skin touched, it felt like something real- something grounding in a world where everything else had become unrecognizable. Your body, your mind, your freedom- all had been twisted, burned, broken. But this? This was contact. Connection. A fragile thread back to something human.

He murmured "umnitsa" when you trembled instead of fought. The word fell like a feather against your cheek- foreign, yet almost soft, almost kind. You hadn’t heard kindness in so long that it carved through you like a blade.

His hands were rough, but careful. The callouses rasped across your hips as he steadied you. He traced the bones of your ribs, your stomach, like he was trying to memorize something forbidden. Like you were fragile and holy. His touch made you shiver, not from fear, but from the aching ache of being touched at all.

He waited for your nod. And when you gave it, small and tear-soaked, something in him relaxed. Like permission mattered. Like you mattered.

You were still weeping. You didn’t know why you needed this so badly. Maybe to kill the aching weight in your chest. Maybe to drown in sensation, to burn out the cold that lived in your marrow. Maybe to feel like anything other than a thing in a cage.

You gripped him- not out of lust, but because you needed something. Something alive. Something solid. A warmth to hold onto while the world around you blurred and cracked. But the longer you held him, the more that need twisted, deepened, darkened into something else. Something desperate.

His body pressed closer, the weight of him grounding you, overwhelming you. And when he aligned himself against your entrance, his thick, hard cock nudging at your core, you gasped. The heat of him seared through the cold in your bones, and for a moment, all you could do was hold your breath.

Then he pushed in.

Slow, steady, unrelenting.

The stretch burned- sharp and aching- as he filled you inch by inch, your walls fluttering around the thick length of him, your breath shattering with every heartbeat. You whimpered as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours, buried to the hilt. The sting of the invasion was real, raw, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

It was the only invasion you ever craved.

He stayed there a beat, chest heaving against yours, his breath ragged. You felt the tension trembling in his muscles as he tried to hold back, as if even now he was waiting for you to break. But you didn’t. You pulled him closer.

Because the ache of being filled by him was the only thing that ever made you feel whole.

You both needed this, even if neither of you fully understood why. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was programming. Or maybe it was the only act left that made you feel like you had a body at all.

He moved inside you with no rush, no violence.

At first.

Just heat. Flesh. Friction. But you felt him grow bolder with every thrust, felt the rhythm change from tentative to possessive, like your body was something he was rediscovering and claiming in the same breath. You whimpered as his hips snapped forward, rougher now, grinding against the deepest parts of you. You gasped- your head thrown back, legs trembling from the effort of taking him, from the pleasure spearing up your spine.

"Soldate..." you whispered, shocked at the sound of your own voice, he only grunted in reply.

The slap of skin against skin filled the room. Your nails dug into his back, clawing for purchase. He braced himself over you with his metal arm, the cold of it ghosting across your ribcage while his other hand gripped your thigh and hitched it higher. He fucked you like he was trying to bury himself inside you, deeper, deeper, until you didn’t know where he ended and you began.

You moaned for him and that seemed to break something open in him. His teeth grazed your neck, just a scrape, just a warning. You shuddered. His hand slipped between your legs, and when his thumb circled your clit, it was almost too much. You bucked against him, your orgasm cresting like a wave you couldn't stop.

"Cum." he growled, and you did. Your whole body arched, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open on a sob. You clenched around him, and he followed, rutting into you with a strangled groan before freezing, twitching inside you, his release hot and thick and undeniable.

For a moment, all you could do was pant beneath him, your body boneless and trembling. His forehead rested against yours, and his breath warmed your face. His fingers still moved against your thigh, slow now, almost reverent.

He didn’t speak. Just held you. Just stayed.

And for one terrible, perfect moment, you could pretend you weren’t in a cell at all.

He stayed inside you after. Heavy. Warm. You didn’t move, neither did he. Instead keeping himself pressed deep within you, like he could hold back the world by just staying there. Like if he stayed inside, the moment might stretch, safe and untouched.

You felt every twitch of him, the slow pulse of his cock still buried in your heat. He didn’t pull out, didn’t shift away. He just stayed. Ensuring nothing would spill. A painful reminder of your true purpose here.

The weight of him inside you was grounding and cruel all at once- comfort and control, tenderness and protocol.

His hand cupped your cheek. The same hand that had killed without pause.

“Good, little bird,” he whispered. “They won’t hurt you now.”

For a moment you believed him.

~#~#~#~#~

You were still sore. Still warm from him when they came after removing him from your cell.

You didn’t fight. He had made you promise. Whispered it against your skin while he was still inside you

“Be good Kuritsa. Be good for them like you were for me.”

So you didn’t fight. You just stared at the ceiling, empty and aching, when the guards returned.

“Not supposed to cross roads, little bird,” one of them sneered, voice dripping with smug cruelty. You barely blinked before the needle slid into your arm, sharp and fast. The sedative burned as it entered your vein, and within seconds, your limbs began to go heavy.

Still, you felt it all.

Their rough hands grabbed you by the arms and legs. One of them lifted you by the underarms while another gripped your thighs, dragging your limp body out of the cell like a broken doll. Your toes scraped along the concrete floor, leaving faint streaks as you tried- and failed- to move against them.

The corridor was a blur of fluorescent light and iron stench. You tried to twist away, but your limbs wouldn’t obey. Sluggish. Leaden. You whimpered, barely audible.

You recognized the hallway. The turns. The shape of the door at the end.

No. Not again.

When the door opened, you sobbed. That awful room. That awful chair. Waiting.

They hauled you inside like trash, flipping your body onto the leather seat. Cold restraints snapped over your wrists and ankles. Your head lolled to the side as you tried to resist, tried to pull your arms back, but they might as well have been made of stone.

You didn’t want this. You wanted the sun. The flowers. The breath of wind across your face.

But you weren’t in the meadow anymore.

You were back in the chair.

You wanted to plead. To beg. You were sorry, you wouldn’t do it again. You just wanted to hold on to something, to keep even a shred of that warmth inside you. But your lips were too heavy to form the words.

But he had said they wouldn’t do this. Not if you were good.

And you’d been good.

One tech hesitated, glancing down at you with something almost like pity. You tried to lock eyes with him, to will him to stop, to see you. But it was too late.

Another tech snapped, “Erase it. She’s dangerous now.”

Rough hands held you down tighter as you struggled weakly. A guard’s fingers pinched your jaw open. You whimpered. The bit forced into your mouth was hard and rubbery, pressing down against your tongue and teeth. The pressure made your cracked molar throb.

Then the seat began to tilt.

Slow. Mechanical. Inevitable.

You felt the world shift with it, the room pitching as gravity settled you deeper into the chair. The jaws of the machine descended- cold metal bracing your skull, clamping over your head like a vice. Your heart thundered. One side of your vision darkened as the rig covered your left eye.

Your panic rose, sharp and feral, tearing through the fog of sedation. You tried to twist, tried to scream around the bit, but your limbs barely moved. You could only writhe in slow, pathetic motions as the restraints cut into your skin.

You weren’t in a meadow. You weren’t running. You were here.

This time, it was your memory they erased.

Your escape.

They couldn’t let you know you could fly.

You screamed the words in your head, over and over, desperate and wild:

Birds fly. Meadow. Other side.

And then it came.

The pain.

White hot. Blinding.

Your back arched.

All you could hear was your own screams now, louder than the hum of the machine, louder than your racing heart. There was no world outside of that sound. Just your pain, ripped from your throat and thrown into the void.

373 notes · View notes

sarahsghosts · 3 months ago

Text

the death and resurrection of jonathan price

john price x female, wife!reader

angst with an eventual happy ending

word count: 1,510

cw: none

chapter 2

songs: hurts like hell - fleurie, jackie and wilson - hozier, angela - mötley crüe, haunted - taylor swift (acoustic version)

“john's alive.”

he’s alive.

that’s what laswell had told you.

ever since you received the news, you couldn’t sit still. you didn’t sleep, you barely ate.

“how?” you had asked. “where is he?”

laswell paused. “i can’t tell you any of that.” your blood started to boil. if this woman used the word ‘classified,’ you were going to scream. “this is is an unsecure line,” she explained, “but i’ll send someone to explain everything.”

you grabbed the phone from where it was cradled on your shoulder. “where. is. my. husband?” you snarled into the receiver.

despite your aggressive protests, kate didn’t tell you anything more. you shouted at her for a good minute and she listened patiently, which didn’t make you feel any better.

that was five days ago.

two days ago, you had tried redialing the number kate called you from, but you got no answer.

now you were pacing your flat, having survived the last five days on granola bars and coffee. your eyes fell onto the framed photo of john that hung on your wall.

you halted, your feet rooted to the floor as you looked at the memorial shadowbox that your brother-in-law had put together for you. it featured john's service photo next to the printed out program from his funeral service.

you stared at the photo of him in his formal uniform with a few bright medals pinned to his chest. you knew he had more commendations than that, but they were from classified, or otherwise off-the-books missions, so he couldn't wear those medals.

you always liked him in that uniform.

there was a gentle knocking from outside and your heart lurched. you sprinted to the door and fumbled with the lock before swinging the door wide open.

gaz stood in the hallway in a pair of jeans and a black long sleeve tee. he had his sleeves shoved up to his elbows and his hands were in his pockets.

he opened his mouth, probably to say hello, but you flung your arms him and choked out a sob. “he's alive,” you cried into his shoulder. “kyle, he's alive.”

“i know,” he murmured, his words muffled by your hair. he took in a breath like he's going to say something else but opts not to. instead, he gives you a reassuring squeeze.

you pull away from him after a moment. “i’m sorry. please, come in,” you say, wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of your sweater as you move back into the apartment.

gaz follows behind you. “no need to apologize,” he mumbles out quietly.

you turn your head back to look at him over your shoulder, his tone taking you by surprise. he sounds ... hesitant. uncomfortable.

your brows draw together. you thought he would be as happy as you were.

for the first time in years, you had felt hope. but gaz looked like he just watch someone drown a bag of puppies.

you turn around to face him fully. “gaz?” you whispered.

the sympathy you see on his face takes you back to john's funeral. he motions to your small dining table with its mismatched chairs. “let's sit down.”

you don’t. “what's going on? john...?” you’re unable to form a coherent question.

“is alive,” gaz finishes. “but he...” he breaks off, looking troubled.

your heart was pounding in your ears as you tried to piece together what he could be so afraid to tell you. “what is it?” you pushed, your voice rising a little.

gaz takes in a short breath before he forces out, “he doesn't want to see you.”

—-

nine years earlier

—-

loud music pulsed from the large speaker that was mounted in the corner of the dingy pub. the doors were propped open to let in the cool night air. the usually quiet bar was filled with soldiers, boisterous, loud, and drunk.

you pressed a hand to your temple fighting off the headache that threatened to set it. this pub was usually a quiet one, but the owner saw the crowd of soldiers coming in and knew that meant a good night for business. he had turned the main lights down and turned on the large edison bulb string lights that were tangled in the rafters.

you'd been coming there for years and, until now, didn't even realize those lights worked.

you fought off your irritation. you’d had a long day and just wanted a quiet drink at your usual spot. you hadn’t realized half the british army was going to show up.

suddenly, the stool next to you was occupied by a man with close cropped brown hair and a large smile on his face. he’s already facing you as he flags down the bartender and orders a beer. “hi,” he says brightly.

okay, so he may be one of the only other people in the establishment that wasn’t shit faced yet.

you raise an eyebrow. “hi,” you parrot back with a polite enough tone, but little to no enthusiasm.

the soldier seemed unperturbed by your apparent lack of interest and leaned a little closer so he didn’t have to yell over the music. “you don't seem like the type to hang out at a place like this. you must be lost.”

despite your irritation, you let out a small laugh, amused at his opening line. you shake your head. “not lost.” you look away from him and take a sip of your beer.

“oh, so you're a local, then?” he presses, a smirk tugging on his lips. he takes a look at the rowdy crowd around him. “this doesn't seem like the kind of place a beautiful woman, such as yourself, should—”

you huff and roll your eyes. “listen, guy,” you interrupt.

“john,” he supplies.

you give him a tight smile, suppressing your annoyance. “john. i get it. you boys are in town for probably three days—”

“five.”

“—five days,” you continued. “you want to blow off some steam, show off for your buddies, whatever. that's fine. but i have had a really long day and i’m just looking to have a drink, maybe two, and go home. alone.” you put emphasis on the last word. “so go back to your buddies and tell them i'm not into men. that way, you didn't technically strike out, yeah?”

his eyebrows shoot up and his smirk widens. he leans in a little further. “are you rejecting me?”

you tip your bottle towards him. “bingo.”

he leans back on the stool and, to your surprise, his smile widens. he sizes you up, his gaze looking you up and down, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable. finally, he stands from the barstool. but instead of moseying off to find his friends, he extends his hand out to you. “come on.”

you blanch. you were pretty blatant with your rejection. was this guy really that thick? “what?”

“you've had a shit day, needed a nice quiet drink, and then my lot comes and takes over your pub? doesn't quite seem fair, does it?” his flirty bravado is gone and in its place is a genuine, even kind, smile. “let me take you somewhere for a quiet drink, on me, and then you can go home.” he adds, “alone.”

you eye him, skeptical at first, but the sincerity that he radiates is too convincing. he’s watching you, his raised brows daring you to say yes. for some reason, you find a smile tugging at the corner of your lip, but you bite it back. “one drink,” you say, trying to sound stern. you take his hand.

“maybe two,” he counters, helping you off the stool.

“don't push your luck, john.”

he laughs and shakes his head. “one drink, then.”

and that one drink turned into nine years of beers on fridays and wine on sundays. weddings and vacations and, eventually, you becoming mrs. john price.

part of you thinks you knew, the moment you took his hand, that you would have followed him anywhere.

you sway a little, suddenly unsteady on your feet. “what do you mean he doesn’t want to see me?” you croak.

poor gaz just looks at you with such pity. he shakes his head. “said that part of his life is over now.”

“kyle, i...” my head is spinning and i squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, trying to find a coherent thought. …over now? is he serious?

“you should know,” gaz starts again, his tone low and quiet. “we found him in a russian prison.”

your eyes snap open to meet his. horrible images started to flash through your mind. “was he there the entire time?” you breathed out the question in a shaky whisper.

gaz pressed his lips together and nodded once.

you shake your head, panic clawing at your chest. “gaz, i have to see him—”

“i know,” he says, taking a step closer to you and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “i know… i can give you the address of where he's staying now, but you should know…”

your hands were trembling. “what?”

“he’s not exactly the john price that any of us remember.”

part 3

masterlist

—-

TAGLIST: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @evergreenfields

#my fics #captain john price my husband #john price x reader #tf141 #captain john price #john price x you #cod price #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #call of duty #modern warfare #cod mwii #cod mwiii #reader insert #no y/n

224 notes · View notes

natsaffection · 5 months ago

Text

Auge um Auge pt. 2 | N.R

Investigator!older!Natasha x Robber!younger! reader

Warnings: Age gap (Natasha is 32 = reader ist 22)

Word count: 6,4k

A/n: we are slowly getting to the point..

Natasha entered the small café, the familiar scent of freshly roasted beans and quiet murmurs wrapping around her like a warm blanket. She glanced at the barista behind the counter, ordered a black coffee, and found a seat at the bar. Her head was full of unanswered questions. The voice on the phone earlier had been polished, calculated, and far too composed. It had set off her instincts. She hated being at a disadvantage. And now, with her dead phone, she felt even further removed from the case.

As she waited for her coffee, her eyes wandered to a wall-mounted television above the counter. A breaking news report had caught the attention of a few patrons. On the screen, a news anchor spoke in a serious tone: “We continue our live coverage of the ongoing situation at the national bank, where an as-yet-unknown group of robbers has taken hostages. Details remain scarce, but sources confirm that the group is well-organized and heavily armed.”

The footage switched to shaky video of the bank exterior, where armed officers and barricades had been set up. Natasha herself briefly appeared in the footage, an image of her stepping out of a black SUV earlier that day. The caption read: “Agent Natasha Romanoff, FBI, leads negotiations.” She grimaced, annoyed at the media’s interference. The last thing she needed was her face plastered all over the news. Her coffee was served, and she took a long sip to collect herself.

“Tough day?” a voice asked, pulling her from her thoughts. Natasha looked up. A young woman stood nearby, holding a charger in her hand and smiling warmly. Natasha hesitated before replying. “You could say that.” The woman nodded toward Natasha’s phone on the table. “I noticed you staring at it like you were waiting for a miracle. Dead battery?” Natasha glanced at her phone and then back at the stranger. “Yes.”

“Here.” the woman said, stepping closer and offering her charger. “You can use mine.” Natasha’s instincts flared. She didn’t like accepting help from strangers, especially in the middle of a delicate situation. But the alternative was sitting in silence, stewing in her frustration. She took the charger with a curt nod. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” the woman replied. She sat at a nearby chair and pulled out her own phone. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full anyway..” she added, nodding toward the television. Natasha followed her gaze. The broadcast had switched to a panel of commentators speculating about the robbers’ motives. Words like “calculated,” “anti-establishment,” and “dangerous” flashed on the screen.

“They’re turning it into a show.” the woman said casually, her eyes still on the television. “Whoever’s behind this knows exactly what they’re doing.”Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You seem pretty certain about that.” The woman shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “I mean, just..look at the timing. They didn’t pick any random day. This is deliberate, as the news said. They’re playing chess while everyone else is still playing checkers.”

Natasha studied her closely. There was something about her, something a little too self-assured, a little too relaxed. Most people wouldn’t start a conversation about a bank robbery with an FBI agent. “And you’re an expert on bank robberies?” Natasha asked coolly. The woman laughed softly and shook her head. “Not at all. I’m just good at reading people. It’s a habit.” She extended her hand. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Natasha hesitated, then shook her hand briefly. “Natasha.”

“Nice to meet you.” You said with a disarming smile. “You don’t have to answer, but… you’re involved in this, aren’t you? I mean, you were on TV.” Natasha stiffened slightly, her professional walls snapping back into place. “What makes you think that?” You gestured to the screen. “You just have this..presence. Like someone who’s used to handling high-pressure situations. And the whole ‘lead negotiator’ thing gives it away a bit too.” Natasha let out a dry laugh and shook her head. “The news always exaggerates.”

