#15 dollars a kiss

[tomato-ler]

do u kiss boys!!!!!!!!!!!!

i'm sure yoy'd love to know

[xroub]

GODDAMN IT i fucking forgot to cancel my prime trial 😭

[renthony]

Nimona: a Story of Trans Rights, Queer Solidarity, and the Battle Against Censorship

by Ren Basel renbasel.com

The 2023 film Nimona, released on Netflix after a tumultuous development, is a triumph of queer art. While the basic plot follows a mischievous shapeshifter befriending a knight framed for murder, at its heart Nimona is a tale of queer survival in the face of bigotry and censorship. Though the word “transgender” is never spoken, the film is a deeply political narrative of trans empowerment.

The film is based on a comic of the same name, created by Eisner-winning artist N.D. Stevenson. (1) Originally a webcomic, Nimona stars the disgraced ex-knight Ballister Blackheart and his titular sidekick, teaming up to topple an oppressive regime known as the Institution. The webcomic was compiled into a graphic novel published by Harper Collins on May 12, 2015. (2)

On June 11, 2015, the Hollywood Reporter broke the news Fox Animation had acquired rights to the story. (3) A film adaptation would be directed by Patrick Osborne, written by Marc Haimes, and produced by Adam Stone. Two years later, on February 9, 2017, Osborne confirmed the film was being produced with the Fox-owned studio Blue Sky Animation, and on June 30 of that same year, he claimed the film would be released Valentine’s Day 2020. (4)

Then the Walt Disney Company made a huge mess.

On December 14, 2017, Disney announced the acquisition of Twenty-First Century Fox, Inc. (5) Industry publications began speculating the same day about Blue Sky’s fate, though nothing would be confirmed until after the deal’s completion on March 19, 2019. (6) At first it seemed the studio would continue producing films under Disney’s governance, similar to Disney-owned Pixar Animation. (7)

The fate of the studio—and Nimona’s film adaptation—remained in purgatory for two years. During that time, Patrick Osborne left over reported creative differences, and directorial duties were taken over by Nick Bruno and Troy Quane. (8) Bruno and Quane continued production on the film despite Blue Sky’s uncertain future.

The killing blow came on February 9, 2021. Disney shut down Blue Sky and canceled Nimona, the result of economic hardship caused by COVID-19. (9) Nimona was seventy-five percent completed at the time, set to star Chloë Grace Moretz and Riz Ahmed. (10)

While COVID-19 caused undeniable financial upheaval for the working class, wealthy Americans fared better. (11) Disney itself scraped together enough to pay CEO Bob Iger twenty-one million dollars in 2020 alone. (12) Additionally, demand for animation spiked during the pandemic’s early waves, and Nimona could have been the perfect solution to the studio’s supposed financial woes. (13) Why waste the opportunity to profit from Blue Sky’s hard work?

It didn’t take long for the answer to surface. Speaking anonymously to the press, Blue Sky workers revealed the awful truth: Disney may have killed Nimona for being too queer. The titular character was gender-nonconforming, the leading men were supposed to kiss, and Disney didn’t like it. (14) While Disney may claim COVID-19 as the cause, it is noteworthy that Disney representatives saw footage of two men declaring their love, and not long after, the studio responsible was dead. (15) Further damning evidence came in February of 2024, when the Hollywood Reporter published an article quoting co-director Nick Bruno, who named names: Disney’s chief creative officer at the time, Alan Horn, was adamantly opposed to the film’s “gay stuff.” (16)

Disney didn’t think queer art was worthy of their brand, and it isn’t the first time. “Not fitting the Disney brand” was the justification for canceling Dana Terrace’s 2020 animated series The Owl House, which featured multiple queer characters. (17) Though Terrace was reluctant to assume queerphobia caused the cancellation, Disney’s anti-queer bias has been cited as a hurdle by multiple showrunners, including Terrace herself. (18) The company’s resistance to queer art is a documented phenomenon.

While Nimona’s film cancellation could never take N.D. Stevenson’s comic from the world, it was a sting to lose such a powerful queer narrative on the silver screen. American film has a long history of censoring queerness. The Motion Picture Production Code (commonly called the Hays Code) censored queer stories for decades, including them under the umbrella of “sex perversion.” (19) Though the Code was eventually repealed, systemic bigotry turns even modern queer representation milestones into battles. In 2018, when Rebecca Sugar, creator of the Cartoon Network series Steven Universe, succeeded in portraying the first-ever same-sex marriage proposal in American children’s animation, the network canceled the show in retaliation. (20)

When queer art has to fight so hard just to exist, each loss is a bitter heartbreak. N.D. Stevenson himself expressed sorrow that the world would never see what Nimona’s crew worked so hard to achieve. (21)

Nimona, however, is hard to kill.

While fans mourned, progress continued behind the scenes. Instead of disappearing into the void as a tax write-off, the film was quietly scooped up by Megan Ellison of Annapurna Pictures. (22) Ellison received a call days before Disney’s death blow to Blue Sky, and after looking over storyboard reels, she decided to champion the film. With Ellison’s support, former Blue Sky heads Robert Baird and Andrew Millstein did their damnedest to find Nimona a home. (23)

Good news arrived on April 11, 2022, when N.D. Stevenson made a formal announcement on Twitter (now X): Nimona was gloriously alive, and would release on Netflix in 2023. (24) Netflix confirmed the news in its own press release, where it also provided details about the film’s updated cast and crew, including Eugene Lee Yang as Ambrosius Goldenloin alongside Riz Ahmed’s Ballister Boldheart (changed from the name Blackheart in the comic) and Chloë Grace Moretz as Nimona. (25) The film was no longer in purgatory, and grief over its death became anticipation for its release.

Nimona made her film debut in France, premiering at the Annecy International Animation Film Festival on June 14, 2023 to positive reviews. (26) Netflix released the film to streaming on June 30, finally completing the story’s arduous journey from page to screen. (27)

When the film begins, the audience is introduced to the world through a series of illustrated scrolls, evoking the storybook intros of Disney princess films such as 1959’s Sleeping Beauty. The storybook framing device has been used to parody Disney in the past, perhaps most famously in the 2001 Dreamworks film Shrek. Just as Shrek contains parodies of the Disney brand created by a Disney alumnus, so, too, does Nimona riff on the studio that snubbed it. (28)

Nimona’s storybook intro tells the story of Gloreth, a noble warrior woman clad in gold and white, who defended her people from a terrible monster. After slaying the beast, Gloreth established an order of knights called the Institute (changed from the Institution in the comic) to wall off the city and protect her people.

Right away, the film introduces a Christian dichotomy of good versus evil. Gloreth is presented as a Christlike figure, with the Institute’s knights standing in as her saints. (29) Her name is invoked like the Christian god, with characters uttering phrases such as “oh my Gloreth” and “Gloreth guide you.” The film’s design borrows heavily from Medieval Christian art and architecture, bolstering the metaphor.

Nimona takes place a thousand years after Gloreth’s victory. Following the opening narration, the audience is dropped into a setting combining Medieval aesthetics with futuristic science fiction, creating a sensory delight of neon splashed across knights in shining armor. It’s in this swords-and-cyborgs city that a new knight is set to join the illustrious ranks of Gloreth’s Institute, now under the control of a woman known only as the Director (voiced by Frances Conroy). That new knight is our protagonist, Ballister Boldheart.

The film changes several things from the original. The comic stars Lord Ballister Blackheart, notorious former knight, long after his fall from grace. He has battled the Institution for years, making a name for himself as a supervillain. The film introduces a younger Ballister Boldheart who is still loyal to the Institute, who believes in his dream of becoming a knight and overcomes great odds to prove himself worthy. In the comic, Blackheart’s greatest rival is Sir Ambrosius Goldenloin, with whom he has a messy past. The film shows more of that past, when Goldenloin and Boldheart were young lovers eager to become knights by each other’s side.

There is another notable change: in the comic, Goldenloin is white, and Blackheart is light-skinned. In the film, both characters are men of color—specifically, Boldheart is of Pakistani descent, and Goldenloin is of Korean descent, matching the ethnicity of their respective voice actors. This change adds new themes of institutional racism, colorism, and the “model minority” stereotype. (30)

The lighter-skinned Goldenloin is, as his name suggests, the Institute’s golden boy. He descends from the noble lineage of Gloreth herself, and his face is emblazoned on posters and news screens across the city. He is referred to as “the most anticipated knight of a generation.” In contrast, the darker-skinned Boldheart experiences prejudice and hazing due to his lower-class background. His social status is openly discussed in the news. He is called a “street kid” and “controversial,” despite being the top student in his class. The newscasters make sure everyone knows he was only given the chance to prove himself in the Institute because the queen, a Black woman with established social influence, gave him her personal patronage. Despite this patronage, when the news interviews citizens on the street, public opinion is firmly against Boldheart.

To preserve the comic’s commentary on white privilege, some of Goldenloin’s traits were written into a new, white character created for the film, Sir Thoddeus Sureblade (voiced by Beck Bennett). Sureblade’s vitriol against both Boldheart and Goldenloin allowed Goldenloin to become a more sympathetic character, trapped in the system just as much as Boldheart. (31) This is emphasized at other points in the film when the audience sees Sureblade interact with Goldenloin without Boldheart present, berating the only person of color left in the absence of the darker-skinned man.

The day Boldheart is to be knighted, everything goes wrong. As Queen Valerin (voiced by Lorraine Toussaint) performs the much-anticipated knighting ceremony, a device embedded in Boldheart’s sword explodes, killing her instantly. Though Boldheart is not to blame, he is dubbed an assassin instead of a knight. In an instant, he becomes the most wanted man in the kingdom, and Queen Valerin’s hopes for progress and social equality seem dead with her. Boldheart is gravely injured in the explosion and forced to flee, unable to clear his name.

Enter Nimona.

The audience meets the titular character in the act of vandalizing a poster of Gloreth, only to get distracted by an urgent broadcast on a nearby screen. As she approaches, a bystander yells that she’s a “freak,” in a manner reminiscent of slurs screamed by passing bigots. Nimona has no time for bigots, spraying this one in the face with paint before tuning in to the news.

“Everyone is scared,” declare the newscasters, because queen-killer Ballister Boldheart is on the run. The media paints him as a monster, a filthy commoner who never deserved the chances he was given, and announce that, “never since Gloreth’s monster has anything been so hated.” This characterization pleases Nimona, and she declares him “perfect” before scampering off to find his hiding place.

It takes the span of a title screen for her to track him down, sequestered in a makeshift junkyard shelter. Just before Nimona bursts into the lair, the audience sees Boldheart’s injuries have resulted in the amputation of his arm, and he is building a homemade prosthetic. This is another way he’s been othered from his peers in an instant, forced to adapt to life-changing circumstances with no support. Where he was so recently an aspiring knight with a partner and a dream, he is now homeless, disabled, and isolated.

A wall in the hideout shows a collection of news clippings, suspects, and sticky notes where Boldheart is trying to solve the murder and clear his name. His own photo looks down from the wall, captioned with a damning headline: “He was never one of us—knights reveal shocking details of killer’s past.” It evokes real-world racial bias in crime reporting, where suspects of color are treated as more violent, unstable, and prone to crime than white suspects. A 2021 report by the Equal Justice Initiative and the Global Strategy Group compiled data on this phenomenon, focusing on the stark disparity between coverage of white and Black suspects. (32)

Nimona is not put off by Boldheart’s sinister media reputation. It’s why she tracked him down in the first place. She’s arrived to present her official application as Boldheart’s villain sidekick and help him take down the Institute. Boldheart brushes her off, insisting he isn’t a villain. He has faith in his innocence and in the system, and leaves Nimona behind to clear his name.

When he is immediately arrested, stripped of his prosthetic, and jailed, Nimona doesn’t abandon him. She springs a prison break, and conveys a piece of bitter wisdom to the fallen knight: “[O]nce everyone sees you as a villain, that’s what you are. They only see you one way, no matter how hard you try.”

Nimona and Boldheart are both outcasts, but they are at different stages of processing the pain. Boldheart is deep in the grief of someone who tried to adhere to the demands of a biased system but finally failed. He is the newly cast-out, who gave his entire life to the system but still couldn’t escape dehumanization. His pain is a fresh, raw wound, where Nimona has old scars. She embodies the deep anger of those who have existed on the margins for years. Where Boldheart wants to prove his innocence so he can be re-accepted into the fold, Nimona’s goal is to tear the entire system apart. She finds instant solidarity with Boldheart based solely on their mutual status as outsiders, but Boldheart resists that solidarity because he still craves the system’s familiar structure.

In the comic, Blackheart’s stance is not one of fresh grief, since, just like Nimona, he has been an outsider for some time. Instead, Blackheart’s position is one of slow reform. He believes the system can be changed and improved, while Nimona urges him to demolish it entirely. In both versions, Ballister thinks the system can be fixed by removing specific corrupt influences, where Nimona believes the government is rotten to its foundations and should be dismantled. Despite their ideological differences, Nimona and Ballister ally to survive the Institute’s hostility.

The allyship is an uneasy truce. During the prison break, Nimona reveals that she’s a shapeshifter, able to change into whatever form she pleases. Boldheart reflexively reaches for his sword, horrified that she isn’t human. She is the exact sort of monster he has been taught to fear by the Institute, and it’s only because he needs her help that he overcomes his reflex and sticks with her.

Nimona’s shapeshifting functions as a transgender allegory. The comic’s author, N.D. Stevenson, is transgender, and Nimona’s story developed alongside his own queer journey. (33) The trans themes from the comic are emphasized in the film, with various pride flags included in backgrounds and showcased in the art book. (34) Directors Bruno and Quane described the film as “a story about acceptance. A movie about being seen for who you truly are and a love letter to all those who’ve ever shared that universal feeling of being misunderstood or like an outsider trying to fit in.” (35)

When Boldheart asks Nimona what she is, she responds with only “Nimona.” When he calls her a girl, she retorts that she’s “a lot of things.” When she transforms into another species, she specifies in that moment that she’s “not a girl, I’m a shark.” Later, when she takes the form of a young boy and Boldheart comments on it, saying “now you’re a boy,” her response is, “I am today.” She defies easy categorization, and she likes it that way.

About her shapeshifting, Nimona says “it feels worse if I don’t do it” and “I shapeshift, then I’m free.” When asked what happens if she doesn’t shapeshift, she responds, “I wouldn’t die-die, I just sure wouldn’t be living.” Every time she discusses her transformations, it carries echoes of transgender experience—and, as it happens, Nimona is not N.D. Stevenson’s only shapeshifting transgender character. During his tenure as showrunner for She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (Netflix/Dreamworks, 2018-2020), Stevenson introduced the character Double Trouble. Double Trouble previously existed at the margins of She-Ra lore, but Stevenson’s version was a nonbinary shapeshifter using they/them pronouns. (36) While Nimona uses she/her pronouns throughout both comic and film, just like Double Trouble her gender presentation is as fluid as her physical form.

Boldheart, like many cisgender people reacting to transgender people, is uncomfortable with Nimona. He declares her way of doing things “too much,” and insists they try to be “inconspicuous” and “discreet.” He worries whether others saw her, and, when she is casually in a nonhuman form, he asks if she can “be normal for a second.” He claims to support her, but says it would be “easier if she was a girl” because “other people aren’t as accepting.” His discomfort evokes fumbled allyship by cisgender people, and Nimona emphasizes the allegory by calling Boldheart out for his “small-minded questions.” While the alliance is uneasy, Boldheart continues working with Nimona to clear his name. They are the only allies each other has, and their individual survival is dependent on them working together.

When the duo gain video proof of Boldheart’s innocence, they learn the bomb that killed Queen Valerin was planted by the Director. Threatened by a Black woman using her influence to elevate a poor, queer man of color, the white Director chose to preserve the status quo through violence.

Nimona is eager to get the video on every screen in the city, but Boldheart wants to deal with the issue internally, out of the public eye. He insists “the Institute isn’t the problem, the Director is.” This belief is what also leads the comic’s Blackheart to reject Nimona’s idea that he should crown himself king. He is focused on reforming the existing power structure, neither removing it entirely nor taking it over himself.

Inside the Institute, the Director has been doing her best to set Goldenloin against his former partner. Despite his internal misgivings and fear of betraying someone he loves, Goldenloin does his best to adhere to his prescribed role. As the Director reminds the knights, they are literally born to defend the kingdom, and it’s their sacred duty to do so—especially Goldenloin, who carries Gloreth’s holy blood. This blood connection is repeated throughout the film, and used by the Director to exploit Goldenloin. He’s the Institute’s token minority, put on a gilded pedestal and treated as a symbol instead of a human being.

Goldenloin is a pretty face for propaganda posters, and those posters can be seen throughout the film. They proclaim Gloreth’s majesty, the power of the knights, and remind civilians that the Institute is necessary to “protect our way of life.” A subway PSA urges citizens, “if you see something, slay something,” in a direct parody of the real-world “if you see something, say something” campaign by the United States Department of Homeland Security. (37)

The film is not subtle in its political messaging. When Boldheart attempts to prove his innocence to Goldenloin and the assembled knights, he reaches towards his pocket for a phone. The Director cries that Boldheart has a weapon, and Sureblade opens fire. Though the shot hits the phone and not Boldheart, it carries echoes of real-world police brutality against people of color. Specifically, the use of a phone evokes cases such as the 2018 murder of Stephon Clark, a young Black man who was shot and killed by California police claiming Clark’s cell phone was a firearm. (38) The film does not toy with vague, depoliticized themes of coexistence and tolerance; it is a direct and pointed allegory for contemporary oppression in the United States of America.

Forced to choose between love for Boldheart and loyalty to the Institute, Goldenloin chooses the Institute. He calls for Boldheart’s arrest, and this is the moment Boldheart finally agrees to fight back and raise hell alongside Nimona. When Goldenloin calls Nimona a monster during the ensuing battle, Boldheart doesn’t hesitate to refute it. He expresses his trust in her, and it’s clear he means it. He’s been betrayed by someone he cared about and thought he could depend on, and this puts him in true solidarity with Nimona for the first time.

During the fight, Nimona stops a car from crashing into a small child. She shapeshifts into a young girl to appear less threatening, but it doesn’t work. The child picks up a sword, pointing it at Nimona until an adult pulls them away to hide. When Nimona sees this hatred imprinted in the heart of a child, it horrifies her.

After fleeing to their hideout, Nimona makes a confession to Boldheart: she has suicidal ideations. So many people have directed so much hatred toward her that sometimes she wants to give in and let them kill her. In the real world, a month after the film’s release, a study from the Williams Institute at the UCLA School of Law compiled data about suicidality in American transgender adults. (39) Researchers found that eighty-one percent have thought about suicide, compared to just thirty-five percent of cisgender adults. Forty-two percent have attempted suicide, compared to eleven percent of cisgender adults. Fifty-six percent have engaged in self-harm, compared to twelve percent of cisgender adults.

When Boldheart offers to flee with her and find somewhere safe together, Nimona declares they shouldn’t have to run. She makes the decision every trans person living in a hostile place must make: do I leave and save myself, or do I stay to fight for my community? The year the film was released, the Trans Legislation Tracker reported a record-breaking amount of anti-trans legislation in the United States, with six hundred and two bills introduced throughout twenty-four states. (40) In February 2024, the National Center for Transgender Equality published data on their 2022 U.S. Transgender Survey, revealing that forty-seven percent of respondents thought about moving to another area due to discrimination, with ten percent actually doing so. (41)

Despite the danger, Nimona and Boldheart work diligently against the Institute. When they gain fresh footage proving the Director’s guilt, they don’t hesitate to upload it online, where it garners rapid attention across social and news media. Newscasters begin asking who the real villain is, anti-Institute sentiment builds, and citizens protest in the streets, demanding answers. The power that social media adds to social justice activism is true in the real world as it is in the film, seen in campaigns such as the viral #MeToo hashtag and the Black Lives Matter movement. (42) In 2020, polls conducted by the Pew Research Center showed eight in ten Americans viewed social media platforms as either very or somewhat effective in raising awareness about political and social topics. In the same survey, seventy-seven percent of respondents believed social media is at least somewhat effective in organizing social movements. (43)

In reaction to the media firestorm, the Director issues a statement. She outs Nimona as a shapeshifter, and claims the evidence against the Institute is a hoax. Believing the Director, Goldenloin contacts Boldheart for a rendezvous, sans Nimona. From Goldenloin’s perspective, Boldheart is a good man who has been deceived by the real villain, Nimona. He tells Boldheart about a scroll the Director found, with evidence that Nimona is Gloreth’s original monster, still alive and terrorizing the city. Goldenloin wants to bring Boldheart back into the knighthood and resume their relationship, and though that’s what Boldheart wanted before, his solidarity with Nimona causes him to reject the offer.

Though he leaves Goldenloin behind, Boldheart’s suspicion of Nimona returns. Despite their solidarity, he doesn’t really know her, so he returns home to interrogate her. In the ensuing argument, he reverts to calling her a monster, but only through implication—he won’t say the word. Like a slur, he knows he shouldn’t say it anymore, but that doesn’t keep him from believing it.

Boldheart’s actions prove to Nimona that nowhere is safe. There is no haven. Her community will always turn on her. She flees, and in her ensuing breakdown, the audience learns her backstory. She was alone for an unspecified length of time, never able to fit in until meeting Gloreth as a little girl. Nimona presents herself to Gloreth as another little girl, and Gloreth becomes Nimona’s very first friend. Even when Nimona shapeshifts, Gloreth treats her with kindness and love.

Then the adults of Gloreth’s village see Nimona shapeshift, and the word “monster” is hurled. Torches and pitchforks come out. At the adults’ panic, Gloreth takes up a sword against Nimona, and the cycle of bigotry is transferred to the next generation. The friendship shatters, and Nimona must flee before she can be killed.

After losing Boldheart, seemingly Nimona’s only ally since Gloreth’s betrayal, Nimona’s grief becomes insurmountable. She knows in her heart that nothing will ever change. She’s been hurt too much, by too many, cutting too deeply. To Nimona, the world will only ever bring her pain, so she gives in. She transforms into the giant, ferocious monster everyone has always told her she is, and she begins moving through the city as the Institute opens fire.

When Ballister sees Nimona’s giant, shadowy form, he realizes the horrific pain he caused her. He intuits that Nimona isn’t causing destruction for fun, she’s on a suicide march. She’s given up, and her decision is the result of endless, systemic bigotry and betrayal of trust. Her rampage wouldn’t be happening if she’d been treated with love, support, and care.

Nimona’s previous admission of suicidal ideation repeats in voiceover as she prepares to impale herself on a sword pointed by a massive statue of Gloreth. Her suicide is only prevented because Ballister steps in, calling to her, apologizing, saying he sees her and she isn’t alone. She collapses into his arms, once again in human form, sobbing. Boldheart has finally accepted her truth, and she is safe with him.

But she isn’t safe from the Director.

In a genocidal bid she knows will take out countless civilian lives, the Director orders canons fired on Nimona. Goldenloin tries to stop her, finally standing up against the system, but it’s too late. The Director fires the canons, Nimona throws herself at the blast to protect the civilians, and Nimona falls.

When the dust settles, the Director is deposed and the city rebuilds. Boldheart and Goldenloin reconnect and resume their relationship. The walls around the city come down, reforms take hold in the Institute, and a memorial goes up to honor Nimona, the hero who sacrificed her life to reveal the Director’s corruption.

Nimona, however, is hard to kill.

Nimona originally had a tragic ending, born of N.D. Stevenson’s own depression, but that hopelessness didn’t last forever. (44) Though Nimona is defeated, she doesn’t stay dead. Through the outpouring of love and support N.D. Stevenson received while creating the original webcomic, he gained the community and support he needed to create a more hopeful ending for Nimona’s story—and himself.

The comic’s ending is bittersweet. Nimona can’t truly die, and eventually restores herself. She allows Blackheart to glimpse her, so he knows she survived, but she doesn’t stay. She still doesn’t feel safe, and is assumed to move on somewhere new. Blackheart never sees Nimona again.