“Maybe..” you said, tilting your head. “But from what I can see, you seem like someone who doesn’t back down from a challenge.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t know anything about me.” You shrugged and leaned back in your chair. “True. But I can tell you’re the kind of person who notices things others miss. The kind who doesn’t stop until they have the whole picture.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. The compliment was both flattering and unsettling. “And what’s your angle in all this?”

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “No angle. Just making conversation. But..if I were you, I’d think about why these people are doing this. It’s not just about the money. It never is.” The words hung in the air as Natasha considered them. You were good, too good at reading the situation for someone claiming to be just a casual observer. But Natasha couldn’t decide whether it was intuition or something else.

“Thanks for the charger.” Natasha said finally, standing up and pulling her phone from the outlet. “Anytime.” You replied lightly. “Good luck with..whatever you’re dealing with.” Natasha paused, her gaze lingering on you for a moment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye. But with the bank heist occupying her thoughts, she decided to let it go for now.

Once Natasha was out of sight, you leaned back in your chair, a satisfied smile on your lips. The encounter had gone exactly as planned. You planted the seed of curiosity and perhaps even doubt in Natasha’s mind. More importantly, you gotten the chance to observe Natasha up close. Your gaze returned to the television, where the news once again showed images of the bank. Your eyes lingered on Natasha’s image on the screen, her sharp features framed by the chaotic scene. “This is going to be interesting,”

Back in the tent, officers bustled between monitors and plans, their voices low but urgent. Natasha stood at the center of the room, arms crossed as she stared at a large screen displaying a live feed from outside the bank. “Still no movement?” she asked sharply, glancing at a young officer monitoring the cameras. “None. They’ve barricaded all entrances, and their signal jammer is still active. Nothing from the hostages either.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. It had been hours since her first call with Lisbon, and with each passing minute, the situation felt closer to disaster. She turned to the negotiator standing beside her. “Any progress?”

He shook his head. “They’re not answering the phone.” Natasha’s patience was at its end. She hated waiting, it gave her too much time to think, to doubt, to overanalyze. And right now, her instincts were screaming that she was missing something.

“Keep trying.” she ordered. “And get me a psychological profile on Lisbon. I want to know what drives him.” Meanwhile, inside the bank, the robbers were busy implementing the next phase of their plan. Nairobi and Rio worked in the printing area, carefully calibrating the machines. The hum of the presses filled the room, drowning out the muted murmurs of the hostages. Berlin, ever the perfectionist, strode through the atrium with calculated calm. He glanced at Denver, who stood guard near the hostages. “Keep them calm. If they panic, it’ll spread.” Denver nodded, spinning his weapon idly in his hands like a toy. “Got it.”

In the manager’s office, Tokyo leaned against the desk, her eyes glued to the monitors displaying various camera feeds. “Lisbon.” she called into her headset. “Any updates?” At a safehouse, you sat before your laptop, your headset snug over your ears. “The cops are getting restless. Romanoff’s in charge, and she’s sharp. She’s not buying into the manifesto distraction like we hoped.”

“Lissbon, Romanoff is on her way to the cafe again." said the professor through headphones. you sigh and head back to the café. At first, you didn’t think much of it when you were told you’d be sitting in the café near the bank for most of the robbery. But over time, it starts to feel like you live there.

Natasha ordered her usual black coffee and took the same seat at the counter, her thoughts racing as she replayed the day’s events. The news was still playing on the TV above the counter, but this time she ignored it, too absorbed in her thoughts. She pulled out her notebook and began jotting down ideas and observations.

“Tough day again?” asked a familiar voice. Natasha looked up sharply. It was the same young woman as before standing by her table with a coffee cup in hand. She carried the same casual confidence, but there was something about her..calculated. “You again.” Natasha said, her tone wary. “Do you live here or something?” You chuckled softly, gesturing to a nearby table. “Something like that. Mind if I sit?” Natasha hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her. You took a seat across from her and sipped your coffee. You glanced at the notebook on the table, tilting your head. “You’re working again. You really don’t know how to take a break, do you?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m working?” You shrugged. “The focused look, the notes, the way you tap your pen like you’re trying to crack a code.” Natasha didn’t respond, her skepticism growing. This woman was too observant, too present. And now, she had shown up twice, both times during critical moments in the investigation. “Are you always this curious?” Natasha asked, her tone sharper than she intended. Your smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

“And what exactly is your occupation?” Natasha pressed, leaning forward slightly. “Oh, nothing exciting..” You replied nonchalantly. “I freelance. Mostly tech stuff.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed. Tech. Her instincts screamed at her to dig deeper, but before she could respond, her phone vibrated on the table. She glanced at the screen, a message from the command tent.

As Natasha picked up her phone, You leaned back in your chair, your expression unreadable. This was the moment you have been waiting for. While Natasha was distracted, you discreetly slid a small USB drive onto the table, letting it fall just beside Natasha’s bag. The move was deliberate but casual, designed to look like an accident.

“Oops..” You said, bending down to pick it up. As you did, your hand brushed against Natasha’s bag, and you deftly slipped the ID card hanging from the strap into your palm. It was a bold move, but one you had practiced dozens of times. You straightened up, holding the USB drive with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Butterfingers. Natasha gave her a mildly suspicious look. Something about the moment felt off. “Do you always carry USB drives around?” Natasha asked. You shrugged. “Part of the job. Tech stuff, remember?”

Natasha thought carefully. Your timing, your confidence, your casual remarks? It was too much of a coincidence. And then there was the USB drive. Tech stuff..Lisbon was a tech expert. Could there be a connection? “Where were you this morning?” Natasha asked suddenly, her voice sharp. You blinked, visibly caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me.” Natasha said, her eyes boring into Y/N’s. “Where were you?”

“I don’t see why that’s any of your business..?” You replied, your tone calm but defensive. Natasha’s coffee sat untouched as she fixed You with an intense stare. The timing was too perfect. Your tech background, the way you navigated conversations..it all pointed to something bigger. Her instincts were screaming at her: this was no coincidence. “You haven’t answered my question.” Natasha said, her voice low but authoritative. “Where were you earlier today?” You blinked again, visibly confused. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters because you’ve shown up here twice now, and each time, there’s something off about you. You’re too calm, too observant. Who are you really?” You sat up straighter, your brows furrowing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just-“ Before you could finish, Natasha abruptly stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sudden movement drew the attention of a few other patrons, but Natasha didn’t care. She stepped closer to you, gripping your arm. “W-What the hell are you doing?” You asked, your voice panicked as Natasha’s grip tightened. “Let me go!”

Natasha maneuvered you to stand, lightly pressing you against the wall near the counter. Her hand rested on your shoulder, blocking others’ view of the confrontation. “You’re hiding something.” Natasha growled, her voice low but intense. “And I don’t have time for games.“

“I’m nobody!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking as you stared at Natasha with wide, frightened eyes. “I-Idon’t know what you’re talking about! I was just trying to help you!” Natasha’s jaw tightened as she studied your face, searching for any hint of deception. Her instincts told her you weren’t innocent, but there was something about you. Something raw and genuine. You looked so young, so honestly terrified.

“I..I just wanted to help..” you repeated, your voice trembling. “With the charger. That’s all. I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I haven’t done anything.” Natasha hesitated. The quiver in your voice, the glimmer of tears in your eyes, it struck a chord in her. The iron wall of her professional demeanor cracked, and doubt began to seep through.

“What’s going on here?” The barista approached quickly, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. She looked from Natasha to you, still pressed against the wall. “Sarah, please, do s-something!” you pleaded, your voice shaky but sharp. Natasha’s hand fell from your shoulder, her expression momentarily uncertain. “She’s hiding something. There’s something about her that doesn’t add up.”

“Hiding?” the barista echoed, her brow furrowed. “Ma’am, I see Y/n here almost every day. She always sits at that table over there, works on her laptop, drinks the same coffee. She’s not a criminal, if that’s what you’re implying.” Natasha’s lips parted slightly, the weight of the barista’s words hitting her like a punch. She glanced back at you, and now you looked more vulnerable than ever, your arms crossed protectively over your chest.

“Is that true?” Natasha asked softly. “Yes!” you snapped. “I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I’m not a threat. I’m no one!” Natasha took a step back, running a hand over her face. The adrenaline of the confrontation ebbed, leaving behind a nagging sense of guilt. What had she just done? “I..” Natasha began, faltering as she searched for the right words. She looked at you, your wide, hurt eyes still fixed on her. “Shit, i’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I was wrong.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Your gaze dropped to the floor, your hands trembling slightly as you adjusted your jacket. “You think?” The barista crossed her arms, glaring at Natasha. “You should leave. Now.” Natasha raised a hand, her tone softening. “Wait. Please.” She turned back to you, her green eyes filled with remorse. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have..I thought you were someone else. That’s no excuse, but I made a mistake.” You still wouldn’t look at her. “A mistake? You cornered me, scared me half to death, and you call that a mistake?”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged. “You’re right. I crossed a line. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I want you to know that I’m sorry.” The sincerity in her voice gave you pause. Finally, you looked up, your gaze lingering on Natasha’s face. “This won’t happen again, will it?”

“No..” Natasha said firmly. “I swear it.” You exhaled shakily. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle another ‘mistake’ like that.” Natasha nodded slightly and grabbed her things to leave the café. She had let her frustration cloud her judgment, and it had almost cost her. Inside the café, you sank back into your chair, your thoughts racing. Despite the encounter being part of the plan, Natasha’s intensity had still caught you off guard. Your heart was still pounding, but a small, triumphant smile crept onto your face. You had used the time to plant the tracker in her ID card, ensuring that any computer she used would now send its data directly to you.

“I did it..” you murmured softly to yourself, taking a sip of your coffee. “Hook, line, and sinker.” The barista returned, her expression concerned. “Are you okay? That woman was intense.” You nodded, your voice calm but quiet. “Yeah. Thanks for stepping in. I think she was just..stressed or something.”

“Still..” the barista muttered, shaking her head as she walked back to the counter. “People really need to learn some manners.” You watched her go before turning to look out the window, where Natasha’s figure disappeared into the distance. Her apology had felt genuine, and for a brief moment, you almost felt bad about deceiving her.

But only for a moment.

Hours had passed since Natasha’s tense encounter with you at the café. Back at the command tent, the atmosphere was still tense as officers pored over blueprints, monitored live feeds, and updated Natasha on the robbers’ movements. She stood at the center of the chaos, issuing orders with calm authority. “Any updates from the negotiator?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the live drone footage of the bank.

“No response yet.” an officer replied. “They’re still blocking us.” Natasha exhaled and crossed her arms. The robbers’ silence was unnerving, and her gut told her they were planning something big. She turned to a tactical officer at another station. “I want a perimeter check in twenty minutes. We can’t afford any blind spots.”

She stood in front of the evidence board, arms crossed, staring at the clues laid out before her. But none of it was sinking in. Her jaw was tight, her frustration from earlier still simmering under the surface. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the café. To the moment you flinched when she raised her voice. To the confused, almost hurt look in your eyes. She was just a kid, Natasha thought bitterly. And I snapped at her like she was a suspect.

“Natasha..” Maria’s sharp voice cut through her reverie, tinged with curiosity. “What’s going on with you?” Natasha blinked, tearing her gaze away from the evidence board. “What do you mean?” Maria crossed her arms, studying Natasha closely. “You’ve been distracted the whole time. You didn’t even notice when Hillman suggested reviewing the hostage profiles.”

Natasha let out a sharp breath and ran a hand over her face. “I’m fine. Just..scattered.” Maria raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Scattered? Or something else? You’ve been off your game since you came back from the café.” Natasha stiffened, but the way Maria said it made her heart sink. She turned away, trying to focus on the evidence again. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing..” Maria insisted, stepping closer. Her voice softened. “Come on, Nat. Talk to me.” Natasha hesitated, her shoulders tense. Finally, she muttered, “I think I overreacted. To someone who didn’t deserve it.” Maria frowned and leaned against the edge of the table. “What happened?”

“There was this..girl.” Natasha admitted, her voice low. “At the café. I thought she might be hiding something, but she wasn’t. She was just sitting there, minding her own business. I was frustrated, and…” She sighed, shaking her head. “I intimidated her.” Maria tilted her head, watching Natasha with a sympathetic expression. “You’re only human, Natasha. Mistakes happen.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. “She looked so scared, like I was about to arrest her. And for what? Sitting in a café? She didn’t deserve that.”

Maria was silent for a moment before speaking. “You’ve got a lot on your plate right now, Nat. And I’m guessing that girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you can’t let it eat you up. Let it go. We’ve got bigger things to worry about. Natasha nodded, but as Maria walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she owed you more than just an apology..

You sat at your usual spot in the corner, your laptop open in front of you. The trap you’d set for Natasha had worked perfectly, and now the flood of incoming data was organizing itself neatly into folders on your screen. Police reports, internal communications, tactical maps..everything Natasha had been working on in the command tent was now in your hands. You leaned closer to the screen, your lips pressed into a thin line as you scrolled through the files.

This is gold, you thought, clicking on a folder labeled Command Session Protocols. Inside, you found detailed summaries of police strategy, schedules, and assignments. You smiled to yourself as you saved the files into an encrypted folder on your own system. Just as you reached for your coffee cup, the scrape of a chair startled you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up and saw none other than Natasha sitting across from you. The agent held a steaming cup of black coffee in her hand, her sharp green eyes fixed on you, though they didn’t seem hostile. You blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Natasha said, taking a sip from her cup.

“Uh-hi..” you managed to stammer, quickly snapping your laptop shut and leaning back in your chair. You tried to compose yourself, but the shock lingered. You hadn’t seen Natasha come in, hadn’t even felt her presence until she was already there. Natasha smiled faintly, clearly noting your surprise. “Didn’t expect to see me here, did you?”

“Not really.” you admitted, your voice regaining a bit of steadiness. Tilting your head, you slipped back into your usual charm. “I figured someone like you would be too busy running the show to take a break.” Natasha chuckled softly and set her cup down. “Even I need a moment to breathe sometimes.”

A brief silence fell between you as Natasha studied you. You worked hard to appear casual, even as your mind raced. You wondered how much Natasha suspected, or if this was just another coincidence. “How’s your day going?” you asked lightly. Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You’re really asking me that?”

“Why not?” you asked with a small laugh. “You seemed pretty stressed the last time I saw you. Thought I’d check in.” Natasha shook her head, smiling slightly. “You’re something else, you know that? I corner you, nearly arrest you, and here you are asking how I’m doing.”

“Well..” you said with a grin, “you apologized, so I figured we’re even, right?” Natasha chuckled, her shoulders relaxing. “You have a unique way of looking at the world.”

“Makes life more interesting.” you replied, taking a sip of your coffee. “Besides, I think it’s good for someone to ask how you’re doing for a change. You seem like the type who worries more about everyone else than yourself.” Natasha’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “You’re not wrong.” You tilted your head, genuinely curious. “So? How are you?” Natasha hesitated, as though weighing whether to answer. Finally, she shrugged. “I’ve had better weeks. The situation at the mint isn’t exactly going according to plan.”

“Figured as much,” you said, your tone light but not mocking. “You seem like someone who hates it when things don’t go the way you want.” Natasha smirked. “You’re not wrong about that, either.” You both laughed, the tension between you slowly dissipating. For a moment, it was easy to forget you were on opposite sides of a high-stakes game.

As the conversation continued, you found yourself genuinely enjoying Natasha’s company. She wasn’t just the sharp, intimidating agent from the tent..beneath the armor was warmth, a quiet strength you couldn’t help but admire. Natasha, too, noticed the shift. Something about your direct, candid demeanor was refreshing, your refusal to tiptoe around sensitive topics. It was a rarity in her world. “You’re interesting.” Natasha said suddenly, her tone thoughtful. You raised an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“You don’t back down.” Natasha replied. “Most people would’ve run a mile after what happened earlier. But you’re still here, like none of it fazed you.”

“Oh, it fazed me.” you admitted, leaning forward slightly. “But I figured you were just having a bad day. Plus, you apologized. And I have a soft spot for good apologies.” Natasha laughed, shaking her head. “You really are something.”

“I get that a lot.” you said with a grin. As the conversation wound down, Natasha felt a strange sense of calm. She couldn’t explain it, but being around you made her feel..lighter, somehow. It was a dangerous feeling, one she couldn’t afford. And yet, she hesitated. “Well.” Natasha said finally, finishing her coffee. “I should get back to work.”

“Saving the world and all that?” you teased. “Something like that,” Natasha replied as she stood. She gave you one last look, her expression softer. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too.” you said, your smile warm. As Natasha left the café, you let out a slow breath, your heart still pounding. Opening your laptop again, you stared at the stolen files. The weight of what you were doing pressed heavily on you, but you shook it off. It’s just a job, you reminded yourself. Don’t get sentimental. But as you watched Natasha walk away, you couldn’t help but wonder if you already were.

A day went by and the robbers had gone silent again, and the clock was ticking. Natasha sat at her laptop open and fingers poised on the keyboard as she scrolled through surveillance reports. Her green eyes narrowed, focused but heavy with fatigue. A sudden ping broke her concentration. She frowned, looking at the notification on her laptop. It wasn’t from the internal system, this was something else. The subject line was blank, and the sender’s email address was an untraceable string of numbers and letters.

Natasha hesitated, her instincts instantly on alert. She glanced around the tent, ensuring no one else had noticed the message. With a deep breath, she clicked it open. The message was short and cryptic:

Check Camera 3, Sector D. You’re being watched.

Her heart skipped a beat. A quick glance at the room confirmed no one else had seen the email. She tapped a few keys, pulling up Camera 3’s feed. Who sent this? And how do they know about the cameras? Leaning back in her chair, Natasha considered her options. Whoever had sent this wasn’t part of her team. Was it one of the robbers playing games? Or..someone else? She typed a quick reply, her fingers moving instinctively.

Who is this?

The reply came almost instantly:

Someone who sees what you don’t.

She wasn’t sure if it was a trap or a genuine lead, but her instincts told her to check. Turning to the nearest officer, she barked, “Pull up the south rooftop on Sector C. Now.” Within seconds, the thermal feed for the rooftop appeared on the screen. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place. But then a faint heat signature flickered near the edge of the building. “Zoom in.” Natasha ordered.

The image enhanced, revealing a figure crouched low, partially obscured by a vent. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she spotted the unmistakable glint of a weapon. “Sniper..” she muttered. “Get a team up there now.” The tent sprang into action, but Natasha was already focused back on her laptop. She typed again.

How did you know that?

The reply was quick:

I have my ways. :)

Natasha smirked faintly, though suspicion still tugged at her. She had a feeling she knew who was behind this. There was only one person who had the audacity to meddle in her investigation like this.

She typed again.

Let me guess. Sitting in a café right now?

For a moment, there was no response. Then:

Maybe. Should I order you something? ^^

Natasha let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. Unbelievable. She closed her laptop with a decisive snap and grabbed her jacket. “I’m stepping out.” she told her team, her voice clipped but calm. “Keep me updated.”

The café was quiet, its usual hum subdued in the late hour. Natasha spotted her target immediately. You were sitting in your usual corner, your laptop open, fingers lazily typing as if you didn’t have a care in the world. The sight was almost comical. Natasha approached, crossing the room with her usual purposeful stride. You looked up as the agent reached your table, your expression shifting from mild surprise to a wry smile. “There she is.” you said smoothly, leaning back in your chair. “Didn’t expect you to stop by this fast.”

“Didn’t expect you to send me an anonymous email.” Natasha shot back, one brow arched. “Or are you in the habit of hacking federal networks for fun?” Your smile widened as you gestured to the empty chair across from you. “Depends. Did it work?” Natasha paused for a moment before pulling out the chair and sitting down, her green eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re lucky it did. Otherwise, this conversation would be going very differently.”

“Lucky?” you tilted your head, your tone playful. “I think you mean skilled.” Natasha couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to pull something like that. You don’t exactly scream ‘hacker extraordinaire.”

“People are full of surprises..” you replied, shrugging. “I just happen to have a knack for seeing things others don’t.”

“Like the sniper.” Natasha said, leaning forward slightly. “How did you know about that?” You hesitated, your playful demeanor faltering for just a second. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation.” you admitted. “The robbers, the police..you. I noticed the patterns in their movements, and… I wanted to help.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Help? By hacking into a federal system and sending cryptic emails?”

You met her gaze evenly. “Would you have listened to me otherwise?” Natasha didn’t answer right away. She hated to admit it, but you had a point. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But you’re playing a dangerous game.” You leaned forward, your voice soft but firm. “I’m not playing. Those people in the bank- hostages don’t have time for bureaucracy and red tape. You’re good, Agent Romanoff. But even you can’t see everything.”

For a moment, Natasha didn’t respond, studying you with a mix of curiosity and amusement. There was something undeniably impressive about your confidence, your skill. But there was also something reckless, something that could get you in serious trouble. “You’re smarter than you look.” Natasha said finally, her tone lighter. “But you’re also reckless.”

“Reckless gets results.” you shot back, grinning. “And it got your attention, didn’t it?” Natasha shook her head, laughing quietly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know..” you said with a shrug, leaning back in your chair. “So, what now? Are you going to arrest me?” Natasha smirked. “Not tonight. But if you pull another stunt like this, I might reconsider.” You grinned, raising your coffee cup in a mock toast. “Noted.”

Natasha stood, her expression thoughtful as she looked down at you. “You’ve got talent. I’ll give you that. But if you’re serious about helping, you need to stop sneaking around and work with me.” You raised an eyebrow. “Work with you?”

“You heard me.” Natasha said. “You’ve already proven you can spot things we miss. Use that skill the right way.” Natasha sat down again, her curiosity piqued. You had proven yourself capable almost dangerously so, and Natasha wasn’t the type to let something like that go unquestioned. Crossing her arms, she leaned forward slightly, her green eyes fixed on you.

“You know..” Natasha began, her voice even, “people don’t just wake up one day and decide to hack federal systems. How’d you learn to do all this?” You hesitated, your fingers toying with the edge of your coffee cup. “It’s not exactly a fun story,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off. Natasha raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “Humor me.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. For a moment, you stared at your laptop, as if debating whether to answer. Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter, tinged with something Natasha couldn’t quite place, bitterness, maybe, or sadness. “I didn’t have much of a choice.” you said, your gaze fixed on the table. “I was on my own by the time I was nineteen. No family, no safety net. I had to figure out how to survive.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t interrupt. “I wasn’t exactly the nine-to-five type.” you continued, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “So I started picking up skills. Little things at first, how to crack a Wi-Fi password, how to fake a document or two. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept the lights on.”

“Sounds more like survival than a career choice.” Natasha said softly. You shrugged. “It was. But somewhere along the way, I realized I was good at it, really good. I could see patterns other people missed, find loopholes no one else thought to look for. It became…I don’t know, a way to take control of my life. When you don’t have much, knowing you can outthink the system? That’s power.”

Natasha nodded slowly, sensing there was more to the story but not wanting to push too hard. “And that’s how you ended up here?” You let out a short laugh. “Not exactly. I stopped doing illegal stuff a long time ago, if that’s what you’re asking. These days, it’s more about staying curious. Finding puzzles to solve.” You gestured toward Natasha. “And you? You’re one hell of a puzzle.” Natasha smirked faintly, though her gaze softened. “You’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” you asked, tilting your head. “Some basement-dwelling computer geek?”

“Something like that.” Natasha admitted with a small chuckle. “Not someone like you.” You shrugged, your smile faint but genuine. “Life doesn’t exactly hand out guidebooks. You make do with what you’ve got.” There was a pause, a moment of quiet understanding between you. Natasha could tell you were holding back there was more to your story, more pain buried beneath the surface, but she didn’t press. She knew what it was like to guard your past, to only share the pieces you were ready to reveal.

“You’re impressive.” Natasha said finally, her tone softer than before. “I’ll give you that. But you need to be careful. Pulling stunts like this..hacking into federal systems, sending anonymous messages, it’s not going to end well for you. You met Natasha’s gaze, your eyes steady. “I knew the risks when I sent that email. I just thought…maybe you’d understand.”

Natasha’s expression flickered, a hint of something unspoken passing across her face. “I do.” she said quietly. You blinked, surprised by the honesty in Natasha’s voice. “But if you really want to help..” Natasha continued, “then you need to work with me, not around me. No more anonymous emails. No more hacking my system. We do this the right way.” You hesitated, searching Natasha’s face for any sign of deception. Finding none, you nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Natasha leaned back, studying you carefully. “Why’d you really do it? Helping with the sniper, I mean. Why take that risk?” You exhaled, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I know what it’s like to feel trapped. To think no one’s coming to help you.” You paused, swallowing hard. “Those hostages… they don’t deserve that.” For the first time, Natasha saw a crack in your armor, a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. She nodded, her voice softer. “Neither did you.”

You looked down, your fingers tightening around your coffee cup. “I got through it. Doesn’t mean it was easy.” Natasha’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, a quiet respect forming between you. She stood, pulling her jacket over her shoulders. “You’re better than you give yourself credit for. Just…don’t waste it.”

You looked up, a flicker of warmth in your eyes. “You’re not as intimidating as you think, you know. Natasha smirked, her signature confidence returning. “Don’t push your luck.” As Natasha walked toward the door, she paused and glanced back. “I’ll be in touch.”

You raised your coffee in a mock toast. “I’ll be here.”As Natasha left, a faint smile tugged at her lips. You weren’t just a hacker or a nuisance. You were a survivor..sharp, resourceful, and far more than you appeared. And Natasha couldn’t help but be impressed.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha smut #natasha romanov x reader #dom!natasha x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha romanov smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut

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cains-daughters · 11 months ago

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Summary: Dean and Y/N meet at a club, get drunk and have lusty hard sex outside of the club. The next day they formally meet eachother when one of John's old hunting friends wants to introduce his daughter to the Winchester brothers.

Warning: smut, nsfw, minors go away, 18+, public, unprotected sex, hooking up, drunk sex, oral (female receiving), teasing, pounding😜😜😜

Sweaty bodies dancing against each other, the sweet ecstasy of letting your body flow with the music, dancing with a guy you found hot and also having a couple of beers in your system was all you needed to get your head out of a chaotic week. Feeling the rhythm through every movement you make against his body, seeing how he’s perfectly reacting to your ass against his bulge, getting chills while he’s roaming his hands around your hips and waist making your body hotter than it already was. You rested your back on his chest while he pulls you closer by the hips and lays his lips on your right ear.

“The way you move is making me crazy, you feel that baby?” He says while pushing his hard on you, his voice is raspy and sultry making you want to purr but all you do is get closer to him. He feels so big and you can’t stop thinking about the fact that you know nothing of him. All you know is that both of you were smiling from across the bar, he came to you, started flirting, bought you a couple of beers and now you’re grinding on this man’s hard dick. Wait, what was his name again?

He turns you around so your chest is on his, your hands are behind his neck while he's pulling your hips to his. All you see in his eyes is hunger but yours are filled with lust. He suggests to take it somewhere private, of course you agree. Taking you by the hand, he guides you through the crowd, once you find yourselves in a not so private but not so crowded space outside the club he pulls you into the wall. Holding eye contact for a second, feeling the lust you both have for each other, playing around with who kisses first, lips and tongues slightly touching, he pulls back when you try to kiss him and you lick his lips when he tries. It’s all fun, until the hunger kicks in.

With no anticipation he pulls your pants down to your knees and starts rubbing your pussy over the wet panties. You’re leaning on the wall grinding your hips on his hand wanting more. As he’s pushing his weight unto you, he’s still rubbing your wet cunt, making you whine and moan. He stops for a second and takes your tits out of your bra. “Fuck, I can’t get enough of you”. Biting your neck and your tits while he pulls your panties down. "I need to taste you, please let me taste you" he breathes out while kissing and nibbling on your skin going down to meet your pussy.

You're just nodding and gripping his hair guiding him to your pussy. He chuckles seeing you so desperate to have him eat you out. "Use your words, sweetie. Can I taste you?". He's saying that while he's resting his chin on your mount of venus waiting for your consent. "Fuck, shut up and eat me" is all you moan out while positioning your pussy on his mouth. You thought he was going to go straight to sucking your clit to give you the release you need but no. He decides to tease you.

His warm tongue is slowly moving up and down on your folds, making little circles on your clit but nothing to give you the full pleasure you want. "Please" You whine but he doesn't care. The knot in your belly starts growing, the heat running through your spine makes your toes curl, your breath is getting deeper, your moans louder and he is still teasing you. "You taste so good, baby" The vibrations of him talking while he's on your cunt makes you go insane. You try to get his mouth on your clit but he refuses and slaps your cunt for trying to move him. He stops, gets off his knees and grabs you by the jaw and warns you "Don't disturb me while I'm eating, I might bite you".

While making you stare, he unbuckles his pants and takes his hard and wet cock out. All of the pre-cum you see in his pants makes you giggle. "You're a mess" you joke, but to be fair you're the one that has her tits out, rubbing your clit while staring at his cock as he gets closer. He embraces you in a hard kiss while placing his dick in-between your wet folds. Making sure he doesn't insert himself, he's slightly rubbing your clit with his tip while making you suck on his tongue. Both of you are desperate for each other, panting and moaning needing to climax.

He turns you over, pulls your hips up and centers himself to thrust inside of you. "Baby, I'm so sorry but, I'll fuck you hard" he moans into your ear while rubbing his tip on your pussy waiting for you to give him permission. "I need you to fuck me, please" you hate begging but you're burning everywhere. As he started thrusting you, he was gentle, helping you adjust to his size but after a few seconds he started pounding you hard from behind. He grabbed you by holding both of your hands behind you. He was not only hitting all your sweet spots making you feel like the need to squirt but the feeling of his balls hitting your cunt as he pounded you made you even more wet. Both of your moans filled the place, some people heard but all they could hear was you asking for him to fuck you harder and him saying how good you were taking his dick so they didn't bother interrupting. When you told him you were going to cum, he told you to rub your clit so you could cum all over his cock. The thought of having you cum all over him made him want to get you pregnant but he couldn't risk it.

When he pulled out all he wanted to do was take you and fuck you harder at the motel but Sam was over there thinking Dean was out looking for clues on a new case. "Let me get you dressed and take you home" he insisted while putting his pants on. "Oh, no biggie, my friends must be waiting for me" you explained, feeling a bit awkward now that you're sobering up. "This is so embarrassing but what was your name again?" "It's Dean Smiths, sweetheart, don't forget that name". He said that while winking and handling your purse. "I won't". As you walk towards your friends car, he's already on his car, a black 67' chevy impala, similar to the one your dad's friend had when you were a kid.

The next day you wake up not just with a headache but also feeling sore. You haven't had sex in a while and all you could think is how this Dean Smith guy has such a thick cock and how hard he fucked. Your phone started ringing and interrupted your thoughts.

"Dad, are you okay? Is everything alright? is mom-" "Y/N relax, come home, there's some people I want you meet" "Dad. it's 7 am, on a freaking Saturday, can I go later today?" "No, bring your hunting stuff" He hanged up. You got up, packed your things and got ready. Now that you live on your own apartment, he never calls you this early neither asks you to go home at this hour, he would just make you stay at his house if he needed you to be there, specially with things about the job.

When you got there you couldn't miss the same Impala from last night being on your dad's driveway. "Perhaps it's dad's friend, wow I haven't seen that man in years" you thought. Before you made your way to the living room where you can hear your fathers voice. Your middle sister stopped you. "They're hot, and brothers, one for you and one for me" she says whispering, making you giggle and roll your eyes.

"Y/n is one of the best hunters I have in the group, even if I still see her as my little girl, I gotta admit, she has balls" you hear your dad say and some guys start chuckling with him. "I probably have bigger balls that you, dad, he doesn't like hunting vampires, but honestly that's where the fun is at" you say that while the guys turn around to greet you... there he is, the guy that was pounding you like slut last night. I don't know if i should scream, run, laugh or-. "Sweetheart, these are John Winchesters' sons, my friend that taught you how to shoot when you were just five years old; this is Dean and Sam Winchester. You guys would play with guns, don’t you remember? Perhaps not but you should help them on this case, you'll love it" says your dad. Sam extends his hand to shake yours "It's good to meet you, again" "likewise" you respond. When you turn to Dean, he looks like he's trying to cover his embarrassment. "So, Dean Smith, how are you?".

this is my first time actually posting smut I write when I’m bored and horny, bare with me🫡😛

#dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester smut #dean winchester headcanon #supernatural #supernatural smut #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #dean winchester x y/n #sam winchester #sam winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester x y/n

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be4chywritez · 1 year ago

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escape | oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

You and Oscar get locked in a cell what's the worst that can happen?

masterlist!

You were going to strangle Lando. If it weren't for him, you wouldn't have been in this predicament—sitting here in a "jail cell" with Oscar, who you may or may not have a tiny crush on.

Lando had the smart idea to sign you, himself, and Oscar up for an escape room, saying something about "having two of his mates get along." Maybe that's what you get for befriending the weird kid who liked cars way too much.

The cell was dimly lit, with just enough light filtering in from the barred window to see the puzzling clues scattered around. You fidgeted with your fingers, trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind kept drifting back to Oscar sitting just a few feet away, looking equally confused. His cologne danced around your nose; you tried to ignore it, but good grief, he smelled good.

A static voice crackled through the speakers, "Tick tock, inmates, gather clues around your cell, or else your little friend gets it."

You rolled your eyes. "Lando should get it," you mumbled, but Oscar heard and let out a chuckle. You looked over, flushed, and he gave you a smile.

"Alright, let's see what we've got here," Oscar said, his eyes scanning the walls and floor for any hidden hints. You watched as he moved, his focused expression making your heart skip a beat.

As you tried to decipher a particularly tricky riddle, you could feel the pressure mounting. Your mind raced, and your eyebrow scrunched up in concentration before you knew it.

"I've never noticed the way your eyebrow scrunches before. It's cute," Oscar said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

Your head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. "What?"

Oscar's cheeks turned a dark shade of pink, but he met your gaze steadily. "When you're thinking hard. Your eyebrow scrunches up. It's… well, it's cute."

You felt your face heat up, a mix of embarrassment and something else you couldn't quite place. "Oh, um, thanks," you mumbled, trying to brush it off, but your stomach was doing somersaults.

He smiled, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, and for a moment, the tension of the escape room seemed to melt away. "So, let's get out of here," he said, giving you one last smile.

As you worked side by side, the puzzles seemed less daunting. Each time your eyebrow scrunched up, you noticed Oscar glancing your way, a small smile playing on his lips. Maybe, just maybe, being stuck in this "jail cell" with him wasn't the worst thing Lando could have done.

You both reached for the same clue, your hands brushing against each other. You froze, feeling a jolt of electricity from the contact. Oscar didn't pull away immediately, and you looked up to find him already gazing at you, his eyes soft and full of something you couldn't quite name.

"Sorry," he murmured, but he didn't look away. Instead, he let his fingers linger on yours for a moment longer before picking up the clue.

"It's okay," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The air between you felt charged, every glance and touch seeming to carry more weight than before.

Later, as you both knelt down to examine a riddle, you found yourselves almost shoulder to shoulder. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his proximity making your heart race. You turned your head slightly and caught him looking at you again, this time his face just inches from yours.

"You're really good at this," he said softly, his breath warm against your cheek.

"Thanks," you replied, feeling a smile tug at your lips. "Couldn't have done it without you."

Oscar's gaze dropped to your lips for a split second before he quickly looked away, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. You felt a similar heat rising in your own face, the unspoken tension between you growing with each passing second.

As the final puzzle piece clicked into place and the cell door swung open, you couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment. The escape room you weren't quite ready for it to end.