The film’s ending is more hopeful. There is a shimmer of pink magic as Nimona announces her survival, and the film ends with Boldheart’s elated exclamation. Even death couldn’t keep her down. She survived Gloreth, and she survived the Director. Though this chapter of the story is over, there is hope on the horizon, and she has allies on her side.

In both incarnations, Nimona is a story of queer survival in a cruel world. The original ending was one of despair, that said there was little hope of true solidarity and allyship. The revised ending said there was hope, but still so far to go. The film’s ending says there is hope, there is solidarity, and there are people who will stand with transgender people until the bitter end—but, more importantly, there are people in the world who want trans people to live, to thrive, and to find joy.

In a world that’s so hostile to transgender people, it’s no wonder a radically trans-positive film had to fight so hard to exist. Unfortunately, the battle must continue. As of June 2024, Netflix hasn’t announced any intent to produce physical copies of the film, meaning it exists solely on streaming and is only accessible via a monthly paid subscription. Should Netflix ever take down its original animation, as HBO Max did in 2022 despite massive backlash, the film could easily become lost media. (45) Though it saved Nimona from Disney, Netflix has its own nasty history of under-marketing and canceling queer programs. (46)

The film’s art book is already gone. The multimedia tome was posted online on October 12, 2023, hosted at ArtofNimona.com. (47) Per the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine, the site became a Netflix redirect at some point between 10:26 PM on March 9, 2024 and 9:35 PM on March 20, 2024. (48) On the archived site, some multimedia elements are non-functional, potentially making them lost media. The art book is not available through any legal source, and though production designer Aidan Sugano desperately wants a physical copy made, there seem to be no such plans. (49)

Perhaps Netflix will eventually release physical copies of both film and art book. Perhaps not. Time will tell. In the meantime, Nimona stands as a triumph of queer media in a queerphobic world. That it exists at all is a miracle, and that its accessibility is so precarious a year after release is a travesty. Contemporary political commentary is woven into every aspect of the film, and it exists thanks to the passion, talent, and bravery of an incredible crew who endured despite blatant corporate queerphobia.

Long live Nimona, and long live the transgender community she represents.

_ This piece was commissioned using the prompt "the Nimona movie."

Updated 6/16/24 to revise an inaccurate statement regarding the original comic.

Like this essay? Tip me on Ko-Fi, pledge to my Patreon, or commission an essay on the topic of your choice!

_

Notes:

1. “Past Recipients 2010s.” n.d. Comic-Con International. Accessed June 10, 2024. https://www.comic-con.org/awards/eisner-awards/past-recipients/past-recipenties-2010s/.

2. Stevenson, ND. 2015. Nimona. New York, NY: Harperteen.

3. Kit, Borys. 2015. “Fox Animation Nabs ‘Nimona’ Adaptation with ‘Feast’ Director (Exclusive).” The Hollywood Reporter. June 11, 2015. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/fox-animation-nabs-nimona-adaptation-801920/.

4. Riley, Jenelle. 2017. “Oscar Winner Patrick Osborne Returns with First-Ever vr Nominee ‘Pearl.’” Variety. February 9, 2017. https://variety.com/2017/film/in-contention/patrick-osborne-returns-to-race-with-first-vr-nominee-pearl-1201983466/; Osborne, Patrick (@PatrickTOsborne). 2017. "Hey world, the NIMONA feature film has a release date! @Gingerhazing February 14th 2020 !!" Twitter/X, June 30, 2017, 3:16 PM. https://x.com/PatrickTOsborne/status/880867591094272000. ‌

5. “The Walt Disney Company to Acquire Twenty-First Century Fox, Inc., after Spinoff of Certain Businesses, for $52.4 Billion in Stock.” 2017. The Walt Disney Company. December 14, 2017. https://thewaltdisneycompany.com/walt-disney-company-acquire-twenty-first-century-fox-inc-spinoff-certain-businesses-52-4-billion-stock-2/.

6. Amidi, Amid. 2017. “Disney Buys Fox for $52.4 Billion: Here Are the Key Points of the Deal.” Cartoon Brew. December 14, 2017. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/business/disney-buys-fox-key-points-deal-155390.html; Giardina, Carolyn. 2017. “Disney Deal Could Redraw Fox’s Animation Business.” The Hollywood Reporter. December 14, 2017. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/general-news/disney-deal-could-redraw-foxs-animation-business-1068040/; Szalai, Georg, and Paul Bond. 2019. “Disney Closes $71.3 Billion Fox Deal, Creating Global Content Powerhouse.” The Hollywood Reporter. March 19, 2019. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/general-news/disney-closes-fox-deal-creating-global-content-powerhouse-1174498/.

7. Hipes, Patrick. 2019. “After Trying Day, Disney Sets Film Leadership Lineup.” Deadline. March 22, 2019. https://deadline.com/2019/03/disney-film-executives-post-merger-team-set-1202580586/.

8. Jones, Rendy. 2023. “‘Nimona’: Netflix’s Remarkable Trans-Rights Animated Movie Is Here.” Rolling Stone. July 3, 2023. https://www.rollingstone.com/tv-movies/tv-movie-features/nimona-netflix-trans-rights-animated-movie-lgbtq-riz-ahmed-chloe-grace-moretz-1234782583/.

9. D’Alessandro, Anthony. 2021. “Disney Closing Blue Sky Studios, Fox’s Once-Dominant Animation House behind ‘Ice Age’ Franchise.” Deadline. February 9, 2021. https://deadline.com/2021/02/blue-sky-studios-closing-disney-ice-age-franchise-animation-1234690310/.

10. “Disney’s Blue Sky Shut down Leaves Nimona Film 75% Completed.” 2021. CBR. February 10, 2021. https://www.cbr.com/nimona-film-abandoned-disney-blue-sky-shut-down/; Sneider, Jeff. 2021. “Exclusive: Disney’s LGBTQ-Themed ‘Nimona’ Would’ve Featured the Voices of Chloë Grace Moretz, Riz Ahmed.” Collider. March 4, 2021. https://collider.com/nimona-movie-cast-cancelled-disney-blue-sky/.

11. Horowitz, Juliana Menasce, Anna Brown, and Rachel Minkin. 2021. “The COVID-19 Pandemic’s Long-Term Financial Impact.” Pew Research Center’s Social & Demographic Trends Project. March 5, 2021. https://www.pewresearch.org/social-trends/2021/03/05/a-year-into-the-pandemic-long-term-financial-impact-weighs-heavily-on-many-americans/.

12. Lang, Brent. 2022. “Disney CEO Bob Iger’s Rich Compensation Package Revealed, Company Says Bob Chapek Fired ‘without Cause.’” Variety. November 21, 2022. https://variety.com/2022/film/finance/bob-iger-compensation-package-salary-bob-chapek-fired-1235439151/.

13. Romano, Nick. 2020. “The Pandemic Animation Boom: How Cartoons Became King in the Time of COVID.” EW.com. November 2, 2020. https://ew.com/movies/animation-boom-coronavirus-pandemic/.

14. Strapagiel, Lauren. 2021. “The Future of Disney’s First Animated Feature Film with Queer Leads, ‘Nimona,’ Is in Doubt.” BuzzFeed News. February 24, 2021. https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/laurenstrapagiel/disney-nimona-movie-lgbtq-characters.

15. Clark, Travis. 2022. “Disney Raised Concerns about a Same-Sex Kiss in the Unreleased Animated Movie ‘Nimona,’ Former Blue Sky Staffers Say.” Business Insider. https://www.businessinsider.com/disney-disapproved-same-sex-kiss-nimona-movie-former-staffers-say-2022-3.

16. Keegan, Rebecca. 2024. “Why Megan Ellison Saved ‘Nimona’: ‘I Needed This Movie.’” The Hollywood Reporter. February 22, 2024. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/megan-ellison-saved-nimona-1235832043/.

17. St. James, Emily. 2023. “Mourning the Loss of the Owl House, TV’s Best Queer Kids Show.” Vanity Fair. April 6, 2023. https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2023/04/loss-of-the-owl-house-tvs-best-queer-kids-show.

18. AntagonistDana. 2021. “AMA (except by ‘Anything’ I Mean These Questions Only).” Reddit. October 5, 2021. https://www.reddit.com/r/TheOwlHouse/comments/q1x1uh/ama_except_by_anything_i_mean_these_questions_only/; de Wit, Alex Dudok. 2020. “Disney Executive Tried to Block Queer Characters in ‘the Owl House,’ Says Creator.” 2020. Cartoon Brew. August 14, 2020. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/disney/disney-executives-tried-to-block-queer-characters-in-the-owl-house-says-creator-195413.html.

19. Doherty, Thomas. 1999. Pre-Code Hollywood : Sex, Immorality, and Insurrection in American Cinema, 1930-1934. New York: Columbia University Press. 363.

20. Henderson, Taylor. 2018. “‘Steven Universe’s’ Latest Episode Just Made LGBTQ History.” Pride. July 5, 2018. https://www.pride.com/stevenuniverse/2018/7/05/steven-universes-latest-episode-just-made-lgbtq-history; McDonnell, Chris. 2020. Steven Universe: End of an Era. New York: Abrams. 102.

21. Stevenson, ND. (@Gingerhazing). 2021. "Sad day. Thanks for the well wishes, and sending so much love to everyone at Blue Sky. Forever grateful for all the care and joy you poured into Nimona." Twitter/X, February 9, 2021, 3:32 PM. https://x.com/Gingerhazing/status/1359238823935283200

22. Jones, Rendy. 2023. “‘Nimona’: Netflix’s Remarkable Trans-Rights Animated Movie Is Here.” Rolling Stone. July 3, 2023. https://www.rollingstone.com/tv-movies/tv-movie-features/nimona-netflix-trans-rights-animated-movie-lgbtq-riz-ahmed-chloe-grace-moretz-1234782583/.

23. Keegan, Rebecca. 2024. “Why Megan Ellison Saved ‘Nimona’: ‘I Needed This Movie.’” The Hollywood Reporter. February 22, 2024. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-news/megan-ellison-saved-nimona-1235832043/.

24. Stevenson, ND. (@Gingerhazing). 2022. "Nimona’s always been a spunky little story that just wouldn’t stop. She’s a fighter...but she’s also got some really awesome people fighting for her. I am excited out of my mind to announce that THE NIMONA MOVIE IS ALIVE...coming at you in 2023 from Annapurna and Netflix." Twitter/X, April 11, 2022, 10:00 AM. https://x.com/Gingerhazing/status/1513517319841935363.

25. “‘Nimona’ Starring Chloë Grace Moretz, Riz Ahmed & Eugene Lee Yang Coming to Netflix in 2023.” About Netflix. April 11, 2022. https://about.netflix.com/en/news/nimona-starring-chloe-grace-moretz-riz-ahmed-and-eugene-lee-yang-coming-to-netflix.

26. “’Nimona’ Rates 100% on Rotten Tomatoes after Annecy Premiere.” Animation Magazine. June 15, 2023. https://www.animationmagazine.net/2023/06/nimona-rates-100-on-rotten-tomatoes-after-annecy-premiere/

27. Dilillo, John. 2023. “’Nimona’: Everything You Need to Know About the New Animated Adventure.” Tudum by Netflix. June 30, 2023. https://www.netflix.com/tudum/articles/nimona-release-date-news-photos

28. Reese, Lori. 2001. “Is ‘“Shrek”’ the Anti- Disney Fairy Tale?” Entertainment Weekly. May 29, 2001. https://ew.com/article/2001/05/29/shrek-anti-disney-fairy-tale/.

29. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 255. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

30. White, Abbey. 2023. “How ‘Nimona’ Explores the Model Minority Stereotype through Its Queer API Love Story.” The Hollywood Reporter. July 1, 2023. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/nimona-eugene-lee-yang-directors-race-love-story-netflix-1235526714/.

31. White, Abbey. 2023. “How ‘Nimona’ Explores the Model Minority Stereotype through Its Queer API Love Story.” The Hollywood Reporter. July 1, 2023. https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/nimona-eugene-lee-yang-directors-race-love-story-netflix-1235526714/.

32. Equal Justice Initiative. 2021. “Report Documents Racial Bias in Coverage of Crime by Media.” Equal Justice Initiative. December 16, 2021. https://eji.org/news/report-documents-racial-bias-in-coverage-of-crime-by-media/.