Standing at the exit, Oscar turned to you, his eyes locking onto yours with a look that made your breath hitch. "We make a pretty good team," he said, his voice low and sincere.

"Yeah, we do," you replied, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. "Maybe we should do this again sometime."

"I'd like that," he said, his smile returning, this time with a hint of something deeper. "Maybe next time, we can get locked in a cell on purpose."

You laughed, feeling your heart soar. "I'd like that too."

Your moment was ruined by none other than Lando's voice. "Hey, you muppets, I'm up here still," he yelled out. You and Oscar looked up; Lando was in what looked like a cage. Oscar walked over to the rope, tugging it to make the cage fall. Once Lando got out, he pointed to you. "I want a toast specifically dedicated to me."

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri x reader #be4chywrites

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bratkook · 2 years ago

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two point five. part three (m) jjk.

part one. part two. pairing. handyman!jungkook x reader genre. smut, pwp, fluff!! word count. 5.9k warnings. they’re in luvvv its sick, jungkook still loves to tease, pussy job, finger sucking, its just sweet and dirty idk summary. jungkook finally fixes your pipes, sure he gets distracted while doing it, but what else could you expect when you’re sitting on top of him looking like that. note. thank u guys for loving them & for being patient for more! they make my heart happy so i had to continue writing for them. i hope u enjoy the filth and brief jimin interaction hehe

“Isn’t it cute?” The excitement in your voice makes Jungkook smile as he stares at you, nose scrunched up in endearment when you pull out the shiny brass object from the box you had just ripped open.

“Super cute, baby. What is it?” Jungkook honestly hadn’t seen it too well, but anything you liked was cute to him so he obviously agreed. He was currently leaning against your dining chair, hands resting along the back of it as he hunched over to examine the plastic wrapped thing. It’s not until you peel it back that he knows exactly what it is, giving you another smile when he looks up to meet your gaze.

“A new faucet! I figured since you still need to fix my leaky pipes you could just…install this for me too?” Your voice is hopeful, almost as if you think there’s a chance he’d say no.

“I’ve been trying to fix it for weeks and you keep telling me no.” His eyes are playfully narrowed at you.

“I know, but that’s because this was back ordered. But it’s here now, so can you? Please.”

He sighs, looking away from you as he pretends to contemplate it, giggling when you whine and round the table to grip his shoulders. Even as you wrap your arms around him and beg, he continues to hum in thought, not caving until you’re leaning up and gingerly kissing his jaw and finally his lips.

“Mm, you know just how to convince me huh?” he mumbles against your lips, feeling you smile as he kisses you back.

“Kisses are your weakness?” You giggle when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer.

“No, just you.” His smile is cheeky as he admits this, giving you another squeeze before you’re pulling back with a cute laugh.

Jungkook had taken it upon himself to just keep a tool box at your place, leaving it in your coat closet for emergencies. He had gone ahead and told you what every tool in there did, not like it meant anything to you, knowing you wouldn’t be reaching in there after how horrible your attempt at mounting your television had gone.

This was Jungkook’s emergency tool box, not yours. So, after a quick trip to his truck parked down below, grabbing a few things he knew he’d need, he’s grabbing his toolbox out of your closet and getting right to work. You typically let him work on his own now, busying yourself with cleaning up your apartment, hanging up the newest photostrip you both took last night at your favorite bar and admiring it on the fridge with a smile. But once your to-do list runs out you can’t help it when your feet lead you to your bathroom, slowly pushing open the door as you lean on the frame and observe your boyfriend.

He had managed to remove the old faucet, cleaning up the caulking and any weird water spots before replacing it with the cute brass swan faucet you had scored. He is crouched on his knees now, trying his best to fit under the small cabinet to properly screw everything in, cursing slightly under his breath when he lifts his head and bangs it on the wood.

“I think you’re too big to fit under there babe,” you giggle, enjoying the pointed look he gives you as he straightens himself back out. “What if you try doing it from under?”

His brows pinch on his forehead as he looks at your floor, checking the spacing between the sink and the wall across from it, deeming it wide enough for him to lay on his back to get a better point of view. As long as he kept his knees slightly bent he could definitely fit, he’ll just have to keep his light on his chest to be able to see, unless, “Can you do me a favor, baby?”

Your face lights up at the question, nodding in confirmation instantly, already stepping into the bathroom for whatever he might need.

“Hold the light for me? I need both my hands to finish this off.” You could definitely do that. That’s literally the only way you knew how to help. So without another thought you’re grabbing the flashlight for him and squatting beside his body, angling the light to where you think he might need it.

Jungkook chuckles lightly under his breath when the beam of light hits the wrong spot, his large hand coming out to grip yours and angle it a little better, making you partially lean over him.

“Jungkook, I can’t keep this position for too long,” you laugh out, your knees already burning from the weird angle. He peers out and laughs too, well attempting to before it slowly dies in his throat when you get the grand idea of swinging your leg over his body and straddling his hips. It’s clear your thoughts are pure as you smile at how much easier it is this way, but Jungkook was a weak weak man, and the pretty flowy dress you were wearing made it so he could feel you directly on top of him, only the thin fabric of your underwear and his sweats separating you two.

“Better right?” you wonder, ever so softly putting more pressure on him as you settle, your free hand gently resting on his stomach, thumb mindlessly rubbing along the thin sliver of skin exposed as his shirt rode up. When he simply stares at you, absolutely dazed, you tilt your head and give him a pout that makes him want to sit up and capture your lips in a kiss. Luckily, he snaps out of it, thankfully saving his poor forehead from receiving another awful slam against the cabinet.

“Much better,” he forces out, letting his head fall back to resume his work. His eyes are focused on tightening the screws holding the new faucet in place, but then you’re adjusting your position and his eyes can’t help but look back down at you. He knows you’re not being intentional, but the pressure of you resting on his slowly hardening cock was going to be the death of him. Jungkook really didn’t have anyone to blame but himself, getting riled up so easily thanks to the horny lovesick cocktail he always had fogging up his brain around you.

“Baby,” he groans out, squeezing his eyes shut as he leans back and lets his palm fall over his face. “You gotta stop moving.”

“I’m sorry. Am I not pointing the light where you need it?” Your brows are furrowed on your forehead, pure confusion clouding your features as Jungkook gives you another glance. He has a very familiar look on his face, a look reserved for when he was inches away from you before pouncing on you and turning you into an absolute mess.

That’s when you notice it, the firmness pressed up against your core as you slowly settle back. Your eyes widen briefly, fighting back a sly smile from spreading onto your lips when you realize just how easily affected he is by you.

Maybe it's cruel to relish in it, the mischief already brewing in your mind as you give an experimental roll of your hips. Jungkook groans instantly, brows pinching on his forehead as he glances down at where you connect, words dying on his tongue when you roll forward again before he has a chance to utter anything out.

“Focus on what you’re doing,” you murmur, head tilted slightly as you smile down at him. Jungkook refuses to look away, his brain fighting him on what to do. He knew he could easily turn this around, scoop you up and fuck you right on this bathroom floor. But why was this so hot to him?

All of his thoughts turn into mush when you reach forward, fingers cupping his cheeks as you forcefully turn his head to look at the faucet again. His cock twitches beneath you as you speak once more. “Focus, baby.”

Oh yeah, he’s whipped.

You hum in content when he does just that, hands a little shaky as he resumes his work and attempts to act unaffected. The act only works for a brief moment, his hands faltering when he feels you shift around, your fingers dipping into the waistband of his sweats before you tug them down. Jungkook’s breath shudders as he shuts his eyes and just waits, knowing he couldn’t look down at you because the temptation would be too much.

A small gasp hits the air when you see he’s bare underneath his sweats, his cock already hard and leaking. Jungkook hisses when your hand wraps around him, giving him a gentle tug and swiping your thumb along the tip. He only caves and looks down again when he feels the way you press his length against his stomach, curiosity getting the best of him, allowing him the sight of you tugging your panties to the side before you’re settling back onto him.

“Fuck,” he groans out, seeing your pussy lips spread around him as you rock along his length, tip of his cock nudging against your clit perfectly. The view only lasts a minute before you’re letting your dress float back down around you, the playful look in your eyes telling him he needed to focus on his job.

Jungkook knows he’s good at his job, and he’s proud of it, knowing he always does his best to do everything perfectly. But he usually doesn’t have the prettiest girl he’s ever known on top of him, hell bent on making him cum as he works. So he admits he might not be doing the absolute best job he can, going through the steps as fast as possible, trying his best to focus on something other than how fucking amazing he feels.

Your hand trembles a bit as you continue to hold the light for him, small little moans of pleasure filling up the room as you continue to roll your hips, your other hand resting firmly on his chest to hold you steady.

“I can feel you making a mess,” you giggle, knowing there would be a puddle of precum on his tummy, smearing along your folds with each rock forward.

Jungkook just grunts in response, jaw clenched tightly as he finishes up tightening the last screw. With one final check, he’s smiling underneath the sink, allowing his tools to clang beside him as he grips your hips with both palms, enjoying the way you gasp in surprise.

“My turn,” he breathes out, tongue prodding along his cheek as he effortlessly shimmies out of his position. Your eyes are wide as you take in the look on his face, feeling your chest fluttering in excitement as he easily sits up, scooping an arm around you as he stands up straight.

“That was fast,” you breathe out, the slight tingling of nerves crawling up your spine, knowing Jungkook didn’t love being teased like that—not without knowing he’d get a chance to pounce back at least.

“I had some helpful motivation,” he mumbles, turning you around and settling behind you. His nose nudges along your head as he bends forward, soft breath felt against your ear as his hands slide up your thighs beneath your dress. Your skin tingles as his fingers dance along the edge of your wet panties, teasingly tugging at them as he presses his hardened length against your ass.

“Jungkook, we’re meeting up with your friends in a little bit,” you breathe out, voice trembling slightly as your hands fumble against the sink.

“I know, but you started it.” He smiles now, his eyes looking forward to meet your gaze in the mirror above your sink, brow cocked up. “Do you want me to finish it?”

He can see the way your face is lit up, lower lip held captive by your teeth as you gently bite down, eyes already glossed over as you mindlessly nod. Of course you want him to finish what you started.

“I need words, pretty girl,” he murmurs, both palms continuing to glide along your skin, enjoying the slight tremble he feels, how your body reacts to him instantly. His smile is teasing, lip curling up as he breathes out a laugh when you can only shudder as you try to get your brain to cooperate.

“Please. I want you to fuck me.” Your voice is low, raspy around each syllable, already on your way to being ruined before he has a chance to do anything. Perfect.

“Oh, I get a please? So polite,” he jests, peppering a kiss to your temple as his hands finally hook into your underwear and yank them down. When they pool around your feet you kick them out of the way, instinctually spreading your legs and pressing your ass further into him. Jungkook hums in content, his gaze falling down as he flips up the bottom of your dress, seeing the soft skin of your ass pressing against his length.

He guides his length between your thighs once more, resting perfectly against your sodden folds as he shallowly ruts forward. You moan softly as the tip of his cock nudges your clit, aching for his touch.

“I’ll always do whatever you want.” You know this is a promise from him, having experienced how true to his word he is during the last few months. All you can do is grip onto the counter to prepare yourself when you feel him start to move back. Your gaze is locked onto his reflection, seeing the way he bites onto his lip when he grabs your ass, gripping onto the flesh for his own satisfaction before delivering a swift slap, smiling at the small mewl you release.

You watch with bated breath as he grips the base of his cock, feeling the tip of it pressing into your soaked entrance, teasingly circling around it just to see the way your walls beg for him. He loved it too much, thoughts getting hazier with each small moan that escapes you. The bulbous head of his cock slowly inches forward, your pussy tightening around his tip and making him moan under his breath before pulling out entirely. It was the same motion he loved to do, teasing himself and getting a kick out of the delayed pleasure.

“Jungkook,” you whine out, giving him a pout when he looks up at your reflection. He mumbles out an apology that he clearly doesn’t mean judging by the smile on his face, but the way he finally sinks into you makes up for it. The satisfying stretch that follows is something that will never get old, and the small gasp he lets out when he bottoms out lets you know he feels the same.

Jungkook can only shut his eyes as he lets the feeling wash over him, his palms gripping your hips tightly when he feels your walls pulse around his length. He could live and die buried inside of you, always wanting to hear the soft moans of his name and the small whimper you release when he pulls his hips back and thrusts forward.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans out, eyes fluttering open to stare at the way your arousal coats his cock, shiny essence glimmering in the bathroom light. His mouth drops open in awe, stomach tensing up at the sight, hands gripping you harder when he sees the way you arch your back for more.

“You were fucking made for me.”

His words make your body warm up, spoken so sweetly in such a lewd context, only intensifying when he speeds up the thrust of his hips, bending forward to kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“Tell me,” he breathes out, slight begging dripping from his tone, always so desperate to hear how much you wanted him. His hand comes up to grip your face, fingers cupping your jaw to turn you to look at him. The look on his face makes more arousal gush out of you, seeing the pinch between his brows, eyes swimming with desire as they float between your eyes and your lips.

“I was—fuck—“ you keen at a particular thrust, eyes rolling back momentarily. “I was made for you. Only you.”

“Mm, good girl,” he sighs, connecting your lips in a messy kiss. You moan against his lips when he snaps his hips forward, just hard enough to have you seeing stars behind your closed lids. His fingers rub your cheeks, gently coaxing your mouth open as he flicks his tongue along the seam of your lips, groaning in approval when you allow him entrance.

Your arm reaches back to grip his face, needing to touch him, to let your fingers slip into his hair and yank as your tongues flick against each other. Jungkook groans unabashedly when you gently suck his tongue, heavy eyes opening up to stare at you when you pull away briefly.

“We gotta be quick.” It’s spoken mainly to himself, a reminder that he couldn’t take his sweet time with you today, knowing there was a ticking clock telling you both to hurry up. He’s tempted to say fuck it, to blow off the plans with his friends and ravish you the way he always wanted to. But he knows how much you were looking forward to it so he sucks it up, deciding he’ll just have to make up for it tonight.

“Yeah, quick. Quick is fine,” you shudder, eyes focused on the way his lips shine, slightly swollen from your kissing. His tongue swipes at his piercing as he smiles when he notices your dazed stare, giving you another kiss to satisfy you before turning your head back to stare at your reflection once more.

“Don’t worry baby. I’ll still take care of you.” His head presses against yours, staring directly into the mirror. “Want you to be good and watch yourself for me though. Can you do that?”

His hips have yet to slow their rhythm, the wet smack of your skin connecting still filling up the bathroom. It makes you feel dizzy, too transfixed on it and the way he just looks at you. His smile is as sweet as can be, his fingers coming to your lips, humming in content when you open your mouth to allow them in, coating them in your spit just the way he liked it before pulling them out.

“Yeah, I can do that.” He mumbles out more praise against your head, whispering it into your ear, each raspy syllable turning you into a puddle against him. Your eyes are glued to your reflection, seeing the way he kisses down the side of your neck, sucking on your skin until he’s satisfied with the mark he leaves. His trail isn’t complete until he’s yanking down the top of your dress, watching in fascination as your tits spilled out. A choked moan fills the air when he pinches a sensitive bud, spit covered fingers rolling along it, smiling when you jut your chest out further for more.

“You said quick, Jungkook,” you pant out, having an internal battle just like he was. It was easy for him to get side tracked though, enjoying the teasing, taking it slow until you were crying for it, bringing you right to the edge just for you to stay there until he thought it was time. You can see his mind floating now as he grabs your boob, admiring the way it fills up his palm, his hips slowing down ever so slightly to really enjoy the way you clench around him with each yank of your nipple.

“Sorry baby.” He’s back now, eyes sharpening up as he looks at you again. You can see something brewing in his mind and it fills you with the tingle of nerves, not knowing what he could be thinking. “I’ll be quick.”

Before you have time to think, his hand slides down to scoop around your thigh, hauling up one of your legs, fucking you deeper and laughing when you squeal at the feeling. Your mouth is dropped open as you try to take it all in, hands gripping the counter until your knuckles pale, the curve of his cock hitting just right inside of you.

“Oh fuck, feels so good—you always feel so good.” Your mindless babbles have pride filling his chest, seeing the debauched look on your face reflected back on the mirror. Everything feels hot, the thick air clinging to your skin, leaving you gasping out as he fucks you harder. It has you desperate, leaning back against him, one hand reaching behind you to hold him close despite the position.

“Yeah? You like the way my cock fills you up, pretty girl?” Jungkook huffs out a breath when you tighten around him in response, his arm situating your thigh until your knee catches on the counter. “Keep that there for me baby.”

You can only nod in response, doing your best to do as he asks despite the rocking of his hips. His hand settles onto the countertop on top of yours, interlocking your fingers together as he speeds up. A mewl reaches his ears when his free palm slides up your supported thigh, under your little dress and meets your clit, soaked in your arousal as he rubs tight circles into it.

“Oh fuck, just like that,” you gasp out, your hand clinging onto his bicep, digging tiny half moons into his skin. The muscle in your thigh is starting to ache from the position but the overwhelming pleasure you feel is enough for you to ebb it away.

You can feel the way his arm flexes as he rubs deft circles onto your swollen clit, his harsh breathing hitting your hair, and when you meet his gaze in the mirror it makes your stomach flip.

“You’re so wet,” he groans out, his fingers glide with ease, applying more pressure so they don’t slip around, sending sparks up your spine. “Always so messy for me. Do you really like me that much?” He teases you, trying to act calm and unaffected but you can see the clenching in his jaw, can feel the way his hips stutter slightly as his orgasm creeps up on him.

Jungkook moans out your name when your walls tighten around him, body desperately trying to keep him in as your own high approaches. “I can’t help it, you know I love you.” You sigh it out so beautifully it makes his heart skip a beat. You had both said it before but Jungkook would never get tired of hearing it, would never get tired of saying it back to you, not ashamed to admit that a simple four letter word was enough to nearly send him over the edge.

“I love you more,” he groans out, snapping his hips fluidly, feeling the way you start to tense in his hold as all of it begins to overwhelm you. His eyes are locked onto you, the way your chest hiccups as you gasp out in pleasure, the purple splotch on your neck that he was so proud of, your kiss swollen lips dropped open perfectly, eyes glossed over in ecstasy. You were close, the grip you have on his arm tightening, digging into the dark ink on his skin.

“I gotta feel you cum baby,” he begs, not wanting to cum before you did, already feeling it too close to hold it off any further. His cock throbs inside of you, each torturous glide of his hips making his eyes fall shut, finger continuing to flick along your clit. You’re nodding against him, head falling back, moans getting breathier until your orgasm finally washes over you.

“Fuck fuck, oh my god,” you whine out, brows pinching together as you squeeze your eyes shut, bright white flashes behind your lids as the feeling spreads through your limbs. Jungkook groans as he fucks you through it, your walls milking his cock, feeling you gush around his length until it trickles down your legs.

It’s an absolute mess between your thighs and Jungkook just wants to add to it. His hand finally retreats from your clit when you start to whimper at the overstimulation, his lips peppering kisses onto your shoulder as he lowers your thigh, being as gentle as he could be while pushing you forward. You’re pliant in his grasp, allowing him to bend you over, supporting yourself on the sink while he repositions you enough to be comfortable.

“C’mon Kookie, want you to make me messier,” you coo out, voice sounding dreamy as the afterglow hits you. He can see the soft smile on your lips as you turn your head to look back at him, fully enjoying the sight of your boyfriend falling apart.

“Don’t worry baby, I will.” Both hands grip your hips now, his hips snapping forward with enough force to turn your mind into mush. His eyes fall on the way your ass bounces with each thrust, the smack of your skin sounding like music to his ears. He curses under his breath as the familiar feeling starts to spread, hips losing their grace as he gets desperate, surging forward to get as deep as he could before he finally cums too. A guttural moan of your name fills the room as he shoots into you, painting your walls and making you hum in content at the warmth.

Jungkook fucks into you a few more times, savoring the feeling as he comes down from the high, bending forward to kiss and soothe your skin. His hands glide up your body, gentle touches making goosebumps flare up on your arms. A smile spreads on your face when he interlocks your fingers, gently tugging you back up and wrapping his arms around you.

He looks like a giddy child in the reflection, face smushed against your head, eyes shut with the biggest smile on his lips. You take this moment in just like you do every other moment with him, shutting your eyes and smiling as you let him hold you, storing the memory in your mind in a space made just for him.

Jungkook gives your temple another kiss before slowly pulling out of you, the two of you groaning at the feeling. You wince when you feel the globs of cum already leaking out of you, but before you can move he’s already reaching to the side, grabbing a handful of toilet paper to clean up the mess he made before letting your dress fall back down.

You spin around now, finally seeing him face to face, wrapping your arms around his neck, the sweetest smile on your lips. His hands smooth down the fabric of your dress, fingers fiddling with the material.

“This dress is really pretty by the way. Makes you look like an angel.” He makes it easy to swoon over him, your heart warming in your chest as you take in his casual compliment.

“Thank you baby.” You pucker your lips as you lean up and he wastes no time kissing you back.

“I ruined your lip gloss,” Jungkook murmurs against your lips, pulling back to stare at your bare lips, no longer shiny with your favorite coconut scented gloss. The pink gloss was long gone, no evidence left on his own lips either.

“Yeah, you always do.” You give him another kiss before looking at yourself in the mirror and groaning while your fingers attempt to fix your mess of hair. “Jungkook, we’re supposed to meet your friends in half an hour.”

Jungkook laughs as his hand comes up to gently prod at the small hickey he had mindlessly sucked into your neck. It was a teenage habit he would be taking to his grave. “Oh shit, well you better cover that up or they’re gonna make it the topic of conversation for the night.”

You glare at him through the mirror. This would be the first time you’d be meeting his friends, and if they were really the way he described them to be then you know that Taehyung and Jimin would definitely point your hickey out. The tingle of anxiety starts pooling in your stomach as you make a move to exit the bathroom, needing to fix yourself up as quickly as possible. As you walk you realize you’re still naked from the waist down, only the thin fabric of your dress keeping you decent.

“Oh god. I need my underwear too, I can’t embarrass myself with a hickey and going commando.”

Jungkook beats you to it, bending over to pick up your ruined panties off the floor, looking cocky as he lets them dangle off his finger like a prize. “These are mine.”

Your cheeks burn as you watch with wide eyes, seeing him bring the material close to his face before he’s tucking them into the pocket of his pants. He looks so proud as he pats them, acting like it was nothing as he turns around to open the bathroom door. It’s not like he gets far though, your hand grabbing his arm and yanking him back with a force he had never experienced.

“Jungkook, you freak! You can’t take those with you.” His eyes are huge as he stares at you, slightly impressed at your determined strength and entirely amused at how scandalized you look.

“Says who?” he guffaws, keeping you at arms length when you try to reach for them.

“Says me! I’ll tell your friends you’re a panty thief.”

“Please,” he laughs, loud. “They already know! Already roasted me about it a few weeks back.”

“Wait, is this something you do?”

His face falls briefly, realizing he had just confessed to stealing your underwear. “What?”

That makes you laugh now, no longer trying to reach for your panties, letting your head come to rest against his chest as you giggle. This all made sense now, the realization that a few pairs of your underwear had mysteriously gone missing. You had blamed it on your washing machine eating them, had even asked Jungkook to check it or call someone to repair it before the entirety of your underwear drawer went missing.

Of course it was him.

“You’re so dirty!”

Jungkook reassures you that you look great for the millionth time in the span of twenty minutes, a smile still on his face as you ask him, “Are you sure?”

“Yes baby. Your lipgloss looks perfect and you can’t even tell that I went to town on your neck.” He laughs when you gently swat his stomach, holding the door open for you as you step into the brewery. Jungkook had said it was his group's favorite place to hang out in, a huge space with games and activities for everyone to enjoy, a wide selection of beers and even a few cocktails that he knew you would prefer. He leads the way with his hand in yours, knowing exactly where they would be.

When you approach a corner near the dart wall you spot a group of boys, all standing up with dorky smiles on their faces as they clap obnoxiously loud.

“Oh my god, what are you guys doing?” Jungkook questions, laughing as he gets closer. None of them pay him any attention though, looking right at you as they continue to clap.

“Wow,” a boy with pale blonde hair sighs out, being the first to stop clapping as the rest slowly follow suit. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet the woman who has turned Jungkookie into an absolute fucking simp.”

That makes you laugh now, hand covering up your mouth as you see them all nod along. Jungkook doesn’t even respond, tonguing his cheek as he tries to hide his smile when he steps away from you to allow you to have your moment.

“Really, it’s honest work but I’m happy to do it. You must be Jimin?”

He gasps, smile growing wider on his face as he looks at Jungkook, finally acknowledging him. “Do you talk about me?”

“Yeah, about how fucking annoying you are,” Jungkook scoffs, playfully rolling his eyes as he takes a seat at the edge of the bench, scooting down enough for you to settle in next to him.

Your earlier nerves calm a bit as everyone starts to talk, introducing themselves before it flows into easy conversation. Once the drinks start making their rounds you find yourself joining in, laughing along to old stories they reminisce on, playfully teasing one another in a brotherly way that shows you how deep their friendship actually was.

“Oh no, we need to tell you about that time Jungkook got so high off a pot brownie that he cried at ColorMeMine.” Taehyung can barely say the sentence before he’s cackling as he recalls it, smile wide as can be while he throws his head back.

“No you absolutely fucking don’t!”

“C’mon, we basically already told her! She just needs all the juicy details.” Yoongi adds on to it, a smug smile on his face as he holds up his beer to take a long sip.

“What, the juicy details of them threatening to kick me out?” Jungkook groans, covering his face in embarrassment. It wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t properly read the strength of it and before he knew it he was staring at his half painted plate wondering how the hell he got so high and why the fuck everyone else was so calm about it.

“Well…that, and the video I took of it all,” Jimin whispers out, biting down on his lip as he starts to unlock his phone and scroll through his photo gallery.

That makes Jungkook’s head snap up, wide eyes giving Jimin a look that you know was meant to be threatening but the other boy finds it funny, giggling as he turns to look at you.

“I’ll send it to you later. Keep it for emergencies.”

Jungkook’s mouth drops open in betrayal, eyes floating over to you and seeing the way you smile and nod. “Emergencies?”

“Jungkook, don’t worry about it!” You cackle as you gently cup his cheek, feeling it bulge out as he smiles back, enjoying the way you were getting along with his friends—even if it was at his expense. He didn’t care really, he’d dish out all of his embarrassing stories if it made you laugh as hard as it did today.

“Am I gonna regret introducing you to each other?” he mumbles out, playfully glaring at his friend.

You look over at Jimin too, the same thoughts brewing in your minds as you laugh together. You could only imagine all the ways you and him would gang up on your boyfriend, pushing his buttons in that way he swore he didn’t like while secretly enjoying it.

“Oh, definitely.”

Jungkook can only groan, trying so hard to pretend like this was detrimental, as if the idea of two of his favorite people getting along was the end of the world. But as he stares at you giggling while you watch that god forsaken video, his heart swells, thankful Jimin had given him the pep talk he needed to confess and even more grateful you had decided to hire him off the sketchiest app ever made.

#jungkook smut #new

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movestrongfit · 1 year ago

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#obstacle course equipment #obstacle course training equipment #fitness shade structures #outdoor fitness training equipment #wall mount pull up bars

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 18 days ago

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Blurred Lines 8

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The hotel room is nice. Two beds, a couch and chairs, a bar, a large TV mounted on the wall, balcony, full bath... every amenity you could never afford. You're sure Nick will expect a big thank you. Or at least many.

Joey goes to the bar as you feel along the lapels of Nick's jacket. You forgot you were wearing it. You lower yourself into a clam shell armchair. You sigh as the adrenaline drips from you. She clucks as she nears and puts down two glasses.

"Looks like you need a drink," she sits in the other chair and pops the cork of the mini wine bottle. "Hell, so do I."

You lean your head on your hand as you watch her, "I don't think--"

"Long night," she insists as she pours, nudging a glass closer to you. You lean forward to take it. You pinch the stem and stare into the golden nectar.

"Honey," you begin.

"I'm okay," she assures you. "Mom, it could've been worse. So much worse but..." she pauses to drain half the glass, "you sent in the goon squad." She scoffs as she hunches, leaning her elbows on her thighs, knees wide. "Mom, who the hell do you work for?"

You chew your cheek and sip. You look around the suite which probably costs as much as your rent for one night. You lean back as the tension racks your back.

"CIA, I think. I saw his badge once," you say.

"CIA?" She echoes in awe.

"Plus, they had it stamped all over that work event," you scoff. You look down at the deep vee of the dress and try to pull it closed.

"He took you on a date?" She asks.

You flinch, "no, no," you shake your head and drink again. "He's my boss. And I'm a bit old for that."

"Never too old, mom," she cooes.

"He's too young for me," you counter.

"You know," she sniffs, "dad only ever wanted you to be happy."

"Joey..." you exhale.

"I'm just saying. Seems a bit much for a boss to do. Take you somewhere in that dress, then come to my rescue with his CIA henchmen..." she sucks her teeth. "I stick to women because most men, don't put in that much effort."

You chuckle, "Joey."

"Or they're creeps. Old creeps," she gives an exaggerated shudder. "Oof. Nasty."

You frown, "honey."

"It's over with. I'm moving on," she looks at the glass of wine in her hand. "I gotta find a new placement."

You nod, "Nick said something about that. Maybe he can help."

"I wouldn't want that. It's my problem."

"Sweetheart--"

"Look, I'm so thankful about everything you did. Him too but... I'm an adult."

"I know that, honey," you say.

"So let me figure it out."

You sit back and nod. You know what she means. Ever since your husband died, you can be a bit much.

"Mom," she says gently. "You don't need anyone else to take care of. You need to take care of yourself. For once."

"I do--"

"No, you work yourself to the bone to look after everyone else. When's the last time you took a vacation?"

You feel like a scolded child. The reversal of roles has you off-kilter, more so than the rest of the night. You shrug.

"Right, well, it's been a long day, night, whatever," she yawns behind her hand. "I'm going to crash out. Please try to do the same."

"Yes, Josephine," you answer meekly.

"Oh, don't," she points a finger in your direction.

"Sometimes..." you stand slowly. "You remind me too much of your father."

"Good. He always did keep you sane," she chuckles.

🩵

"Hmm, well, I didn't expect all this." You mutter to yourself as you look at your reflection. You turn amd cringe at the wrinkled dress.

"Still look hot," Joey whistles.

"Hey." You stick your tongue put at her as she passes, "not exactly dressed for the train. Or bus... I haven't heard from Nick."

"Huh? Really? I'm sure you will." She slithers.

"We're not having this conversation again."

"Fine, but denial isn't that deep of a river. You can't hide forever." She laughs and you shake your head.

You go into the bathroom, dejected by the full body view. You tame your hair as best you can and pause to examine the wrinkles around your eyes. Age isn't so bad. Lonelier than you expected.

"Speak of the devil..." Joey appears in the open door and you stand straight. "Looks who's calling."

You turn to her and grab the phone. You arch a brow at her and answer. She always loves to tease you. Nick? He's your boss. And he's as close to her age as yours. Probably.

"Hello?" You say. Joey tilts her head as she leans on the door frame.

"Hey, Nick," you daughter calls out.

You hush her with a wagging finger.

"Hi, ladies." He returns smoothly.

"So," you try to ignore Joey. "I can find my way home--"

"No need, I'm downstairs." He interrupts.

"Downstairs?" You echo.

"Sure. You know. I had some loose ends to tie up so I hung around and got that done. No point driving home in the dark." He drawls. "Figured I'd give you a lift back to town."

"Right, eh..." you rub the back of your neck. "Sure. Makes sense."

"I can take care of myself, mom," Joey trills. "You got... 'work'." She gestures with her fingers. You roll your eyes.

"I'll get myself together," you say. "Won't be lomg at all."

"Take your time, honey." He says.

"Alright. Bye."

You hang up and turn to sneer at Joey. "He's my job-- my boss. It's funny but not that funny."

"Chill, mom. It's a joke. Come on. I just think it's cute. Thinking of you dating... anyone."

"Because it will never happen," you approach her. "Now," you put your hands on her arms. "I have to go home. As much as I'd rather stay but... law school ain't cheap." You pull her into a hug. "I'm so so happy you're safe. So happy." You pull back and look her in the face. "And thank you for calling me. You know you can do that always."

"Yes, mom. Better count on it," she grins.

"Oh, if you don't. You'll hear from me." You pinch her cheek playfully. "Love you, kiddo."

She snorts. "Kiddo? Only dad called me that."

"Well... You've always me my kid. Always will be."

"Alright, mom." She makes a face. "Love you too."

"Oh, don't let me keep you from that lovely girlfriend of yours. Hope you two have fun," you chirp.

"Oh, you too," she counters sharply.

You sigh and shake your head. You squeeze her hand then make yourself let go. You head for the front room of the sweet and grab Nick's jacket off the back of the chair. You'll use it for cover until you're out of the hotel.

You groan as you slip into the heels. Your arches are still aching from the night before. You snatch up your purse and look back one last time. Joey winks and waves.

“You message when you’re back home safe.” You warn.

“Oh, you too. Can’t have you out riding in cars with boys too late.”

You scoff and leave her. You definitely raised her right. You head down the hallway on what feels like a walk of shame. The deja vu to the years you were Joey’s age is almost paralysing.

You stand in the elevator with a family of four. The parents are yawning as the kids can barely keeping from hooting and jumping. You always wondered what it would be like to have more than one but then again, you only wanted what you could handle. Josephine was always enough.

You smile at the mother as she sends you an apologetic look on ground level. You wait for them to go first before you step off. You can’t imagine that you give off the best impression. Slightly disheveled and worn out.

You check your phone as you cross the lobby. As you get to the doors, you slow. Nick’s outside; waiting. He surely got a lot done as you tossed and turned in the hotel room.

Unlike you, he has a fresh set of clothes; dark blue slacks, a lilac button-up. His hair is styled and he hides behind a pair of dark sunglasses. His head tilts as if he's taking in your measure.

“Sir,” you greet him as the automatic doors set your free. He smirks. He must be amused to see you this out of sorts. As his maid, you're typically the one keeping things in order.

“Morning. You look well-rested.” He puts a hand on his hip.

“Oh, very,” you agree dryly and touch the front of the jacket. “Um, sorry about the jacket. You can take it back.”

“Suits you better,” he waves you off.

“I’ll have it drycleaned,” you assure him.

“Not worried about it, honey. Let’s get home first.” He steps back. “Got us a rental.”

You nod and step forward. He turns to walk beside you. He points you toward the silver blue car. A two-seater with an oblong hood. The expensive kind. Ostentatious.

“Here,” he jumps ahead of you. He opens the passenger door. “Got it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fowler.” You duck down and sit.

“What happened to Nick?” He looms above you, his hand on the top of the door.

“Nick,” you correct yourself. “Habit.”

“Mr. Fowler makes me sound old,” he tilts his head.

“Nope, just me,” you chuckle lackadaisically.

He hums and clucks. He gently shuts the door then round the car to the driver’s side. You sit patiently, content enough to laze away the drive home. If he doesn’t mind, you might even close your eyes.

He settles in as the faint scent of his cologne wafts off the jacket. You shift around as he gets the motor humming. You pull down the seat belt and peek over at him. You’re surprised to find him watching you.

“You okay?” You ask.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” He says.

“Oh?”

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m sure you and Joey were up all night catching up.” He sets his sights straight and puts the car in gear. “Be a couple hours.”

“I won’t say I didn’t think of it,” you stifle another yawn.

You shimmy in the seat as he steers round the lot. You stare through the windshield, your eyes rolling with motion of the car. You let your shoulders relax as your eyelids grow heavier.