33. Stevenson, N. D. 2023. “Nimona (the Comic): A Deep Dive.” I’m Fine I’m Fine Just Understand. July 13, 2023. https://www.imfineimfine.com/p/nimona-the-comic-a-deep-dive.

34. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 259-260. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

35. Sugano, Aidan. 2023. Nimona: the Digital Art Book. Netflix. 7. https://web.archive.org/web/20240309222607/https://artofnimona.com/.

36. Brown, Tracy. 2019. “In Netflix’s ‘She-Ra,’ Even Villains Respect Nonbinary Pronouns.” Los Angeles Times. November 6, 2019. https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/tv/story/2019-11-05/netflix-she-ra-princesses-power-nonbinary-double-trouble.

37. Department of Homeland Security. 2019. “If You See Something, Say Something®.” Department of Homeland Security. May 10, 2019. https://www.dhs.gov/see-something-say-something.

38. University of Stanford. n.d. “Stephon Clark.” Say Their Names - Spotlight at Stanford. https://exhibits.stanford.edu/saytheirnames/feature/stephon-clark.

39. Kidd, Jeremy D., Tettamanti, Nicky A., Kaczmarkiewicz, Roma, Corbeil, Thomas E., Dworkin, Jordan D., Jackman, Kasey B., Hughes, Tonda L., Bockting, Walter O., & Meyer, Ilan H. 2023. “Prevalence of Substance Use and Mental Health Problems among Transgender and Cisgender US Adults.” Williams Institute. https://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/publications/transpop-substance-use/.

40. “2023 Anti-Trans Bills: Trans Legislation Tracker.” n.d. Trans Legislation Tracker. https://translegislation.com/bills/2023.

41. James, S.E., Herman, J.L., Durso, L.E., & Heng-Lehtinen, R. 2024. “Early Insights: A Report of the 2022 U.S. Transgender Survey.” National Center for Transgender Equality, Washington, DC.

42. Myers, Catherine. 2023. “Protests in the Age of Social Media.” The Nonviolence Project. February 11, 2023. https://thenonviolenceproject.wisc.edu/2023/02/11/protests-in-the-age-of-social-media/.

43. Auxier, Brooke, and Colleen McClain. 2020. “Americans Think Social Media Can Help Build Movements, but Can Also Be a Distraction.” Pew Research Center. Pew Research Center. September 9, 2020. https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2020/09/09/americans-think-social-media-can-help-build-movements-but-can-also-be-a-distraction/.

44. Stevenson, N. D. 2023. “Nimona (the Comic): A Deep Dive.” I’m Fine I’m Fine Just Understand. July 13, 2023. https://www.imfineimfine.com/p/nimona-the-comic-a-deep-dive.

45. Chapman, Wilson. 2022. “HBO Max to Remove 36 Titles, Including 20 Originals, from Streaming.” Variety. August 18, 2022. https://variety.com/2022/tv/news/hbo-max-originals-removed-1235344286/.

46. Iftikhar, Asyia. 2023. “Netflix CEO Slammed by LGBTQ+ Fans over Cancellation Comments: ‘They Are NOT Allies.’” PinkNews. January 24, 2023. https://www.thepinknews.com/2023/01/24/netflix-ceo-ted-sarandos-cancelled-shows-lgbtq-fans-reactions/.

47. Lang, Jamie. 2023. “Netflix Has Released a 358-Page Multimedia Art of Book for ‘Nimona’ - Exclusive.” Cartoon Brew. October 12, 2023. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/books/nimona-art-of-book-aidan-sugano-netflix-233636.html.

48. “Wayback Machine.” n.d. The Internet Archive. Accessed June 10, 2024. https://wayback-api.archive.org/web/20240000000000.

49. Lang, Jamie. 2023. “Netflix Has Released a 358-Page Multimedia Art of Book for ‘Nimona’ - Exclusive.” Cartoon Brew. October 12, 2023. https://www.cartoonbrew.com/books/nimona-art-of-book-aidan-sugano-netflix-233636.html.

[starkeyisthelastname]

like i said husband dilf!rafe spoils his kids 🤭😅

It was the sound of footsteps prancing in the living room, when your 15 year old daughter came plopping herself on the couch. The big eyes and pout on her lips already telling you both that she wanted something. Rafe titled his head back to meet her, taking a long breath. “What is it princess?” He asked, already knowing his daughter’s I want something face.

“Can I have your credit card information, daddy?” She asked, batting her lashes as she had always been a daddy’s girl and he knew he couldn’t say no to his little girl. Even if she could be a brat sometimes. Rafe let out an exasperated sigh and motioned for her to hand her the phone. The one rule he had for both of his kids was that he had to see what they were purchasing and he was the one who put his card info in.

Taking the glittery phone in hand, his blue eyes ran over the screen to see the extensive online shopping cart filled with items from Sephora. He let out a scoff, reading the total. “You need $400.00 dollars worth of makeup for what?” He asked, looking back up at her. Yeah.. she definitely got your beauty habits that were gonna cause him to go broke.

“It’s not just makeup dad. There’s skin care stuff and I ran out of my favorite perfume and I need a new one.” She said, trying to reason with him. She watched as he rolled his eyes, nodding his head in the direction of the kitchen. “Go get my wallet off the counter.” He said, clicking the checkout button before she added anymore stuff.

The teen happily jumped from her space and into the kitchen where she grabbed the leather wallet Rafe was referring to. Handing it to him, he adjusted his hold onto you and pulled out one of his cards to type the numbers of the black amex onto the phone screen. “There. Now go upstairs and get ready for bed. You got school tomorrow.” He said firmly, already watching the smile spread on her face he handed her back the phone. Hopping up, she came over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks dad! You’re the best! I love you both!” She said, running back towards her room.

“I spoil her way too damn much.” He mumbled, before focusing his attention back on you. “And don’t even get me started on you.” His tone raspy as he reached back underneath the blanket to squeeze your thigh. You hummed, trailing your hand up his t-shirt and ran your expensive manicure across his toned stomach.

“What about me?” You asked, tone playful as you ran your hand further down until it hit the waistband of his sweatpants. You watched as he sucked in a breath, blue eyes staring at you with a look you knew very well. “That you’re fuckin’ spoiled too..” He said, his voice a littler lower as your hand slipped in the boxers he was wearing.

[alexanderpearce]

ship ask game 😁1 Who would be first to to bite down anc consume the flesh of the other, euphoric in the taste and the heft and the slide of the blood 2. who is the ant and who is the ophiocordyceps fungus? 3. who is the dog and who is the master? 4 when the roles are blurred or reversed who would be first to die and how? would it be by bulletwound? the phallic blade? strangulation? 5. Cocaine or Heroin? 6. who licks up the other’s cigarette ash? 7 who is julius caesar and who is brutus? 8. who is jesus and who is judas? 9. did jesus want it? did julius caesar know it was coming? are the betrayed ever proud? 10. who is irrumatus and who is irrumans? who is pedicatus and who is pedicans? 11. did they ever kiss and why not? 12 if they are two sides of the same coin who is heads and who is tails? 13. and if the coin was the holey dollar? 14. And if the dog bit back? 15 and if the dog bit back? 16 and if the dog bit back? 17 and if the dog bit back? 18 and if the dog bit back? 19 and if the dog bit back? 20. Who buys the other flowers?🥰

[johnnycakesb14de]

I don't know if this goes past your rules but can you do like (greaser) x reader when someone in the gang catches y'all like making out?

HOW THEY WOULD REACT TO YOU GUYS GETTING CAUGHT MAKING OUT

DARRY

He would definitely be the more secretive type when it comes to kisses mostly because all of his friends are immature

But I imagine y'all would be in the kitchen alone it's his day off and the boys are out

One thing leads to another and y'all are just being romantic and showing affection by making out

Next thing you know you hear the traditional caught-off-guard-cough-laugh

Darry looks up and sees Dally, Johnny and Ponyboy.

"Y'all enjoying yourselves?"

"Shut the fuck up Dallas."

SODAPOP

He was on break at the DX and you stopped by to see him and bring him food because you wanted to hang out with your boyfriend

Y'all were in the back just hanging out be cuties

Hes flirting with you

You know giving his typical sodapop charm flashing you his million dollar smile

He kisses you a few times and it leads to a make out and y'all are just in the moment not really thinking about muchv

Then Steve walks in

cunt

"Hey so what ar- HELLO? WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Y'all both turn around and you roll your eyes in embarrassment

"Do that on your own time please."

"Shut up Steve."

PONYBOY

Say your older in this maybe like 15-16 because for the first while of y'all dating you wouldn't be allowed in his room alone even with the door open Darrys just crazy like that

Y'all were in his room working on some homework or just hanging out when you totally very sneakily shut the door all the way thinking Darry won't find out because he's cooking

And start kissing

Not even two minutes later Darrys nosy ass barges in

"What did I say about the door kidd- Oh excuse me?!?!"

Y'all create distance from each other staring at him wide eyed

"I swear it isn't w-"

"be quiet Ponyboy. I have these rules for a reason, you guys can come into the living room since you can't be trusted."

"Why?"

"Y/N, don't start."

Johnny

Yall were in the lot because where else would you be

You kissed him a few times and it let to a slight make out nothing crazy

Two-bit came up to tell Johnny that unfortunately Dally had been arrested for some odd reason

And the SECOND he sees you he's instantly teasing y'all

he's trying to tease you but he ends up just making it really uncomfortable

"Lord almighty, what's going on here?! Save room for Jesus, she might get pregnant!" Insert two-bit laugh wheeze

"Cut it out man."

DALLAS

Y'all were at Bucks for some party and it was getting really loud

You were overstimulated, Dally was tipsy and everyone was getting on his nerves so he took you outfront for some fresh air

Dally was being Dally and talking to you and kissing you a few times and it leads to a make out

Then Steve walks out

(I imagine him and Dally are actually pretty good friends)

He starts laughing

"Uhhhh, Dal'! Y'know where Evie is?"

"Why the fuck would I know where your girlfriend is?"

"I dunno, just wonderin'."

He rolled his eyes and dramatically sighed

Steve

You were at work with him trying to help him

Which actually just meant he was yelling at you for certain tools

You were getting bored he was getting frustrated because he couldn't figure out what was wrong with the car so you told him to to take a small break

So he took a break and you both just started talking and he kisses you

After he pulled away you kissed him back

Darry walks in looking for Soda

"Oh, my bad. I was just looking for Soda"

"In the back Darry."

He leaves and you laugh

Two-bit

Y'all were at the drive-in just hanging out

He was bothering people yk just being two-bit

And somehow you both ended up at the drag race that Steve, Soda and Dallas were at

You were leaned up against the hood of his car and he was in front of you and you were making out

Soda comes up and laughs at y'all

"HAHAHA, Steve come look!'

Two-bit looks at him and also starts laughing because hes two-bit

And your just there like 'omfg'

[chenlesfavorite]

NIGHT RIDER, zhong chenle

working night shifts 24/7 at the convenience store while also supporting your boyfriend’s obsession with watching motorcyclists race is not easy, but little did you know that one of the bikers that he loves soon gets involved with you.

══════════════════

— pairing: motorcyclist!chenle x fem!reader

— genres: social media au (smau), written, slowburn, angsty-ish, fluff, strangers to enemies to lovers (except they're not really enemies.. they just can't stand each other)

— extra: y/n is dating jaehyun (from boynextdoor) but they break up, jaehyun is kinda toxic, chenle is a lil shithead, probably inaccurate descriptions of motorcycle racing, y/n and chenle are crackheads when together

— warnings: lots of death jokes, profanity, everything in this story is pure fiction and not an actual depiction of how they act!!

— playlist: Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys | devil in a red dress - EIGHTYEIGHTWAV | eyes don't lie - Isabel LaRosa | HEARTBEAT - Isabel LaRosa | COLD BLOODED - Chris Grey | Rude Boy - Rihanna | OHMAMI - Chase Atlantic, Maggie Lindemann | Te Quiero - KISS OF LIFE

— authors note: my 2nd smau!! this one will be pretty different from got my ion you and hopefully better 🤭 i’m super excited for this one ngl..