After all the fear, the adrenaline, the panic, and the uncertainty, you’re completely drained. The night kept you awake in disbelief and anxiety. Now, you’re on your way back to normalcy. When did you become so adverse to change? You thought you learned to deal with that a long time ago.

#Nick fowler #dark nick fowler #dark!nick fowler #nick fowler x reader #blurred lines #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #the 355

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amitiel-truth · 5 months ago

Text

River Maiden Pt. 10

(A/N: I call this one, The Crash-out Saga)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 11,

(Y/N)'s sobs echo through the damp, watery cell in Poseidon's Golden Palace under the Agean Sea, her anguish palpable. She has never felt so alone and hopeless before, trapped in this watery prison where she can barely breathe without feeling suffocated.

She's desperate to be with Telemachus, to feel his embrace and hear his comforting words.

"Why... why can't I be with him?" her voice choked with despair and sorrow.

Poseidon's booming voice interrupts her thoughts, echoing throughout the palace. "Because, my dear," he says mockingly, "you're my leverage. As long as you're here, that pesky mortal won't dare to go against me."

He appears outside her cell, a sinister smile on his face. "And I, oh, am going to enjoy this."

(Y/N) takes a deep breath, steeling herself.

"What do you want now?" (Y/N) asked, glaring at her 'Father'.

Poseidon chuckles, his voice dripping with mockery. "What do I want? Oh, nothing much. Just a little entertainment." He leans against the bars, his gaze fixed on (Y/N). "You see, I quite enjoy watching you suffer. It's oh so satisfying to see you, a daughter of mine, so hopeless and desperate."

His eyes gleam with malice as he continues, "And I love even more how that silly mortal believes he can save you. It's hopelessly romantic, really."

"Haven't I suffered enough?" (Y/N) stood up, walking up to the cell, continuing her glare at him.

"I was born from your sins, forced to grow up in darkness, and watch the only parent I know deteriorate because of you, do you know no mercy? Do you even rest? Do all you think of is implementing suffering for others!?" (Y/N) yells, tired of him.

"Mercy? Rest? Those are foreign concepts to a god like me." Poseidon sneers, undeterred by (Y/N)'s outburst.

"You think I care about your suffering?" he asks with a cruel chuckle. "I am the god of the seas, and I do as I please. Your pain only fuels my power, my dear. It amuses me to see you struggle and despair, knowing that you can do nothing to change your fate."

"You're wrong" (Y/N) challenges.

Poseidon quirks an eyebrow, intrigued by (Y/N) defiance. "Oh really now? And how exactly do you intend to prove me wrong, my darling daughter? You're trapped here, completely at my mercy."

"Because Odysseus once defied you...and won." (Y/N) taunted, a smug grin on her lips.

Poseidon's expression darkened at the mention of Odysseus's name.

"Yes, well, that blasted mortal was lucky," Poseidon grumbles begrudgingly. "But there's no chance Telemachus could pull off the same feat."

"You underestimate him." (Y/N) points out, looking at him blankly.

"Underestimating a mortal?" Poseidon scoffs, his arrogance evident. "I am a god. I am infallible. No mere mortal can stand against me."

"You underestimates a mortal once...do I even need to repeat what happened?" (Y/N) taunted, tilting her head.

Poseidon bristles at (Y/N)'s words, his pride wounded. "Enough!" he bellows, his voice echoing off the cell walls. "You forget your place, girl. I am the god of the seas, and I will not be mocked!"

"I am also a product of you, a vile, selfish man, who knows nothing but take, take and take!! " (Y/N) points out, glaring at him.

Poseidon's gaze hardens as (Y/N) continues to defy him. He hates hearing the truth spoken out loud, especially by his own daughter.

"Watch your tongue, insolent child," he growls, trying to hide the growing frustration in his voice. "You speak of taking? Do you know the power and responsibility that comes with being a god?"

"All I see is your selfishness and brazenness, a brute with no mind." (Y/N) glared at him, insulting him once more.

"How dare you!? I am not a brute," Poseidon seethed, his fury mounting. "I am a god, and I rule the seas. You, on the other hand, are just a mere girl, a mortal with delusions of grandeur!"

"Then forget about me as I forget about you!" (Y/N) screamed, holding onto the bars.

"You cannot forget about me," Poseidon thundered, his voice shaking the entire palace. "You're my daughter, my blood, and I will not let you go so easily!"

(Y/N) heart pounds in her chest as Poseidon's words wash over her, but she refuses to back down. She meets his gaze with a mixture of fear and defiance.

"Then why keep me imprisoned like this?" she asks, her voice cracking slightly.

"Because you are valuable to me, dear one," Poseidon replies, his voice soft and chilling. "You're the key to my revenge on Odysseus. As long as I have you here, that insolent mortal will do whatever I want."

He steps closer to the bars, his eyes narrowed. "And I plan on milking this opportunity for all it's worth."

Commanding the water around him, he made the watery cage around (Y/N) in the likeness of a giant bird cage, rising her up above the open field.

(Y/N)'s heart sinks as she's lifted from the ground, trapped in a water cage that perfectly resembles a birdcage. She feels imprisoned and vulnerable as she's hoisted up into the open field, the weight of her captivity overwhelming.

"What are you doing?" she demands, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

Poseidon's smug smile widens with satisfaction. "Why, my dear, I'm simply making sure you're...comfortable."

He begins to walk away from her water cage, leaving her suspended in the open field.

"Oh, and do try to enjoy the view from up there," he calls over his shoulder, his tone dripping with mockery.

Poseidon gazes up at (Y/N) trapped in her watery birdcage, a satisfied smile on his face.

"Now, stay up there and wait for Your Prince." he sneers. "Let's see how long your precious hero will take to find you."

Hermes flies both Odysseus and Telemachus towards the massive golden palace of Poseidon, its opulent facade standing out against the backdrop of the sea.

"This is it, lads," Hermes says, nodding towards the palace. "Poseidon's lair is in there, told you it won't be that much of a journey, the Lady upstairs made sure if it. Are you ready?"

"Ready as we'll ever be," Odysseus replies, gripping the bag of Brutus Flowers tightly in his hand.

Telemachus simply nods, his expression stoic, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation with Poseidon.

"Then I should get going now, do try not to get yourself killed, she'll gut me for sure, Good luck~." Hermes bid farewell, before disappearing.

Odysseus and Telemachus watch as Hermes vanishes, leaving them standing before the imposing palace.

Odysseus takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "Alright, Telemachus," he says, a hint of determination in his voice. "Let's go get your girl back."

Telemachus nods, his gaze fixed on the palace. "Lead the way, father."

With that, they begin making their way towards the entrance of Poseidon's palace, their hearts pounding with anticipation and a sense of purpose.

Suddenly, they heard cries in the halls of the palace, catching Odysseus and Telemachus's attention. They exchange a glance, both knowing who the crying is coming from.

"That sounds like her..." Telemachus notes, his heart filling with worry and anger.

They followed the sobs, reaching an open courtyard, they stopped in their tracks at the sight of (Y/N) standing next to Poseidon, her face streaked with tears. They watch as Poseidon continues to speak to (Y/), his back to them.

"(Y/N)..." Telemachus whispers, his heart filling with rage at the sight of her tears.

(Y/N) turns around, seeing Telemachus, a bright smile on her lips.

"Telemachus! Your finally here!" (Y/N) cried out with a large smile.

"See Father? I told you he loves me!" (Y/N) proclaims, looking at Poseidon with a smile, confusing Odysseus and Telemachus.

Poseidon hides his irritation at (Y/N)'s outburst, maintaining his composure. He turns to Telemachus with a smirk, playing along with (Y/N) claims.

"Ah, Telemachus," he greets him, feigning a friendly tone. "Welcome. I see you've come to claim your beloved back from me."

"Well, here she is, all yours, I've grown bored of her." Poseidon pushed her towards him, making the (Y/N) run up to him.

"Telemachus! Oh, How much I missed you!" (Y/N) proclaims, holding his hands.

Telemachus's heart leaped at the sight of (Y/N) rushing towards him, but something about the scene felt off. He glanced at Poseidon, who had a smirk on his face, and then back at (Y/N).

"(Y/N)...?" Telemachus asked, his voice filled with a mix of relief and caution as he feels her hands on his.

"What's wrong my love? Don't you miss me?" (Y/N) asked, tilting her head.

Telemachus forces a smile, playing along.

"Of course I missed you, my love," he responds, gripping her hands tighter. "I thought about you every moment we were apart."

As he holds her hands, Telemachus subtly notes the coolness of her skin, a deviation from the usual warmth he remembered.

"Oh, How I missed you, beloved." Y/N) smiled at him, hugging him tightly, too tight.

Telemachus hugged her back, his arms encircling her as she hugged him tight. The coolness of her skin seemed to linger, an unsettling contrast to the warmth he knew her to have.

"It's alright, my love," he murmured, his heart pounding with worry. "I'm here now. I won't let you go."

Suddenly, Telemachus stabbed her back with his dagger, His heart pounded in his chest as the illusion of (Y/N) dissolved into water, dissipating the moment the dagger pierced her body.

He looked up at Poseidon, who had a smirk on his face, clearly pleased with his little ploy. Telemachus clenched his jaw, his grip on his dagger tightening as he realized the extent of the god's trickery.

Odysseus watched with a mix of surprise and confusion. "What just happened?!" he exclaimed.

"It wasn't her, her hands are too cold, and my arms don't fit right around her." Telemachus sheated his dagger, before glaring at Poseidon

Poseidon chuckled darkly, amused by Telemachus's observation.

"Clever boy," he taunted, his gaze cold and calculating. "I see you caught onto my little trick."

Odysseus's eyes widened, his expression turning serious as he realized the implications of what had just occurred. "So, where is she...the real (Y/N)?" he asked.

With the snap of the God's finger, a birdcage made of water began to rise.

Telemachus's gaze followed the ascension of the birdcage, his heart lurching as he heard the sound of (Y/N)'s sobs. Anger welled up within him as he realized she was inside.

"(Y/N)!" he called out, his voice carrying across the courtyard.

(Y/N) looks out of her cage, her breath hitched.

"You came..."

Telemachus's heart ached at the sight of her, caged and helpless.

"Of course I did," he replied, his voice filled with determination. "I would travel to the ends of the earth for you."

Odysseus stepped forward, his gaze fixed on (Y/N) in her watery prison. "We'll get you out of there," he assured her.

"Ah, ah, ah," Poseidon interrupts smugly. "Not so fast, mortals. If you want your little damsel in distress back, you'll have to play by my rules."

Telemachus's knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, his anger flaring.

"Your rules?" he spat out, his voice filled with venom. "What rules? You're nothing but a coward, locking her away up there like some prized prisoner."

"Careful, boy," Poseidon warned, his eyes narrowing. "You might not like the consequences of your words."

Odysseus stepped forward, his voice firm but measured. "We're not here to play games, Poseidon. We came for (Y/N), and we won't leave without her."

"Oh, you won't, will you?" Poseidon chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And what makes you think you have any leverage here? You're both just mortals, insignificant and fragile compared to me."

Telemachus gritted his teeth, his patience wearing thin. "We may be mortals, but we're not powerless," he shot back. "And we won't let you treat (Y/N) like some bargaining chip."

Poseidon's gaze shifted between Telemachus and Odysseus, his smirk faltering momentarily as he faced the two mortals.

"Is this supposed to intimidate me? A mortal with a spear and another with a bow?" he taunted, his tone tinged with amusement.

"Telemachus!" (Y/N) calls out, before throwing something for him to catch.

Telemachus caught a double-ended spear made of her tears, his eyes widening in surprise. He felt the power within the weapon, the will of the waters flowing within it.

"No way..." he whispered, gripping the spear tightly, a sense of determination coursing through him.

"We're not only mortals...we had a bit of help." Odysseus taunted, before using the Brutus Flowers, with its necter and pollen at the tip of his arrows.

With a flick of his wrist, Odysseus launches a Brutus flower-tipped arrow at Poseidon, the pollen swirling through the air towards him

Poseidon's eyes widen as he realizes what Odysseus has done. He tries to dodge, but the pollen envelops him, rendering him vulnerable

Telemachus charges forward, wielding (Y/N)'s double-ended spear. His movements are swift and precise, every strike aimed at exposing a weakness in Poseidon's defense. His heart beats in sync with the rhythm of battle, his focus solely on rescuing (Y/N) from her watery prison.

Despite being weakened by the effects of the Brutus Flower, Poseidon fights back with the full force of his trident. His movements may not be as quick and precise as before, but he compensates with sheer power and experience. Each swing of his trident sends the air rippling around him, creating small waves with every attack.

Telemachus, his heart racing in his chest, dances around each swing, dodging and parrying with his double-ended spear. The battle becomes an intricate dance of blades and tridents, with each strike echoing across the courtyard, the sound of their weapons mingling with their ragged breaths.

While Telemachus distracted Poseidon, Odysseus used it to free (Y/N), seizing the opportunity, grabs an arrow and expertly attaches a length of rope to it. He swiftly fires it with his bow, the arrow soaring towards the top of Egeria's cage and anchoring itself securely. With a steady grip on the rope, Odysseus begins his ascent.

(Y/N) looks at the rope before looking down, seeing Odysseus.

"Sir!." Egeria whisper yells in greeting

Odysseus glances up, his expression filled with determination as he climbs the rope. "Hang on, (Y/N)," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the sounds of the battle below. "We're getting you out of here."

As Odysseus reached her, she managed to slip out of the cage with her power, as he helped her down the rope

(Y/N) clung tightly to Odysseus as they descended the rope, her heart pounding with a mix of relief and anticipation. Once they reached the ground, she turned to him with a mix of gratitude and worry.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice shaky. "But Telemachus..."

The strength of the Brutus Flowers began to wear off, and Poseidon's godly powers started to return. As his strength rejuvenated, Telemachus found himself growing tired and outfought. He tried to hold his ground, but Poseidon's power overwhelmed him, pushing him back.

With the lift of the God's trident, he sent a powerful gust of water down onto Telemachus, as he lays down onto the ground, injured.

"NO!!" (Y/N) and Odysseus yells, as they both ran towards Telemachus's side.

(Y/N) and Odysseus rushed to Telemachus's side, their hearts heavy with worry. Odysseus knelt down beside him, taking in his injuries with a grim expression.

"Telemachus," Odysseus calls out, his voice shaky in near tears. "Can you hear me?"

"No! Nonononononono!" (Y/N) panics, accessing his injuries... it's grave, his abdomen and chest feels soft, his ribs are broken.

"Telemachus, please stay with me, please!" (Y/N) begs, holding his hand, patting his cheek.

Telemachus grunts in pain, his body feeling battered and bruised from the relentless attack.

"I...I'm alright," he croaks, managing a small smile despite the pain. He looks up at (Y/N), the worry in her eyes making his heart ache.

"No, you're not! You're mortally wounded!" (Y/ screams, trying to keep him awake.

Odysseus clenched his jaw, his expression turning grave. The severity of Telemachus's injuries was clear, and time was running out.

"Telemachus, you have to stay with us," Odysseus urged, his voice firm but tinged with desperation. "We can't lose you now."

Telemachus sees the panic and desperation in (Y/N)'s eyes, and he reaches up to gently touch her cheek, trying to offer some reassurance in his fragile state.

"Don't...don't worry about me," he says, his breathing labored. "I...I'll be alright."

(Y/N) looks at him in distraught, he's the one mortally wounded and yet, he is still worried about her well being, making her clench bee teeth.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry I never told you who I truly am, I never told you because... because I thought you wouldn't accept me for who I am, the part of me that I hate, the part of me I rejected all my life." (Y/N) admits, crying heavily as she looks at Telemachus's critical state.

Telemachus gazes up at (Y/N), his eyes filled with love and understanding. He reaches up to wipe away her tears, his touch tender and gentle despite his fading strength.

"My sweet, beautiful (Y/N)," he whispers, his voice weak but steady. "You don't have to apologize. I don't care about who you are or where you come from. I love you for you."

He coughs weakly, pain flooding his body as he tries to speak.

"I...I would never reject you..." he gasps, struggling to speak with every word. "You... you're my world... my heart... my everything."

Tears stream down (Y/N)'s face, her heart breaking at the sight of Telemachus, the man she loves, lying so helpless and vulnerable, whispering his last words to her. She grips his hand tightly, holding onto it like a lifeline.

He slides his hand up to caress her face, his fingers brushing against her skin, wanting to feel her warmth for as long as he can.

"Please...please don't cry," he pleads, his voice growing weaker with each word. "I... I hate seeing you like this..."

Tears stream down (Y/N)'s face as she listens to Telemachus's words. She grasps his hand tightly onto her face, her heart breaking at the sight of him struggling to hold on.

"Please...please don't leave me," she pleads, her voice choked with emotion. "I can't lose you too. I love you so much."

Telemachus weakly continues to touch hee cheek, his hand trembling with effort. His touch is gentle, his fingers tracing the contours of her face, committing the feel of her skin to memory.

"I...I wish I could stay with you... forever," he whispers, his voice barely above a whisper now. "But... I'm so tired..."

(Y/N) sniffles, taking a deep breath, before finally accepting it, knowing that Telemachus will only suffer in pain from holding on for her, she raised one of her hands, stroking his hair.

"Rest now, my Love, I'll see you in the morning" (Y/N) says softly, kissing his lips.

Telemachus's breath hitches slightly, the taste of her kiss bittersweet. He looks into her eyes, his gaze filled with sadness and love.

"Will... will I dream of you?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

(Y/N) looks at him with a bitter sweet smile, trying to give him at least a smile he could remember of her despite her tears.

"Yes, you will, always." (Y/N) reassures, trying to keep it together.

Telemachus manages a weak smile, his body growing increasingly still. He weakly moves his hand, brushing back a strand of (Y/N)'s hair, his touch tender despite his fading strength.

"Good...that's good," he murmurs, his voice fading further.

Odysseus, witnessing the scene unfold before him, feels a mix of sadness and admiration, knowing that Telemachus will die in the arms of his beloved.

"Rest now, My love, I'll see you in the morning, I love you." (Y/N) presses her forehead against his with a smile, despite her tears falling onto his cheek

Telemachus's eyes flutter closed, and a weak smile plays at the corners of his lips as he feels (Y/N) warm touch on his forehead.

"I...I love you..." he whispers, his voice barely audible now.

His hand, still weakly holding onto (Y/N)'s, begins to go slack, his body finally succumbing to the damage and exhaustion.

The silence is heavy, broken only by the sound of (Y/N) stifled sobs and Odysseus' ragged breaths. Telemachus's hand, now slack in her grip, falls limp to his side, his chest no longer rising and falling with each labored breath.

Odysseus stands nearby, his expression a mix of grief and anger. The reality of Telemachus's death is almost too painful to bear, and he clenches his fists, fighting back the urge to shout in rage and frustration.

(Y/N) looks at Odysseus, her eyes so full of tears. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry." (Y/N) begs for forgiveness, as she gently placed Telemachus body onto Odysseus's arms as he sat on his other side.

Odysseus looked at (Y/N) with a mixture of sadness and understanding. He shook his head softly.

"It's...it's not your fault, my dear." Odysseus assures her. "Telemachus's death is a consequence of a battle we had to fight, and he fought bravely for you."

(Y/N) looks at the sight before her, Odysseus, holding his son's body, as she begin to break at the scene, kneeling onto the ground, and screaming in pain, tears endlessly flowing from her eyes.

Odysseus only looks at her, his heart breaking for her loss. He holds Telemachus gently in his arms, his own tears flowing freely grieves with her. The courtyard is filled with the sounds of their shared sorrow, with (Y/N)'s heart-wrenching screams echoing in the air.

Poseidon, now having regained his godly powers, let out a mocking laugh, relishing in the scene before him.

"Ha! Look at you all weeping over the fallen one," he says, his voice full of arrogance and cruelty. "The great Telemachus, defeated by a single blow. What a pity!"

"You really thought you could defeat a god with a mortal's strength?" Poseidon sneers, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. "You were all just playthings to me, nothing more than insects to be squashed under my heel."

He looks down at Telemachus's lifeless body in Odysseus's arms, his taunting tone growing more cruel.

"And now, look at the prize you've lost. How does it feel, hero?"

"Your tears. Your sorrow. They are nothing to me," Poseidon continues his mocking tirade, taking pleasure in Odysseus's grief. "You are all so weak, so powerless. You thought you could defeat me, a god, with your mortal struggles? How naive."

He looks over at (Y/N), now on the ground, her grief too overwhelming for her to hold back.

"And you, hybrid. Do you think your tears will bring him back? You are both pathetic."

Suddenly, the air stills, as (Y/N) sat up from her kneeling, shocking Odysseus at what's happening to her, but Poseidon couldn't see as her back was turned to her, the spear made out of her tears that Telemachus had dropped in his defeat, dissolved, and snaked it's way onto her, slithering on her back to her hair.

Droplets of water began floating around them, as (Y/N) stood up, her once (H/L) (H/C) turned into water in the shape of snakes, similar of that to a Gorgon, as she slowly turned her head towards him, her eyes glowing white, too bright, with endless amounts of tears flowing from her eyes, as the droplets began pelting Poseidon.

"What is this... what are you doing?" Poseidon demands, his voice taking on a hint of panic.

Each hit felt like a rock, completely surrounding him, as it ended (Y/N) was now in front of him, winding back her arm and sending a blast of water in the shape of snakes towards towards him, sending him flying across the courtyard.

Poseidon quickly regains his composure, looking up at (Y/N) with a snarl.

"How...how are you doing this?" he demands, clearly shaken by her newfound powers.

(Y/N) ignores his question, her gaze fixed on him as she continues her approach, each step sending tremors through the ground underneath her. The howling wind sounds like her screams, creating a chilling chorus of anguish and determination.

"What have you become?" Poseidon finally manages to say, his usually mocking tone now tinged with fear.

She couldn't even hear him, all she could hear was...Telemachus.

"I would never, ever let anyone take me away from you"

"You are more precious to me than any Princess or wealth could ever be."

"I'd have stayed in that river with you forever, if I could."

"No one else can have me. I'm all yours."

"My beautiful nymph."

"You're too good for me, love..."

"You are... intoxicating,"

"Please...please don't cry"

"You... you're my world... my heart... my everything."

"I...I would never reject you..."

"Will I see you again?"

"I...I wish I could stay with you... forever"

Imagine being so full of grief and rage, that you force your divine half to take over.

Amidst her anguish, a new title is bestowed onto her.

(Y/N), Mistress of the Waves.

Goddess of the Sea, Earthquakes, Storms and Snakes.

She continues to attack him, every form of water are in the shape of snakes, as if to remind him of his past mistakes, of her mother, Medusa.

Poseidon's fear and disbelief grow as (Y/N) continues her relentless attack, every bit of water shaped like a serpent, tormenting him with the memory of Medusa.

"No...no, this can't be happening," he mutters, struggling to maintain his composure.

Each attack lands with precision, causing Poseidon to stagger back, the pain and fear from his past haunting him once more. (Y/N), fueled by her grief and fury, is a force to be reckoned with, her power growing with each passing moment.

Odysseus struggles to maintain his balance as the wind intensifies, the gusts becoming stronger and more tumultuous. He holds Telemachus tightly in his arms, trying to shield his body from the elements, but the force of nature proves overwhelming.

"(Y/N)..." he calls out, his voice barely heard over the howling wind. "(Y/N), please, you have to stop!"

But (Y/N) didn't listen, or she simply couldn't hear him in her grief, as she continues to attack, in his fear, Poseidon even tried to hit her with his trident, as she caught it with her bare hand, snapping it in two and throwing it to him, making him stumble.

As she throws the broken weapon back at him, the reality of his situation becoming all too clear to him. Poseidon, the mighty god of the seas, is being bested by a woman consumed by grief and rage, her powers beyond anything he could have anticipated.

(Y/N) pants as she glares at him, as behind her she forms a giant snake made out of water, brandishing it's fangs towards him, threatening to attack, an imposing sight that only adds to her already fearsome presence. It glares malevolently at Poseidon, its fangs gleams in a threatening manner, as if ready to strike at a moment's notice.

Poseidon's face goes pale as he stares at the snake, realizing that he's facing a force he can't easily overcome. His fear is evident as he takes a step back.

(Y/N) raises a hand, preparing to send it down onto him, biting her lip so hard that it bled, as she was about to send it down, a familiar embrace stopped her, hugging her gently, with a hand on her cheek, snapping her out of her rage filled state, her pure white eyes returning back to normal, but her hair is still remained made out of water in the form of snakes, gasping as the giant snake made of water drops into nothingness, as she leans onto the familiar, comforting hug.

Hera, the goddess of marriage and queen of the gods, holds (Y/N) tightly in her arms, a mixture of concern and sympathy etched on her face.

"It's alright, child," she whispers gently, brushing a hand through (Y/N)'s hair, which is still in the form of water snakes. "You don't have to do this."

Hera looks over at Poseidon, who stands there, stunned by the sudden turn of events, a mix of fear and confusion visible on his face.

(Y/N) cried out, burying her face onto Hera's shoulder, as she held onto her purple peplus tightly, crying as she screams, and dropping to her knees, with Hera following suit, unable to form any sentence, filled with heartbreak

Hera holds (Y/N) tightly, her own eyes filled with sympathy and compassion. sitting on the ground and continuing to hold her close. The goddess gently strokes (Y/N) hair, her touch soothing and comforting.

"Shh, it's alright," Hera whispers, her voice soft and tender. "Let it all out, my dear."

(Y/N) is inconsolable, to the point Hera has to force her to stop biting her lips so much that it bleeds, as she continues her anguish cries.

(Y/N)'s sobs are heartbreaking, her grief overwhelming and unceasing. Hera, holding her tightly, tries to soothe her, gently chiding her to stop biting her lips.

"You need to stop, my dear," Hera says softly, wiping some of the tears from (Y/N) cheeks. "You're only hurting yourself more."

Despite her attempts, (Y/N)'s anguish only seems to deepen, drowning herself in her heartache and sorrow.

"I...I lost him!" She cried out, burying her face onto Hera's chest, barely being able to keep herself upright.

Her words, filled with despair and heartache, hit Hera hard. The pain in her voice is palpable.

"Shhh, I know, darling. I know it hurts," Hera whispers, holding her close.

Hera gently runs her fingers through (Y/N)'s hair once more, trying to soothe her, but the tears continue to flow, unstoppable in their intensity.

"Please, help me, I'd do anything to give him back to me" (Y/N) begged, gripping onto Hera's shawl

Her pleas pierces through the air, her desperation and pain palpable. Hera's heart aches as she holds her, feeling her anguish.

"My dear, I wish I could bring him back to you," Hera says, her voice trembling as she fights back her own tears. "But even I cannot reverse the hands of fate once death has claimed a soul."

She tightens her embrace, holding (Y/N) close, offering whatever solace she can.

"I'll do anything, please" She begs, holding her hand, unstable.

"I'll give you anything of mine, please, anything but this, anything but him! I can't lose him, I can't lose him like this" (Y/N) begged hysterically.

(Y/N)'s pleading is heart-wrenching, her desperation driving her to make any bargain, surrender anything to reverse the inevitable.

Hera, with tears in her own eyes, tries to console her. "My dear, your pain is understandable, but there are limits to what even I can do. I cannot bring someone back from the dead."

"Please, anything of mine, anything! Just take it! Anything but this, anything but him" (Y/N) begged, burying her face to her Aunt's shoulder.

Hera's heart heavy as she witnesses the extent of her grief. As (Y/N) begs for any solution, even offering any part of herself in exchange for Telemachus's life, a thought springs to mind.

Hera pulls back gently, looking deep into (Y/N)'s tear-filled eyes.

"(Y/N), my child, listen to me. There...there may be a way."

"Please, I'll do anything." (Y/N) begged, looking at her, pleading.

Hera took a deep breath, her expression a mix of hesitation and hope.

"I cannot promise anything," she warned, her voice almost a whisper. "But there is one possibility. You have both mortal and divine blood in you, a unique combination of both worlds."

Hera paused, her eyes never leaving (Y/N)'s face.

"You could...give up your divinity."

(Y/N) looks at her in shock, as Odysseus watches the exchange.

Odysseus stood watching the exchange, his thoughts swirling with worry and disbelief. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

He silently observed, torn between hope and caution. On one hand, he desperately wanted to see Telemachus alive again, to hold his son in his arms and bring him back to life. But the thought of (Y/N) giving up her divinity, her very nature, filled him with dread.

As he watched, his mind was a whirlwind of emotions, contemplating the implications and consequences of such a sacrifice.

"I will also offer you my protection, and being mortal, you will cut your ties with Olympus and Poseidon himself from being his daughter, do you accept the terms, my dear?" Hera asked, shocking Poseidon

As Hera made her proposal, a gasp escaped Poseidon's lips, his eyes widening in disbelief. The thought of (Y/N) renouncing her divine heritage and severing her connection to him was both unexpected and jarring.

"No...no, you can't do this!" Poseidon spluttered, stepping forward in protest. "You can't take her from me, she's my daughter!"

"Take it" (Y/N) quickly answers, making both the Gods look at her in disbelief

"I'd rather live a single mortal life with him than live an eternity without him, please, Auntie...." (Y/N) begs, looking up at her with tearful, pained eyes.

"Take it" (Y/N) begged with her broken voice.

Poseidon's protests go unheard as (Y/N) accepts the offer. He stands there, stunned, watching as his daughter willingly agrees to relinquish her divinity.

Hera glances at Poseidon, a look of determination in her eyes, before turning back to her. "Are you sure, child?" she asks gently, her voice carrying a heavy weight.

"Divinity is something many sought after, are you willing to trade it away for his life?"

"How could I ever continue living...without him who truly makes me feel divine?" (Y/N) asked with a broken smile.

(Y/N)'s words hang heavily in the air, her emotions on full display. Her pain is palpable, the love she holds for Telemachus consuming her very being.

Hera gently places a hand on her shoulder, her touch a mix of sympathy and understanding. "I know, my dear, but you must be certain. Once this deal is made, it cannot be undone."

Hera looks over at Telemachus's body, lying motionless on the ground, and a pained expression crosses her face.

"I understand, Auntie, I'm only saddened that I'll never get to see you again" (Y/N) admits with a frown.

(Y/N)'s words hit Hera like a dagger to the heart, her frown deepening. She looks down at student, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and pride.

"You are a remarkable young woman," Hera says softly, her voice heavy with emotion. "Your compassion and depth of love are admirable."

Hera gently cups (Y/N)'s cheek, her touch tender. "I shall miss you, dear one," she whispers, her voice thick with sorrow.

"Thank you...for everything." (Y/N) smiled at her, grateful for raising her.

Hera smiles sadly as tears fill her eyes. She's both proud of (Y/N)'s strength and saddened by the loss of her divine heritage.

"It was an honor to watch you grow, my dear," Hera whispers, fighting back her tears. "You are a gift to this world, and I shall always cherish our time together."

She holds (Y/N) close, her embrace filled with bittersweet emotions.

"You have a great heart," Hera adds "and it pains me to see it ache like this. But remember this, My Student, and don't forget."

Hera gently lifts (Y/N) chin, meeting her gaze with a mix of sternness and love. "Even as a mortal, you'll retain lessons learned and traits gained from your divinity. Hold onto your strength, your resilience, and above all, your capacity to love."

She brushes a strand of water hair away from her face, her touch gentle yet firm.

As Hera gazes at (Y/N), memories flood her mind. She sees the little girl she once raised, the one she took under her wing, and the woman she has become.

Hera's eyes well up with tears, and a bittersweet smile plays upon her lips. Her heart aches for the loss of their bond, but she is also filled with pride.

Hera takes a deep breath, steadying herself as she prepares to undertake the process of reviving Telemachus. She closes her eyes, her mind focused and resolute. A soft energy emanates from her fingertips, and her voice takes on a incantatory quality.

"Let the threads of life once more become unbroken. Let Telemachus's path be illuminated by the light of the living."

She holds her hands above Telemachus's corpse, channeling her divine power.

As the process ensues, (Y/N) can feel a subtle change within herself. It's as though the threads of her divinity are unraveling, loosening their hold on her being.

Meanwhile, Telemachus's lifeless body responds to Hera's intervention. Color slowly returns to his cheeks, and a faint pulse can be discerned. The process is gradual, but the resurrection is taking effect.

Odysseus, witnessing the scene, observes the changes taking place. He watches as color returns to Telemachus's cheeks and a pulse appears, a sign of life returning to his son's body.

At the same time, Odysseus's attention is drawn to (Y/N). He notices a subtle change in her demeanor, as if something within her is shifting.

(Y/N) noticed Telemachus's slow return, as she runs to him, desperate to see him alright.

"Telemachus! Please wake up!." She begs, as her hair is slowly going back to normal.

Telemachus's eyes slowly flutter open, his consciousness returning. He feels disoriented and weak, but the sound of (Y/N) voice and her touch ground him.

As his vision clears, Telemachus looks up and sees (Y/N)'s face, filled with worry and relief.

"(Y/N)..?" he whispers, his voice hoarse and frail.

As Telemachus gazes up at (Y/N), confusion and awe wash over him. Her hair, made of water in the form of snakes, dances around her head, a striking and unique sight. Yet, despite the Gorgon-like appearance, Telemachus can only focus on one thing - her captivating beauty.

"You...you look astonishing," Telemachus manages to utter, his voice soft and filled with admiration.

(Y/N) looks at him in shock, as Telemachus continues to describe her mesmerizing beauty.

Telemachus's gaze remains fixed on (Y/N), taking in every detail of her appearance. His eyes trace the curves of her face, the way her hair sways around her head like a crown of serpents.

"Your beauty... it's like nothing I've ever seen," he whispers. "The way your hair moves, like a living river... it's mesmerizing."

He reaches up, gently brushing a strand of her snake-like locks away from her face, his touch filled with reverent wonder.

Telemachus chuckles softly as the water snakes surrounding (Y/N) head react to his touch, nipping at his hand playfully. He watches in fascination as they seem to recognize him, their movements becoming more curious.

"They know me," he observes, a hint of amusement in his voice. "They're... they're quite spirited, aren't they?" Telemachus chuckles, looking at (Y/N) with a mix of amusement and fondness. "It's as if they enjoy my touch."

(Y/N) smiled at him as she shook her head, her hair going back to normal as her divinity completely leaves her, pulling him into a hug.

"Welcome back, my beloved." (Y/N) mutters with a large smile.

Telemachus was taken aback by the sudden change in (Y/N)'s hair, returning to its normal state, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it. As she pulls him into a tight embrace, he melts into her arms, relishing the touch he thought he had lost forever.

Hera watches the scene with a small, knowing smile on her face. She can see the tenderness and love between Telemachus and (Y/N), and she feels a sense of satisfaction for having facilitated this reunion.

She watches as Telemachus and (Y/N) embrace each other, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. It's clear that they were destined for each other, and that their bond is stronger than any divine power.

She steps forward, clearing her throat to draw the couple's attention back to her. She waits until Telemachus and (Y/N) breaks apart, their arms still around each other, before speaking.

"Telemachus," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "You have been given a second chance at life, thanks to (Y/N)'s sacrifice."

"What? What did you sacrifice?" Telemachus asked, checking her, counting her fingers and toes

"Telemachus, I gave up my divinity" Telemachus's mind struggles to process the gravity of her sacrifice, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions.

"You... gave up your divinity... for me?" he repeats, unable to believe it. He gazes at her, his eyes wide and teary, trying to understand the enormity of what she had done. "Why?"

"Because," (Y/N) raised a hand, caressing his cheek, "I would rather die, than grow old without you." She professes, pressing her forehead against his

"Because eternity without you...is torture."

Telemachus's heart melts as (Y/N) speaks, her words cutting deep. He can feel the sincerity and the depth of her love radiating from her every word.

He gently cups her face with his hand, his touch tender and full of longing.

"You're a fool, you know that?" he chuckles softly, his voice full of affection. "Risking everything for me..."