— status: finished

— taglist: closed

══════════════════

profiles 1 | profiles 2

1. fuckass job and bf worries

2. 40 dollars?!

3. kicked out (half smau/half written)

4. easy forgiveness

5. victim of bad boyfriendism

6. where’s the apology?

7. a fool in love

8. he’s a sim now!

9. scary stares

10. surprise dinner (fully written)

11. sensing something... ah yes, jaemrina

12. the long awaited breakup

13. living life to the fullest and fuck chenle!

14. or maybe… don’t fuck chenle?

15. bad energy and mewing

16. the witch is coming

17. good job, genius!

18. the race (fully written)

19. nightmare wishes

20. is it the end of the world?

21. apologies are in order… oh and you’re not that bad

22. single and ready to mingle

23. yuta, the rizzler

24. yes, a date is happening!

25. stood up (half smau/half written)

26. we’ll forget about it… right? (half smau/half written)

27. hooked by why don’t we vibes

28. prince sugarplums the 5th

29. she’s not my lovergirl! / he’s not my man!

30. who want backshots?

31. his true feelings (half smau/half written)

32. send help… or maybe don’t?

33. ho is u coo?

34. find her asap

35. king of racing (fully written)

36. nothing more than a bad decision

37. no deep meaning behind it

38. oddly specific lyrics

39. jaemrina sailed!

40. talk to me, please

41. hate you & miss you

42. mission get cheny/n to make up

43. mission accomplished (fully written)

44. our sims are getting married 100%

45. my angel

— end —

══════════════════

[danrifics]

good morning i have slept a total of 2 hours here’s my spoiler breakdown for terrible influence antwerp

they start by playing a text to speech voice who welcomes us and the straight boyfriends and the dads (they’re a bit obsessed with the dads i’ll be real) the voice tells us if we film she’s gonna sue are asses. text to speech lady she is an icon

dnp come out and they’re like yo this is cool it’s the first show, you guys are gonna see what we’ve been up to and then they’re like it’s the first show so we can use you guys to decide if we change anything

they they’re like there’s probably people in the audience who don’t really know us so they do a 15 years of dan and phil lore breakdown with dolls of themselves in little set of iconic dnp locations (made by pj and sophie btw) they put these sets in a table in front of a camera and it shows on the big screen, (for 1 section of this the screen doesn’t work for the first part lol) also phil makes the dolls kiss and they also make the dolls hump the breakfast bar cos of course they do

i can’t remember what happens next or maybe it jumps right into the next thing i mention

they play a game show called role model or no-model which is a madlibs style game where you have to decide if the version of dan and phil the audience creates is a role model or not these are compared to real dnp. we had homophobic furry lawyer dan and linguistics dr phil wo has a thing for hamsters. just an fyi for this dan is really good at hearing what the audience is saying and phil is not at all and im pretty sure he made his up cos he couldn’t understand what we wanted

okay so after this iirc they start talking about the youtube landscape and what they’re gonna do after tour and how to keep people entertained and they go on a little adventure through different genres of youtube like minecraft lets plays, vtubers and then they pretend to be mr beast and pretend to give away a bunch of stuff that they don’t have, they cure us of any mental health issues and they cure us from being gay <3

then they decide to have a boxing match cos obvs that’s what youtubers do, they ask us to cheer for whoever they want to win and it has cool intro to it! i’ll be honest this boxing match goes on for entirely too long like it spans the end of the first half and the start of the second but they have like choreographed fighting and OMFG it’s very gay and like suggestive and they do many times look like they’re gonna have sex 😂 like one of phils moves is to hit dan with his ass while dan is holding him from behind so… yeah. anyway dan thought he won ours and then phil knocked him out with a tv, as he should!! also before they end the first half they’re having an insult match where phils tells dan hes gonna burn his house down only for dan to say they live in the same house and i was dying it was so funny, phil also calls dan a dickhead and this is where he also calls him a cunt and that’s how the first half ends. oh also phil has a fake 6 pack on and that’s the $300 dollar silicone btw

okay second half after dan is dead they have a sincere moment and then they’re like you guys keep telling us you want load of long unedited content and they ask us to tell them a topic to monologue about and someone shouts feet and they rant about feet lmao phil excitedly tells everyone he has a better wiki feet rating than dan

then dan goes on a rant about being discriminated against as a millennial (can’t remember how we got there) and phil gets bored and starts watching subway surfers and i’ll be real honest as a gen z i instantly got distracted by subway surfers and didn’t listen to what dan was saying (that was the point tho) and phil keeps turning up the volume and dan gets mad and he storms off

we have a nice sincere moment with phil but idk what tf it was cos neither did phil 😂

then suddenly a voice, oh here she comes, she asks if we’re ready to confess our sins and out comes sister daniel, everyone fucking loses it, if you heard me screaming so loud no you didn’t.

anyway they read some confessions (phil is father philip) and they read out a few including one from @dnphobe !!! phil has a water gun that he didn’t have when he was meant to and couldn’t find and then found and he was spraying it at people to cleanse them of their sins which is what they meant by people being in the splash zone btw also phil sprayed it at dan it was kinda cute

okay so they say they need to go and get changed and they head off stage and there’s a gag where they leave the microphone on and they’re purposely making it sound sexual and it’s so funny and then dan comes out and phil doesn’t cos he’s struggling with his leather fucking trousers that was a completely unscripted part for sure

then they talk about the hiatus a bit and how dan left us and they keep calling us their family and brb while i cry my eyes out

then they pull out a fucking banger of a song, like i can’t even explain to you how good it is, it has a fully like kpop style dance to it that im gonna fucking learn lmao and dan was so good at it like im not even kidding that man was pulling moves!! phil was doing great too btw but he definitely wasn’t as confident in it as dan was but damn it’s the best song yet imo!!

also i forgot to write the conspiracy bit because i forgot where in the show it is but on one of them they were trying so hard to make us say the opposite one but we were literally forcing tour bus on them and yes they confirmed they shared a bed on that tour bus!! and they played it off like its okay for friends to do that (cos it is) but they way they said it was that thing again where they blur the line a little so we know what they actually mean but still pretend they mean something else

okay some little things i remember that i didn’t write above

- “i can’t imagine my life without you”

- “it’ll be 15 years in december” (if you know you know)

- the absolute silence after they confirmed the bed thing cos none of us were actually expecting it

- dan had to prompt phil a little to remind him what to say next but it was very cute

- they kept looking at each other in *that* way

- phil lied to us about when norman died cos he had norman merch coming out

- sleepless night with phil 3 is fake!!

- they showed *that* video of phil asleep on the tour bus

- there were multiple times where i thought they’re gonna kiss right now???

-phil called dan kinda sexy

- ALL IS FORGIVEN, ANYTHING FROM THE LAST WE MIGHT HAVE DONE IS FORGIVEN THEY LOVE US WE ARE A FAMILY THEY ARE LITERALLY OUR DADS

[jellinuy]

what's on my mind ? going on a date to the arcade with teen!gojo. feeling his soft hand in yours as he drags you along, the patterned carpeted floor beneath your feet as you follow behind him, laughing, "slow down, 'toru, we have all day!" only for it to fall on deaf ears because gojo has always loved the arcade. thinking about the way he challenges you to games he knows you're bad at, his dimples creasing into his cheeks and his eyebrows quirked in satisfaction as he watches you sulk and pout and whine about him being unfair or "cheating" when you inevitably lose. thinking about the way he makes up for teasing you by winning you that plushie you'd been eyeing from the claw machine (even if it took him some frustration and roughly 15 dollars), your mood immediately improved as you follow him around with it in your arms. his arms around your waist and his chin on your shoulder as he whispers, "go, baby!" or, "there y'go," or "attagirl," into your ear as you [try to] focus on a game of your choosing. it's a day for you two, in your own little bubble, just two dumb teenagers in love. the way he smiles? only for you. the way he pouts when you win? only 'cause you look so cute when you beat him, even if you are rubbing it in his face. the way his lashes flutter against his cheeks when he pulls you into a sweet kiss ("your reward for winning," as he put it)? only because it's your lips he's kissing. thinking about the sparkle in his pretty eyes when you win him a keychain as a thanks at the end of it all, and the way you catch the little cat figure dangling from his schoolbag the very next day. ♡

[dqllgarden]

jail? that’s not hot!

ben hargreeves x reader

tags: submissive ben hehe, hand jobs, semi public ig cuz there’s a camera, very short

You sat in a dingy room on a cold metal chair fiddling with your hands waiting for your boyfriend to arrive. You heard the buzz of the door unlock and watched as Ben, in cuffs, was led to the chair across from you. He had guards on either side of him as if he had done some violent, heinous crime.

“15 minutes. Then it’s back to your cell.” One of the guards said as he unlocked his cuffs.

Ben sat down and rubbed his wrists where the handcuffs were before sighing and slumping into his chair. The guards left the room and the door automatically locked shut.

“I’m fucking sick of it here. Those guys are assholes and the food is shit”

“I kinda figured it would be, but that’s what happens when you scam people out of thousands of dollars, Ben.”

“I didn’t scam them, they only went after me because I’m an outsider. They just don’t get it.”

You rolled your eyes and moved your chair to the other side of the table so you could be next to him. “I missed you handsome,” your hand resting on his thigh.

“Babe there’s cameras you can’t-“ He was quickly shut up when your hand palmed his dick. “Never- Fuck. Never mind, just make it quick. God knows how long it’s been, I missed you too.”

You pulled his dick out and started stroking him, smiling at your boyfriend as he sunk further into the uncomfortable metal chair. You were slow with the way you touched him, teasing him despite the months he’d spent without ever having proper sex. Being in jail really does things to a man with a high sex drive. You ran your fingers over his tip and kissed his neck when he whimpered. “Please- Ah- It’s been too long- I can’t-“ You’d place a finger to his lips. “Shhh, let me take care of you.”

You kept up your routine of teasing him and switching back to giving him what me wanted, what he needed before he started to thrust his hips up to take what he wanted from you. “I’m gonna cum” Ben whispered. His movements became sloppier as he shot cum all over your hand. He relaxed back into his chair and quickly tucked himself back into his pants while you wiped his cum off on your shirt. God you’d hope that wouldn’t stain. You ruffled your hands to mess up his hair and pulled him into a kiss before you heard the lock click open.

“Hargreeves? Times up.”

[motherofagony]

FIRE WALK - one shot

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni word count: 6.5k summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.

New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.

That’s what the news says.

August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn. 

It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.

Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.

You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.

There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.

He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.

You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink. 

He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.

And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.

You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.

He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem. 

You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.

If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.

You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.

But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.

And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.

“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”

Yeah fuckin’ right.

He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks. 

You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.

Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.

The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.

You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!

A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck. 

There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.

“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”

“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”

“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.

That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.

“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.

Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.

Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!

You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.

You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.

You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.

But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

So you don’t.

You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that. 

The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.

Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.

Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.

You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.

It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.

When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.

“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”

You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.

His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.

The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.

It irritates you, and you can’t say why.

The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.

“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.

He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”

You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.

“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.

—

Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.

Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.

You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.

Your breath hitches on a soft swear.

When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.

It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water. 

“Um… thanks?”

“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.

“Listen, uh —”

He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.

Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.

You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.

“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”

This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.

“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.

“D’you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”

You smile. Typically, yes.

“Joel.”

His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash. 

And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.

—

You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.

You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.

Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.

Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.

Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.

Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.

You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.  

You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no. 

Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.

You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.

He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.

You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.

He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.

“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.

You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.

It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.

But you’re so tired.

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”

“You got enough time for that?”

And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.

You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.

You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.

He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.

When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.

He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.

You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.

Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.

“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.

There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.

He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.

Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you. 

Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?

Isn’t there a catch?

He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.

His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.

He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.

Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven. 

You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.

“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.

Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.

You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.

You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.

He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.

“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.

You feel that little pull at your navel.

And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.

When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.

It’s fucking filthy.

Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.

Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you. 

There was always a little gold for contorting your body.

He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.

You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it. 

When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control. 

It’s new, different.

But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.

“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”

Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.

“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”

Oh.

He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.

He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.

Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.

He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.

“This alright?”

You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.

“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”

You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.

“Yes. Fuck.”

That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.

He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.

It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove. 

You��re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.

It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.

The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.

Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.

He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.

When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.