She chuckles, tearing up. "I guess, that makes us fools in love." (Y/N) smiled at him, tears streaming from her eyes.

Telemachus can't help but smile at her words. "Fools in love," he repeats, savoring the sound of it.

He gently wipes away the tears streaming from her eyes, his touch gentle and filled with tenderness.

"Well, if we're fools in love, then I'll be a fool with you," Telemachus murmurs, his voice soft and affectionate. "Until the end of time."

(Y/N) pulls him into a kiss through her tears, holding him tightly.

Telemachus melts into the kiss, his heart overflowing with emotion. He wraps his arms around (Y/N), pulling her close, as if trying to erase all the time they had lost.

Their kiss is filled with longing and desperation, a physical manifestation of the love they share. The world around them fades away, leaving only the two of them in a tight embrace, their mouths locked together as if they can't bear to part.

"Alright, break it up, you two, she's not the only one who was crying over you." Odysseus calls out as (Y/N) pulls away with a smile, letting Odysseus hug his son.

Telemachus breaks apart from (Y/N) with a gentle yet reluctant smile, turning to see his Father, Odysseus, standing nearby.

As Odysseus calls out to him, Telemachus feels a surge of emotions. He can see the relief and love in his Father's eyes, and he knows that his return has not gone unnoticed.

Telemachus rises to his feet, meeting Odysseus's embrace with equal force. They hug, tears streaming down both of their faces.

"Father... I'm... I'm sorry for worrying you," Telemachus whispers, his voice choked with emotion.

Odysseus holds Telemachus tightly, a mix of relief and joy on his face. He can feel the weight of his son's body in his arms, his heartbeat reassuring and real.

"You damned fool," Odysseus mutters affectionately, his voice thick with emotion. "You gave me quite a scare, you know that?"

He pulls away from Telemachus, still keeping a firm grip on his shoulders, and looks into his son's eyes.

Telemachus smiles sheepishly, a hint of guilt on his face. "Yeah, I guess I may have overdone it a bit."

Odysseus shakes his head, chuckling softly. "A bit? You were dead, Telemachus. Dead. Do you have any idea what that did to this old man's heart?"

Telemachus's smile falters a bit, realizing the true gravity of his actions. He looks down, shame coloring his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Father," Telemachus says quietly. "I didn't mean to cause you any pain. I was just... desperate, I suppose."

Odysseus regards Telemachus with a mix of empathy and understanding. He knows all too well what it's like to be driven by desperation and love.

"I understand," Odysseus replies, his grip on Telemachus's shoulders softening. "You were willing to do anything for (Y/N), even if it meant risking your life... I get it."

He paused, a nostalgic glint in his eyes.

"In fact, to be honest, I'd probably do the same for your Mother." Odysseus admits

Telemachus's expression softens, realizing that he and his Father are not so different after all. Despite their differences and their clashes, they share the same capacity to love selflessly, to risk it all for the people they hold dear.

"Maybe we're both fools in love then," Telemachus says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Odysseus sighs, a mixture of resignation and affection. "Maybe we are. But love has a strange way of making fools of us all."

He pats Telemachus on the back. "Just try not to do anything that stupid again, will you?"

(Y/N) watched with a smile as the father and son converse, and turns her head back to Hera with a large smile.

"Thank you, Auntie"

Hera looks at (Y/N) with fondness, her gaze lingering on the young woman who was like a daughter to her.

"You're welcome, dear one," Hera replies with a gentle smile.

She reaches out and places a hand on (Y/N) shoulder, their connection evident in the warmth of her touch.

"You know, I never expected to see you sacrifice your divinity for anyone," Hera chuckles light-heartedly

"I have no other use for it other than to see you." (Y/N) smiles at her, before frowning, looking at the Goddess sadly.

"Will I...see you again?" She asked with a hopeful smile.

Hera's expression softens as (Y/N)'s question hangs in the air. She gazes at her with a mixture of fondness and melancholy.

"I wish I could promise you that we'll meet again," Hera says, her voice heavy with a sense of finality. "But the truth is, I cannot. You no longer have divinity running through you, and that puts us on different planes. It means that our paths will diverge, and the chances of us ever meeting again are slim, if not impossible."

(Y/N)'s heart sinks at Hera's words, a sense of loss and sadness washing over her. She had hoped for more time, more moments with the Goddess who had once been like a mother to her.

"I see..." She mutters with a frown, looking down on the ground, before looking up at her again with a sad smile.

"I guess...in another lifetime will do, Auntie?" She asked sadly, tilting her head.

Hera's expression softens, her heart heavy with the weight of (Y/N)'s words. She reaches out and places a gentle hand on her cheek, her touch tender and comforting.

"Yes, my dear. In another lifetime, perhaps. In another lifetime we'll meet again and may your path be a kind one this time."

She smiles bittersweetly, her gaze holding a hint of sadness and hope. "Until then, cherish every moment you have with Telemachus."

She leans onto her hand, smiling "Thank you, for everything, once more." (Y/N) mutters gratefully, before hugging her tightly.

Hera smiles warmly at her, her heart full of affection for the young woman who had grown into a force to be reckoned with as she hugs her back, running her hand through the young woman's hair.

"You're most welcome," Hera says softly. "And remember, even though we may be on different paths now, I will always be proud of you. You've become the kind of woman I always knew you would be."

(Y/N) smiled at Hera, before catching Poseidon's eye, bringing a frown on her lips, who is still slumped onto the ground.

Poseidon looks at (Y/N) with a mixture of anger and hurt in his eyes. He can't believe that she had chosen a mortal over him, a god.

"You chose him," he mutters with a sneer, his voice laced with venom. "A mortal."

"Better than you, a selfish god." (Y/N) answered, frowning at him.

"One who I can never call my Father."

Poseidon's face contorts with anger, his eyes darkening at (Y/N)'s words.

"How dare you," he fumes, his voice booming across the room. "I am a god, the God of the Seas, and you dare to compare me to a mere mortal? You ungrateful child!"

"Ungrateful?" She retorted, her voice filled with anger.

"You're the one who never gave me never gave me anything, I was all alone, even as a child, you never saw me or cared for me, heck you didn't even know my name, The one who found me nearly dying of starvation at the ripe age of 3 was Auntie Hera, but you, still didn't care, and now that I've found my happiness, you intended to destroy it?." (Y/N) sighs, shaking her head.

"Fine, if that makes me ungrateful, then so be it." (Y/N) pulls out her arm bracelet, throwing it to Poseidon.

"This is yours, I don't want anything of yours in my new life."

He catches the bracelet that she throws at him, gripping it tightly in his fist.

Poseidon glares at (Y/N), his expression a mask of anger and bitterness. He feels stung by her words, but also guilty, knowing deep down that she's right.

"You were nothing but a burden to me," Poseidon seethes, his voice filled with venom.

"Then let me be your burden, and forget about me." (Y/N) didn't even bother turning around to face him, as she walked back to Telemachus and Odysseus, Hera gave him a warning glare, before following her.

Poseidon's eyes blaze with fury, a mix of anger and hurt that he can't quite admit. He feels her defiance in his bones, and he can sense the love that she has for Telemachus.

But despite his anger, he knows that he has lost her. He had never treated her as a daughter, and now she had chosen Telemachus over him.

But he can't bring himself to admit his past faults, and instead, he grits his teeth, glaring defiantly at her back as she walks away.

All he could is clench the bracelet tightly in his hand, a memory of another woman flashing through his mind.

As (Y/N) approached Telemachus and Odysseus, she grew nervous looking at the older man. "Sir, I'm so sorry about-"

before she could even say anything, Odysseus pulled her into a hug.

Odysseus wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. He holds her for a moment, his eyes soft and weary.

"Don't apologize," he replies, his voice gruff but gentle. "You've done nothing wrong."

He pulls back and looks at her, a small smile on his face.

"I can see how much you care for my son," he says quietly, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and concern.

(Y/N) hugged him back, "But...I got him killed"

Odysseus sighs, his grip on her tightening slightly.

"Yes, you did," he replies bluntly, his voice firm but softened by a hint of understanding. "But you also saved him. You gave up everything for him."

He pauses, his expression turning thoughtful.

"I have to admit," he admits, looking at her with a small frown. "I had my doubts about you at first."

"I thought you might just be toying with my son's feelings, or using him for your own gain," he continues, his voice tinged with a hint of protective fatherly concern.

"But seeing the lengths you've gone to for him... I can see that you truly love him."

He gently cups her chin, looking into her eyes with a mixture of approval and wariness.

"Just promise me one thing," he implores, his voice serious.

"Treat him right. Don't break his heart."

"I won't, I promise, Sir." (Y/N) tells him seriously.

Odysseus gazes into her eyes, searching for any hint of dishonesty. But he sees nothing but sincerity and love. His expression softens, and he relaxes his grip on her.

"Good," he says gruffly, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction and acceptance. "You better keep that promise, young lady."

Odysseus looks at (Y/N), a warm smile on his face. He can see the love and affection in her eyes as she gazes up at him.

"You know, you don't have to keep calling me 'sir,'" he says gently. "You can call me Father if you'd like."

(Y/N) looks at him in shock, tearing up, before blinking away the tears with a large smile.

"Alright, Father."

Odysseus smiles fondly at (Y/N), his heart swelling with affection for her.

"There's no need for tears, my dear," he says gently, reaching out to pat her on the head. "You're part of the family now."

"Ehem." Hera coughs to let her presence be known

Odysseus and Telemachus quickly kneel before Hera, paying their respects to the Queen of the Gods.

"My Lady Hera," Odysseus greets her with reverence, his head bowed.

"Your Highness," Telemachus echoes, his voice filled with awe in the presence of the divine.

Hera chuckles at their display of respect, amused by their formality.

"Rise, rise," she tells them, her voice warm and amused. "You make me sound like a tyrant, no need for kneeling."

Hera glances at Telemachus, her expression gentle. "Take care of her, Telemachus. She has given up a significant part of herself for you."

Telemachus looks at Hera, a determined expression on his face.

"I will, Your Highness," he replies, his voice filled with conviction. "I will take care of her, and cherish her for the rest of our lives."

Hera nods, satisfied by Telemachus's answer. She can see the determination in his eyes, and she can feel the sincerity in his words. She knows that he truly cares for (Y/N), and that he will do everything in his power to keep her safe and make her happy.

She glances at the two of them again, her smile turning a bit sly. “And don’t keep me waiting too long for grandchildren.”

"Auntie!" (Y/N) exclaims, blushes deeply.

Telemachus's face goes beet red as he glances at his Father, who bursts out laughing.

"It seems the Queen has spoken," Odysseus says, still chuckling. "You had better get busy, Telemachus."

"I forgot, you've been busy." Odysseus corrects, as the two blushes harder

Hera chuckles, finding great amusement in the young couple's shyness.

"Oh, come now," she teases, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "You've been through much together, and yet you still get flustered at the mere mention of grandchildren. It's adorable, really."

Hera chuckles at (Y/N)'s embarrassment, enjoying the young woman's reaction.

"Oh, don't be shy, my dear," she teases. "You two make such a lovely couple, I can't help but look forward to seeing what kind of little ones you'll produce someday."

"Auntie, please," (Y/N) protests weakly, her face still burning red.

Telemachus manages to regain his composure, though his cheeks are still tinted pink. "We'll...keep that in mind, Your Highness," he says, his voice a bit shaky.

Odysseus pats his son on the back, grinning widely. "Don't worry, Telemachus, it's perfectly natural to be a bit flustered when it comes to these things."

He chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. "You'll get used to it in time."

Hera laughs at them, before looking fondly at Telemachus.

"Take good care of her for me, Young Prince."

Telemachus nods, his expression solemn and determined.

"I will, Your Highness," he says firmly. "I promise you that I will take care of her and make her happy, for as long as we both shall live."

Hera's lips curve into a small smile as she watches the scene unfold. Seeing Telemachus and (Y/N) finally together, with Odysseus by their side, warms her heart.

"Hermes," she says, her voice firm and clear. "Take them home, won't you?"

Hermes, the fleet-footed god of messengers and boundaries, nods at Hera's command.

"Of course, milady," he replies, his voice as swift as his wings.

He turns to Telemachus, (Y/N), and Odysseus, a sly grin on his face. "You three ready for a little ride?"

"Cousin!?" (Y/N) exclaims in shock, he was watching them the whole time.

Hermes chuckles at Egeria's surprise. He grins at her and shrugs.

"You didn't think I'd miss all that drama, did you?" he teases her. "Of course I was watching."

"That's right, little cousin," he says with a wink. "I couldn't help but keep an eye on you and your man here."

He looks at Telemachus, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "And you, Telemachus, you're a lucky fellow to have snagged this one."

Telemachus couldn't help but chuckle at the God's words.

He puts his arm around (Y/N)'s waist, pulling her closer to him. "I'm very lucky," he says, looking lovingly at her. "And I have no intention of ever letting her go."

(Y/N)'s blushes heavily, a sheepish smile on her lips.

Hermes grins at (Y/N)'s blushing expression, finding her reaction amusing and endearing. He chuckles to himself before speaking again.

"Ah, young love," he sighs dramatically. "It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?"

He looks at Telemachus and (Y/N) with a cheeky grin. "You two are too sweet. I might just get a toothache from the amount of sugar you're giving off."

"Isn't that right, Old Friend?" Hermes turned to Odysseus

Odysseus chuckled at Hermes' question. He knew the messenger god too well to be offended by his playful tease.

"You're one to talk, Hermes," he retorted with a grin. "Last I heard, you had more than a few admirers of your own."

"But not as sweet as this one, It's making me a bit jealous" Hermes sighs

"But what do you know? You have your Penelope anyway"

Odysseus smiles fondly at the mention of his wife. "Yes, I do have Penelope," he says, his voice filled with love and affection. "She is the light of my life."

He glances at Telemachus and (Y/N), his eyes filled with a mixture of happiness and fatherly pride. "But our Telemachus deserves his own love and happiness as well. I couldn't be happier for him."

"Yeah, yeah, spare me the lovey dovey, time to finally get you all home, especially you, Old Friend" Hermes taps Odysseus's nose

Odysseus chuckles at Hermes' affectionate pat, amused by his friend's playful banter.

"Yes, I am more than ready to go home. I've been away far enough and for too long."

Hermes grins widely, his wings flapping in anticipation.

"Then let's not waste any more time," he says, his voice eager and excited. "Hang on tight, everyone. This is going to be a quick ride!"

He wraps his arms around Telemachus, (Y/N), and Odysseus, holding them close. Then, with a swift and sudden movement, he takes off into the air, soaring towards Odysseus's kingdom.

Hera watches them take off with a fond smile, happy that her dear student had found her happiness.

"Why did you help them?" Until a gruff voice ruins the moment

Hera turns to Poseidon, her expression hardening at the sight of him.

"Why does anyone do anything, Poseidon?" she replies coolly. "Compassion, kindness, a desire to see two people who care deeply for one another reunited. Is that so hard for you to comprehend?"

Poseidon glowers at her, his anger barely contained.

"Compassion? Kindness? Don't make me laugh, Hera," he spits out. "You know very well the trouble that girl caused me. And now you're just letting her and Telemachus prance away happily ever after? It's enough to make a god sick."

Hera turns towards him, frowning at him.

"Did you not notice anything when she was losing control on you earlier?" Hera asked, looking blankly at him

Poseidon's expression flickers with a hint of confusion, but he quickly hides it.

"What are you implying, Hera?" he grumbles, his suspicion clear in his voice.

"She had control over everything you had dominion over, while you didn't." Hera points out

Poseidon's face twists into a scowl at Hera's words. He knows she's right, but he's too stubborn to admit it outright.

"What's your point, Hera?" he growls, his irritation growing. "Are you trying to say she's more powerful than me or something?"

"No, she's not more powerful than you, you lost your dominion over the seas, storms, and earthquakes at her moment of grief." Hera reveals, shocking Poseidon.

"Oh, I'm so proud, she's my student after all." Hera praises herself

Poseidon is stunned into silence for a moment, his mind racing with the implications of what Hera has just told him.

"I...lost control?" he finally manages to sputter out, disbelief and anger mingling in his voice. "How is that even possible? I am Poseidon, the god of the seas and all the power they hold! How could a mortal have taken that away from me, even temporarily?"

"Because, she's your daughter." Hera reminded him, as she walked past him.

"And I know that girl like the back of my hand, with that intense of a grief, it would have been trouble for all of us." Hera sighs, shaking her head.

Poseidon's expression darkens even further at Hera's words. He already knew that Egeria was his daughter, but hearing it said aloud by Hera still stung.

"So you protected her from me because she's your student, huh?" he snarls, his resentment and anger bubbling to the surface. "And because she has the potential to be a threat to everyone, including me?"

"No, not really, I only expected her to be a demi god, with her kind and peaceful nature, only wanting to live for herself, but you just have to push her to the brink of destruction, that's why I had to step in, to remove her divinity and bring back your dominion to you." Hera explains, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You should be thanking me, really."

Poseidon scoffs at Hera's words. He's still angry, but a part of him knows that she's right.

"Thanking you?" he huffs. "Why should I thank you when you only intervened because you were afraid of what my daughter might become?"

"She had the power to destroy the world, Poseidon, that's why." Hera points out with a serious frown

Poseidon's expression darkens even further as he processes Hera's words. The thought of (Y/N)'s power being strong enough to destroy the world is both awe-inspiring and terrifying. He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine. I'll admit that you had a good reason to intervene. But that doesn't make me feel any better about the situation."

"Then I'll just see myself out while you lick your wounds, and do clean up after yourself, we wouldn't want another case the same of my student once more." Hera orders before leaving with a purple mist.

Poseidon watches her leave, a mix of anger and guilt swirling within him. He knows that he played a part in (Y/N)'s grief, but it's a tough pill for him to swallow.

He lets out a deep sigh, his mind filled with conflicting emotions. He can't shake the feeling that he's lost something important, something valuable, and it's not just his broken trident.

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #telemachus #telemachus x reader #epic poseidon #poseidon #medusa retelling #smut

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