At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.

It’s all too much, too pure to be real.

Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.

You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see. 

He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.

You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.

If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.

And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.

—

The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.

Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.

“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.

More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.

You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.

Fuck.

You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.

But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.

Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.

Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.

There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.

The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”

Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.

He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.

Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.

It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.

Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.

“The hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.

He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.

There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.

“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.” 

He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.

A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.

Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.

He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.

You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.

You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.

Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.

You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.

But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.

He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

He tells you to never say sorry to him again.

—

Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.

You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.

You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.

Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.

You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.

He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.

He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.

Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.

There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.

At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.

Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.  

You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.

Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.

Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit. 

The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust. 

Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.

But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you. 

They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.

And they’ll stay through every season.

[ann1eee]

Cracking a really bad, horrible and downright unfunny elaborate joke for Gojo Satoru.

This is it, you thought when Satoru finally got a day off after weeks of work. You had spent the past week perfecting and curating this joke.

You quietly led him into your dark living room, and flipped the TV on. He was so fucking confused, what the hell were you planning? What was going on?

You smirked menacingly as you played the song on your television.

Oh god.

You spent a good 15 minutes perfectly replicating the choreography of Jojo Siwa’s ‘Karma’, even singing the chorus. Gojo Satoru was absolutely dumbfounded as he watched the whole performance, his eyes twitching every now and then and his mouth hanging low.

What the hell was happening.

As you finished your million dollar dance, you flipped the lights back on and smiled at him, trying very, very hard not to burst out laughing at how utterly confused he looked.

He finally opened his mouth to say something, but you interrupted him.

“Gojo Siwa.”

Satoru could not believe his ears.

Was this real life?

He tipped his head back and let out a howl of laughter. This was so unexpected and insane. He doesn’t think he’s ever laughed this hard before. His stomach starts to hurt, his throat feels dry and achy, and there’s tears rolling down his eyes. This reaction prompts a cackle out of you, and you can’t help but crouch down and squeal.

Once you’re both done screaming your heads off with laughter, he inches closer to you and crouches down with you.

“That was the best thing anyone has ever done for me”

You look up at him with a smile, one he returns with a radiant smile of his own.

He cups your face and kisses your lips, shaking his head.

“You’re so ridiculous. I love you”

“I love you too, Jojo”

[ch4nb4ng]

Marital Duties

Pairing: Chan x afab!reader

Word count: 9.4k

Genre: Established relationship, married

Warning: SMUT (18+ only), phone sex, sexting, car sex, mention of boobs, oral sex (f. receving), penetration, swearing, mention of cum, mentions of pussy, kissing, praise

Note: ok i kinda nervous to post this but yas! Here is my inspo (here) (here) (here) warning it’s literally p word.

Tagged: @seo--changbin @j-0ne25 @cb97whoree @kpopsstuffs

Summary: Having a job that meant travelling and spending time away from your husband made the absence grow much fonder for you and your needs, as well as your husbands.

Work conferences were the bane of your existence. Yes you were away from your kid and sometimes it was hard, but being away from your husband was harder. There was no doubt about your job. Being a world renowned forensic psychologist was amazing and something you wanted for a long time. Sometimes though, it was nice to just curl up on the couch, read a good book, watch a comforting movie; there was nothing wrong with indulging in self-care, you just did not have the time to do so. 

The recent promotion into becoming head of the north-west region of mental health care was a big step up from your previous job. No one than you was more qualified for this. Everyone, colleagues and board members put your name up. Psychology was your life, but your family was bigger. 

Highschool sweethearts, you and your husband had been inseparable since what felt like the dawn of time. Meeting at 15, having your first dance at 17 at prom. Graduating and going to college together; If you had a dollar for everytime you accomplished a big milestone with him or because of him, you would be swimming in luxury. When the two of you got married, things just fell into place even more. The doubt of being able to help people mentally after graduating from your post grad made you nervous, but then again, you never thought that you would be married to such a wonderful man. A dream job at your local hospital fell into your lap, and your husband became the nurse that everybody wanted to assist them with their care. Working in close contact with him everyday was just another blessing in disguise; you simply could not get enough of him. It was impossible to get sick of him.

That was when you decided to have your first child. What could be a better mix than the two of you combined? The first 4 years of parenthood came with its challenges. Nevertheless, it was the best decision you ever made, and you couldn’t think of anyone better than to share the unfamiliar journey with.

The promotion, however, meant that you wouldn't work with your husband as much, and spending time with your daughter was a little limited, but you knew he would never tell you to turn something down, and in a way it was the best decision for your marriage. The times together were shorter, but it also meant that every moment was savored tenfold. The time was better quality, the acts of service more thoughtful, and the sex. The sex, was that much more passionate, just like the first time he made love to you. He would always find ways to surprise you. Whether it was the way he grasped, grabbed you on the fibers that lingered to be touched, the way his body pressed upon yours, lips lingering on new places. You were always amazed with how much he could do, and what he was capable of.

These are the ideas that tortured your mind when you were away on business trips. Calling him and hearing his voice, seeing his face through the tiny phone screen was not enough. It didn’t matter how long you had been together, you always craved and missed him significantly.

“Hang on,” he whispered through the phone speaker, “someone wants to say hi to you.”

Your heart beamed with joy every time you saw her little face on the screen. God she looked like her dad, and you knew she'd  grow up to be a beautiful woman.

“Hi mommy,” she giggled, fingers crinkling then uncrkinly as she waved at the camera, “I miss you mommy.”

“Aw baby,” you pouted, “I miss you too. Mommy will be home tomorrow. Now it’s time for you to sleep.”

“Yes,” he cooed, “and daddy is going to read you a bedtime after you say goodnight to mommy.”

Your baby squealed with joy, running out of the frame and to her room. You could do nothing but chuckles, careless that she was that excited over a book of words that she forgot to say goodnight.

“Let me call you back at 15.”

You nodded, pressing the red cross before rolling on your back and looking up at the ceiling, admiring the off white paint color, heart beating out of your chest every second that the callback was not made. It’s not that you were worried he wouldn’t call back, you just felt that longing you always did when you weren’t looking at him.

The vibration on your chest was extra sensitive. You rolled back over, now lying on your front with your hand resting on your chin, other hand holding the phone as you answered. 

“Hey baby.”

“Hiiii,” you whispered, a smile on your face impossible to be rid of.

“She was out like a light.”

“I’m glad.”

“How was your day, baby? I want to hear all about it.”

You giggled as you saw him get up, walking into the bathroom of your house as he placed you against the bench next to the sink. Chan wasn’t shy. He thought it was completely normal to remove his scrubs and leave his upper body bare as he bent down to the bottom drawer, taking out his skincare and placing it on his face. Chan was your husband. You had seen him shirtless 100 more times than you could count. It should not affect you this much. It should not make the temperature of your cheeks rise. It should not cause a sudden sharpness of change in your breath. It should not make your eyes bulge, and it should definitely not send you into a head spin when his biceps flexed when washing his face. Being a clinical psychologist meant having pristine precision and concentration, so if anybody got a hold of this live footage right now, they might question your profession.

“Y/n, Y/n?”

You blinked, quickly snapping your head to get back in the game. It was too late, however, your husband was already smirking at your distraction. You could try and play it off, but the both of you knew that he was too smart to fall for that.

“Sorry babe, I’m a bit distracted.”

“Oh yeah? What’s distracting you?”

“Oh please,” you scoffed, “you know exactly what you are doing.”

“Me?” He gasped, placing a hand on his chest, flexing his opposite bicep, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his obvious attempt to woo you over, the subtle flirt. Sometimes it was easy to resist, but in this case, it was easier to play along, feign innocence until he truly told you what he wanted. The two of you liked to play such games, especially when you were on the road. It was time for you to sit up, placing Chan on the lamp atop of the bedside table before placing yourself on the edge of the hotel bed. The buttons on your shirt were suddenly feeling a little tight. The smirk on your husband’s face grew the moment he saw the first two buttons undone, a sneak peak of your cleavage making its debut for the night. You stopped there, gently pulling down the fabric, stretching the collar of the shirt, consequently putting your chest on full display. 

“Two can play that game Mr. Bang.”

A deep chuckle escaped his lips as he walked over to your shared bedroom, placing his phone in similar fashion to yours before removing his bottoms, your husband now in nothing but his boxers as he laid down, stretching out his legs before lifting you again, wanting the closest view to your fingers continuing to remove one button at a time, a painfully slow movement to your fingertips. Fuck. Now he kind of regretted starting this game with you tonight. A gasp of gratification spilt from Chan’s lips as he watched the satin material that made up your shirt slither off those, in his words, gorgeous shoulders of yours. The black lace bra, the one being your husband’s favorites out of pure coincidence the only garment covering your chest. 

Chan loved every part of you, make no mistake. He would worship every part of your body 24/7 if he could. He simply could never get enough of you, but your chest, your breasts were on a whole different level. Chan loved your boobs. It didn’t matter what the two of you were doing, promiscuous acts or not, if he could have his hands on them, he could. Cuddling, sex, hugs; call him a pervert, but he didn’t care. It was his wife for god sakes. He would feel abnormal if he wasn’t attracted to them. Conveniently for you, this was something you could play to your advantage. Didn’t want to do the dishes? Show him your cleavage. Needed to put your daughter to sleep but you wanted him to do it? Promise him to show your cleavage after he does so. It was a convenient weapon to use, and this was the perfect time to use it. It was fair, seeing as he was using the weapon of his own to try and get you where he wanted.

“Aw come on,” he whined, “you did that on purpose?”

“Did what,” you smiled, fingers gently tracing the lace attached to the strap, “I didn’t do anything.”

Tapping the phone screen, you sighed. It was like, and your flight home was something that required you getting up much earlier that you would ever prefer. You should go to sleep. Hang up on him. You were going to see him tomorrow anyway, surely you could suppress your urges until then. 

But then you saw your husband redirect his palm from the outside of his undergarment, which was obvious to the eye, to the inside, a gentle slap against his skin as it dived past the waist band. Fuck this was cruel now. Not only because you could see his hands subtly tumbling underneath, he drew attention to how hard he already was, and you didn’t know what aroused you more: his probaby pulsating length or the fact that he was as aroused as he was because of you. It didn’t matter how many times it occurred, Chan always had a way of making you feel special. Physically, emotionally, intimately; it was part of his aura, and one of the main reasons that you were so attracted to him in the first place.

“Baby,” you gasped, hands traveling up waist and to your chest, gently kneading the mass in an attempt to match his slow pace that he was palming himself, “you’re so naughty. I have to go to bed.”

“Aw come on baby,” he groaned, head resting atop the headboard, gaze even more piercing at the angle his head was at rest, “I haven’t seen you all week.”

“I know Chan,” you sighed, your next words going to be knowingly disappointing for him, “I have to check out at 3am and it’s already almost 10. You know what I’m like when I don't get my beauty sleep.”

Chan gave you a disapproving pout as he took his hands out of boxers, a shiny ring reappearing from the undergarment as he took the phone with both and lay flat on his back, sinking under the sheets and head gliding onto the pillow. He was humbly accepting defeat, most likely because he would see you tomorrow anyway; that’s when he could have his fun.

“I know baby it’s ok,” he smiled, bringing his face as close as possible to the camera, lips still pouting, “let me give you a kiss goodnight.”

“Thank you baby,” you giggled, also leaning forward to kiss the phone screen simultaneously before whispering a small, “goodnight.”

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, and the adrenaline from your almost raunchy rendezvous over the phone wore off quickly. You weren’t that young anymore. Getting tired was much easier. There was much less energy, especially after getting riled up like that. Even if it was what you saw while you were sleeping in your dreams, and you only have to wait 12 hours to see your beautiful husband in the flesh. 

***

The alarm caused a fright, a deep groaning sound of annoyance bellowing from you, but that quickly wore off. The immediate thought of seeing Chan and your beautiful daughter being the main reason for your sudden change in temperament. Your bags were already packed and you organized your brain knowing that you would be too tired to do it in the morning The smile on your face couldnt dared to be wiped off once you were in the taxi. The cool breeze of the warm summer hitting your face as you pushed the window in the back seat halfway down. Summer was your favorite time of the year, especially since it was the time you got to spend with your family that was of the best quality. All of the aspects of your job you loved, even the times you traveled. However, your heart did sink a little when you had to travel at this time of the year. The school holidays always felt too short, so when you had to travel, the amount was even shorter.

A ding from your phone brought out of your somewhat solemn daze, heat creeping to your cheeks immediately:

[hubby <3] 7:00 am Can’t wait to see you, hope there aren't any delays at the airport.

*one attachment*

Jesus fuck. Now sending a full blown dick pick with your daughter in the car, which you assumed was there, was definitely not the way to go; and thank god your husband knew that. But that did not let him off the hook. It was a photo of him, in the mirror, with his face cut off and only his lips in the frame. He was wearing a black sleeveless tank and those fucking grey tracksuit pants. Call yourself cliche, but nothing turned you on more than that particular piece of clothing. Chan had one hand on the camera, the other hand at the base of his hardened length. He always did this. As mature as Chan was, the times he chose to be inappropriate truly were the most inconvenient for you. A loud gasp escaped your lips, head almost hitting the chair in front as the driver came to a halt.

“Everything okay back there?”

“Uh yes,” your head snapped towards him, nodding furiously as a terrible attempt at acting in the norm, “why did we stop?”

“We are at the airport, miss?”

His tone sounded one of question, kind of looking at you in the rear mirror like you were one of the strangest passengers he had. You looked outside, a ferocious laugh escaping your lips as you decided it was better to say nothing and just pay, get out, and grab your own luggage. The awkwardness left your mind in shambles. How dare he send such a photo. Your husband. It was most likely to get revenge from last night, because he knew you would have to sit on the plane and suffer in silence.

Your luggage was checked in quickly, security easy to get through; there was plenty of time to wait in the boarding lounge. At first you were annoyed by the message. The sexual frustration that had already accumulated from your absence away from him was enough, but if anything, it felt like this was an extra punishment for last night.

But then you opened it again, started analyzing it (if you could call it that) until your finger was subconsciously in your mouth. It didn’t matter how many times you looked at him, your husband, he was always going to do it for you, every single time. The ache that has been coming and going throughout the week returned, and it made you annoyed. So annoyed that you found yourself lifting your butt from your chair, walking to the bathroom and locking yourself in one of the stalls. Gripping the bottom of your shirt, you pulled it down as much as you could without taking it off, mimicking a downward looking angle in an attempt to copy your husband, lips down as the camera clicked, off silent. Fuck. It’s fine. The idea that people may have heard the sounds of you taking a photo in the toilet. You were too fueled with a horny rage to think of the ramifications as you sent your photo, giving in and responding to him.

[Y/N] 8:30am No delays. Make sure you’re there on time.

*one attachment*

Oh, he was gonna hate that. Chan had patience for a lot of things. But short, dry messages were something that made him mad. Serves him for sending you that first. You knew exactly what his reaction would be as well, but at least you could board the plane in peace.

**

It was around 3 hours before the plane arose from one location and landed in another. The plane ride was painful. You tried to do the things you usually would. Create drafts for your patients, read a book, watch a downloaded netflix movie, and just sink into your non-reclining chair and relax; but you simply couldn’t.

The brain rot that was the simple image of your husband’s half naked torso should not be affecting you this much. But that was the problem too. It wasn’t just the picture. That image was the catalyst for the sexual rumination that had been numbing your brain for the past week. The want to get home was even stronger now knowing that you really had something to look forward to.

Of course, to your dismay and longing, the baggage claim took forever, security had a long line, and by the time all of that had been completed, it was, of course, an hour schedule that you told your husband to come and pick you up. The look on his face was sour to say the least. There he was, leaning against the exterior of your shared four wheel drive, drinking his probably now lukewarm coffee. The tingle instantly came back to your core, feeling like a teenage girl again. The scene was just like old times. Chan, waiting around the corner from your house to come and pick you up. The only thing that was different was that it was slightly taller, and had a few more wrinkles. Nonetheless, he looked super hot. Still wearing those grey sweatpants, and a fucking black tank. A fucking blank tank that was probably the tightest fitting pieceing of clothing in his fucking closet. His stance was strong, biceps, triceps, and ¾ of his pecs bulging out in public, and it was truly making your brain dizzy. You walked over quietly, the jarring sound of your suitcase wheels rolling along the parking lot concrete ruining the suspense of your arrival. Chan’s head snapped, eye widening the moment you appeared in his vision. 

“Hi baby, sorry I’m late the customs took for-”

The interruption was welcome as Chan shoved his phone in his pocket, apparently with an empty takeaway coffee cup falling to the floor as he enveloped you into his arms, a groan of admiration falling from his lips as they immediately attached to yours, your body to relaxing against his, eyes fluttering shut at his touch. God, it was only a week. One week, but you craved his touch more than anything in the world. It truly was the little things such as his calloused textures, the warmth of his skin, his smile. Holy fuck his smile was, in your opinion, the greatest thing in the world that ever existed. 

“Mmmh,” you hummed, gently pulling away, hands snaking across your husband’s waist, a smug smile on your lips, “I missed you.”

“Missed you too baby,” he growled, morning raspiness to his tone, “how was your flight?”

The implication of his question made your eyes ogle, the visual image of his text message imprinting on your brain. The smirk that developed on his face formed the expression of realization that hit you. Suddenly his grip on your waist was tighter, and Chan was pulling you in even closer, leaving you to feel everything; yes, everything. 

“It was good,” you giggled, knowing that you had been caught, “what was not good was your behavior since last night.”

“Hmm is that so? I don't see this being a one-sided activity?”

Your right hand left his torso, smacking him on the chest before taking a step back and walking to the car. It was fun to pretend to be annoyed, especially because you knew it would work your husband up even more. Chan hated when you sulked, especially when he playfully called you out. Chan always liked games, and so did you, because you knew that there was always one thing it would lead to. The longer the game went on, the more passionate the ending to this game would be. You walked into the car, peacefully sitting in the passenger seat as you left your husband to take your suitcase and place it in the boot. Serves him right for being a smartass. There was no sound except for the car door once the two of you were inside. The ignition was turned on, and so were you, watching your husband's arm reach over to the shoulder of your car seat, his head turned to look behind him. This was so dumb! You really should not be aroused by this; you’ve seen him do this thousands of times.

“You okay babe?”

You shook your head, snapping yourself out of this lustful daze, “yeah, why?”

“Ok it’s just,” he paused, shifting into drive, then placing his hand on the inside of your thigh, “you’re staring at me like a piece of meat.”

“I am not,” you scoffed, “you wish I was staring at you like that.”

He said nothing, a light chuckle following as the car fell into another silence. A comfortable one at that, well, to an extent. His thumb was gently nudging at your skin, knuckles inching closer to your center. There was something in the air, and the longer it lingered, the harder it was to ignore it. The want. The need to have him. It was impossible. You knew that even if you did get home soon that your daughter was home, and there was no way you were going to traumatize her like that; kids remember everything. If you took too long in the car, your father would get suspicious. He was one to get on your nerves like that, especially if he spent more time than agreed to watching your beautiful child. 

“I got your text message this morning.”

Chan’s eyes were on the road, which forced you to keep yours. Your eyebrows furrowed however, knowing that the street he just turned down was not the right way to your house. Instead, Chan turned the opposite direction, the car coming to an immediate stop at a lookout, but not just any lookout. The lookout east. The two of you came from a small town, meaning there weren't many spots to go; that was until the lookout east was uncovered. Back then it was the talk of the town, the go to hookup spot for many. You have seen it yourself. It had a beautiful view however, and most of the time you and Chan would go just to admire the view, but did not mean that every time would be an innocent one. The two of you had not been in years, and there was a big question mark as to why you were here right now. Chan said nothing, getting out of the car and walking over to your side, opening your own door before opening the back door, crawling in with you following. The two of you got comfortable, that was, until Chan pinned you down to the back seat, lips once again attacking yours as he pressed his horny groin into yours, a deep groan bellowing from your husband's chest. His dominance was easy to comply with, the desperate moan falling from your lips a culmination of feelings from the past 12 hours. This really could have been the horniest you have ever been in your whole entire life, even including the times of excessive sexual hormonal changes during pregnancy. His tongue snaked past your lips, without any slight of permission as his hips fell into a gentle rhythm. Chan moved with such delicacy and poise, yet somehow he was able to convey his ultra high level of arousal. Now you were in big trouble; it was serious business when Chan pinned you down like that. It meant he had serious business to take care of. 

“Chan,” you tried to speak, his lips interrupting each word, “what, are you doing?”

He pulled away, sitting up. Chan said nothing, eyes fixated on your chest as he grasped your wrist to pull you up, your body clumsily falling into him as you fixed your balance. Chan was quick to attack your lips again, hands making light work as they gripped onto the edge of your shirt. Your arms lifted unconsciously, allowing the kiss to break as he took off your shirt, your upper body in nothing but your undergarments. Your husband was like a kid in a candy store the moment he saw the slightest bit of cleavage. Chan’s arms wrapped around your back as he effortlessly unclasped the unwanted fabric, lips immediately attaching to your left nipple. A gracious moan fell from your lips, a hand tickling the back of the hair at the base of his skull, keeping a guidance. At first this tongue was small, gentle. A few kitty licks right in the center. Although it was minimal touch, you were one to have more sensitive nipples, so the feeling was already heaven enough. It wasn’t until his entire mouth was attached, a parietal noise of vacuum escaping his lips each time your tit went in and out of his mouth. 

“Mmmmm,” you hummed, back arching slightly at the subtle texture of his teeth, “you’re like fuckin newborn.”

“Mhh can’t help it,” he huffed, out of breath, hand replacing his lips for a brief moment, “makes me want to have another kid.”

Chan gave you no time to reply, lips resuming their position, but now on the opposite nipple. His fingers never stopped moving, either on your shoulder, running up and down your arms, but mainly on your breasts, doing whatever he can to feel you. Each squeeze of the mound brought a whine to your throat. His statement ran through your mind and just stayed there. Having another kid was not really something the two of you had ever spoken about. It wasn’t that it was off the table, no. It truly was just something that had not come up in conversation. You could understand why he wanted to have one, and in this moment especially, it had nothing to do with having an actual child. 

It is true that when you met your husband, your body shape resembled more of a P, but when you were pregnant with your daughter, Chan was on another planet. Any chance he got, his hands were on them. Call him twisted, but he loved how much bigger and softer they got when you were deep into pregnancy.

When you came back out of thought, and the major distraction of your husband's lips on your body, you pushed him away gently. You followed the sort of harsh motion with a gentle peck to his lips, arm wrapping around his neck as you smiled at him in disbelief. The last chance the two of you, well more him, had been so reckless like this was so long ago you would not even be able to recall. This didn’t mean you hated it though, if anything, it satisfied that little part of your adolescence that lingered. The adolescence that was always sparked whenever you were away. Whenever your calls turned to a lustful space. The photos. The phone calls. Usually the ‘rebellious’ behaviors were to compensate for the distance. But now, Chan was hungry for you, even when you were right in front of him.

“Babe, what has gotten into you?”

Your husband buried his face into your chest, a large breath filling his nostrils, your scent deeply satisfying him before he responded. 

“I just missed you a lot, baby. And that picture you sent drove me fucking wild.”

A smirk appeared on your lips, legs hovering over your husband's waist before encasing the lower limbs around his waist, a light amount of friction created by the swift move of your hips makes him hum in pleasure. Your eyes, now sitting on top of his lap, gazed over, looking down on the poor man. There was a slight emotion of guilt there. Depriving him of getting what he wanted. You didn't really care though. If anything, pissing him off usually led to better sex after, and there was nothing in this moment that you wanted more. 

“Mmmh, as much as I want this,” you mumbled, another soft kiss in between your sentences, “I need to go home and see my daughter which I have not seen in a week.” 

“You’re right,” Chan chuckled, “I am getting a little bit carried away, aren't I?” 

Yeah he was impatient, but he understood, and it was one thing you really loved about him. He was extremely empathetic, sometimes to a fault. Able to put himself in everyone else’s shoes. So as soon as you mentioned wanting to see your daughter more, he understood. He passed you your bra and shirt, quickly helping you put them back on, not without stealing another mouth watering kiss, and hopping back into the driving and passenger seat promptly. 

The drive was once again peaceful; which lasted around 30 seconds. Maybe it was a better idea to just fuck in the back of your car, because the ache between your legs, when reflecting on the past week, was at the most intense it had been. Maybe this was your karma for withholding your body from your very eager husband. It didn’t matter now because whether you liked it or not, all of this was going to have been scheduled at a much later, uncertain time.

Chan’s hand was placed on your thigh like before, the light background and the noise somewhat distracting you, but not for long. Your husband’s grip was getting stronger and stronger, inching closer and closer to your wanting pussy with each second. A sharp gasp left your lips when his middle finger traced over the hem of your jeans, your level of arousal heightened to the point where even the breeze most likely was enough to partly satisfy yourself.

“Chan.”

“Y/n.”

“Stop it,” you whined, fingers coincidentally fidgeting with the button of your jeans, following the same direction with your zipper before the pair of pants were below your waist, your bottom undergarments now on display. You looked down, embarrassed at the mass wet patch coating your panties. Your husband's hands took a little bit of a wander, but froze almost immediately when he felt that familiar patch he had felt oh so many times. The digits were quick to act, another moan spelling from your mouth as soon as he got you in the exact spot he knew to touch. That were the perks of having a husband, because whether the time of orgasm was long or short, he knew exactly where to touch you to make that happen.

“Your body is having the opposite reaction,” he smirked, “and my eyes are strictly on the road.”

“And keep it that way.”

“Mhmm,” he ignored, fingers somehow able to push your panties to the side, raw fingertips now spreading open those pussy lips. God you felt dirty, nasty. How could you do this in your fucking car? Too horny to even wait until you were in the comfort of your bedroom. You were much too harsh on yourself. It was most definitely your husband's fault for opening that can of worms the moment he rocked up on the facetime camera without his shirt on. Therefore, your humility was minimized, there were always much worse things you could have done. Chan was easily able to find that wanting little entrance of yours, two fingers effortlessly plunging themselves inside, the unsympathetic texture of his hard working fingers gently scratching the velvet interior of your walls, hips now gently rocking back and forth on him. Your hands came to your breasts automatically, pinching, twisting, flicking the sensitive buds in any way possible that could create a replica of Chan’s mouth from previous moments. Fuck, no one else could do you like your husband, even yourself.

“Fuck Chan,” you whimpered, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Shh it’s okay,” he cooed, coaxing you through his honey textured tone, “just let it feel good, worry about other things later.”

Just as you let your head fall against the headrest, eye fluttering shut, the car came to a halt. Eyes flying open, a mound of disappointment when your visual fields were filled with your front yard. To your dismay, your husband withdrew his fingers from your pussy, a large squelching sound in the moment as he placed his hands on the gear shift, placing the toe of your into park before turning the car ignition off. The look you were giving your husband now was one of sadness, despair, making him laugh. He loved when you were dramatic.

“You’re not happy to be home?”

“Shut up,” you huffed, redoing your pants up before storming out of the car, forcing your husband to grab your suitcase as you stood impatiently at the front door, waiting for him to open it. It would be impossible to wipe the puffed up look of content on his face, knowing that he got right under your skin. Games were fun to play, but you simply knew that if he didn’t give you what you wanted soon, the house would fall into chaos. It was one thing to wind you up, but this time it was too far to push through, then stop just when things were getting good.

A fake smile plastered on your face, the refreshing thought of seeing your daughter coming back into your mind as you walked through your abode. It faded however, unable to see or hear anything that resembled your little baby. It wasn’t until you walked down your long hallway that led to your kitchen that you saw the note on your marble bench. It read the following:

Hi Darling, hope you had a safe flight!

I have taken my beautiful granddaughter to the park for a playdate with a couple of her friends and the other available parents. 

We are leaving at around midday, and won’t be back for a few couple hours. Apologies you will have to wait a little longer, but I couldn’t say no to her beating eyes when she asked me.

I'll see you when I’m looking at you.

Dad

“Chan!”

Your timbre was loud, somewhat frightening your husband as he rolled your luggage across the floor, meeting you in your shared kitchen. He was kind of worried. Chan knew that your dad was taking care of her while he went to pick you up, but he never said anything about taking her out. He stood next to you, trying to analyze your expressions before you spoke. You missed your daughter a lot, there was nothing false about that statement. Nonetheless, when the smug look came to your face at the thought of what having an empty house implied, you couldn't help yourself. 

“Did you know that my dad took her to the park?”

Oh fuck. Chan thought he was in trouble; big big trouble. 

You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress your smile at how hopeless he looked. Being the medical professional you were, it was easy to read your husband like a book. And after his actions, which were already on the verge of crossing the threshold of what you would put up with, he was in his every right mind to react this way. Walking on eggshells was the right way to go. From his friskiness on the phone, to sending an almost naked picture to you in public, to publicly groping and prodding at your highly aroused body in the discomfort of your car, to now delaying your reunion with his daughter; my my my did he dig himself a massive grave that he would not be able to dig himself out of this one. 

“No,” he answered, hesitance leaking from his tone, “she must have asked him after I left.”

“Right,” you paddled, handing the note your dad had left to your husband. A sigh of relief in the form of his chest falling from the fat breath he sucked in before dissipating from his chest. Taking a step close, your husband ignored, focusing all his efforts on the written material until he felt the texture of what was your fingertips find a place on his torso, index fingers ‘accidentally’ finding a way underneath the hem of the thin material that made up his shirt. The note was removed from your husband’s face in the form of a toss with his own hand, eyes piercing into yours the more and more the skin of his torso was being exposed to the light. Your palms then became a part of the conversation, gently pressing against your husband's groin as you could feel his length awake from a light slumber.

“Why am I sensing that you’re not mad now?”

“Me,” You gasped, feigning ignorance as you finally pulled the flimsy material over your husband’s head, “I was never mad?”

“You weren’t?”

“No Mr. Bang,” you giggled, wrapping your hands around your husband’s neck once more, “Mad that you have been teasing me for almost 24 hours straight?”

Chan didn’t answer, instead sweeping your legs off the floor and into your arms, carrying your bridal style back down the said hallway, bedroom door conveniently already open as he laid you down on your back. A hum of happiness fell from your lips at the familiar feeling of your own bed sheets encompassing your back. You were brought out of those thoughts quickly however, your husband left you little to revel in bed texture, removing his sweats immediately before lifting you by the armpits again, leaving you to stand and him sitting on the edge of your shared mattress. The invitation of your barely dressed husband with a pressing erection straining his boxers was a very enticing seat. One that you took without a second thought as his hands were straight for your throat, a gentle squeeze as your lips connected first, legs cloaking his waist once more, the both of your tongues fighting for dominance over each other. Chan’s mouth vibrated as he relaxed into the sensual nature of the kiss, hands drifting away from your upper body and right to the outside of your thighs, a gentle tingle of fingertips dancing across your heated skin as you pulled away from a brief moment, wanting to match at least half of his body in the lack of clothing. Your husband helped as he withdrew his hands from your body for a brief moment, deciding to, rather than pull your nice shirt over your head like a normal person, he pulled the seams apart, splitting the shirt into two before using one hand only to unclasp your bra this time. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t impressed by it everytime.

“I liked that shirt,” you pouted, “did you have to rip it?” “I’m sorry y/n,” he chuckled, hands snaking up your sides another time, “I just want you so badly.”

There was no time to react as your husband gripped your hips, spinning you around and pinning you into the mattress. His second attack followed impeccably, hands fumbling on your jeans before getting them undone, panties groped in unison as they hit the side wall. That was an irrelevant detail, because Chan was lying on his front, abs rubbing against your core as he brought his hands back to your tits; his most favorite thing in the world. The man could not keep his hands still, mouth slobbering all over the sensitive skin as he began his second attack of the day on your nipples. 

“Never gets old,” you giggle, a gentle moan following after at the contrast of your flimsy mounds and rock hard nubs. Chan’s hands felt like no other, and when he had them on you, it was the time when you felt like the luckiest woman in the world. Your husband’s chuckles followed closely to yours. Seeing his wife happy was one thing, but knowing that he could make you feel this good aroused him to another level. His admiration deepend, yes, but it was somewhat of an ego boost for him. Knowing that he was that good with his fingers. 

Your husband’s lips, like his hands, began to wander, a strip of wet kisses trailing down the center of your stomach, causing him to crawl back further and further until his lips were just above your core. Chan brought his fingers right back to where he had them in the car, easily able to slip in two fingers without warning, a deep groan gritting his teeth at the way your back arched for him monumentally. The sight was one that he had been craving, one that you craved yourself. It did not matter how far apart you were from your husband, his appetite for you would never change. If he wanted to be close, he wanted to be close. If he wanted to be far, well that was just simply not plausible. As much as he wanted to pleasure you, make you feel good, like the diligent role of a husband should be, it was the closeness that motivated him every time. Chan longed for these moments, especially since the introduction of your daughter restricted the ability to do so. At any possible moment, Chan would demand to do whatever he could to profess his love, and it was always done with his mouth; his tongue to be more specific. 

In this scenario, rather than speaking with tongue, it was sticking out of your husband’s lips, flattening as he dived in head first without hesitation, your hands automatically rummaging through the thick mound of curls that supported the top of his head. His tongue was heaven, spreading your pussy lips farther and farther apart and he used that ferocious organ to fiercely suck on your wanting nub. A monstrous moan escaped your lips at the contact, a gratifying humm coming from his throat at the way you tugged on his locks. Your eyes were barely open, unable to prevent yourself letting your eyelids dance back and forth from open to shut, mesmerized at the current view you had when hunching your neck to see. Chan could see the way you were desperate to view his fulfilling prophecy that was going down on his wife, making sure to lay his chest flat on your bed, ejecting his fingers from your cunt and hooking each forearm around each leg, compressing them into the mattress, giving you the perfect perspective of the combination that was his lips and tongue simultaneously pleasuring your aching core. If this was going to be the result after pining for each other for around 12 hours only, you would never think about it twice. 

“I love being married,” you whined, another humorous hum escaping your husband’s lips, “tongue feels so good.”

“Mmmh,” he mumbled, half of his face muffled in your pussy, “you taste so good.”

“What was that?”

He took away his tongue for a brief moment, looking you deep in the eye before repeating his statement.

“You taste so good.”

He didn’t want to take much time away from making you, his wife, feel good, let alone waste his breath on 3 words. His tongue snaked across your inner thigh, the organ licking a gentle strip up each leg before descending back onto your gushing pussy. The smile on your face at his works was impossible to wipe off, your moans through the pearly whites getting louder and louder at the same time with your core, the accumulation of your slick and Chan’s oral fluids contributing to the squelching sound that was bringing you closer and closer to peak arousal. His lust was simply one of trance and dedication. It genuinely could not be explained enough how much he loved seeing you like this, knowing that he was the one that was doing so. Your lips contorted, unable to keep the smile as your bite down on the skin below your bottom lip, harsh enough to leave a line of marks before you were sitting up, hands leaving his hair and dominating his face, palms spread across either side before pressing a kiss to his lips. Your nose crinkled, easily identifying the taste of you on his tongue before giving him one last look, eyes completely open as you crawled backwards on your elbows, left index fingers curling in a come hither motion. The invitation was simply too divine to resist. Your husband turned into a predator, jumping on top of you like he had just caught his prey. His moves were delicate, making sure to not crush you underneath him. His lips were itching to be on yours again, and the feelings were returned, tongue automatically parting his lips and dipping inside his wanting mouth as his hands left your figure for a brief moment, slipping the thin material down his legs and over his feet, fingertips, like magnets to his wife’s skin, straight back onto you. Your own hands were now back on your husband's body, fingernails digging into the large mound of muscles that was his upper back as his fully erect length pressed against your heat. A moan slipped out of your mouth and straight into his, causing him to pull away.

“Fuck you really missed me, didn’t you?”

His smirk was fucking priceless. So annoying, but it would just be a flat out lie if you said you were not attracted to it in the slightest. Cocky did not look good on most people, but it 100% suited your husband. Your nails buried themselves deeper into his flesh at his statement, a poor attempt at humbling him in the slightest as another moan fell from your lips as he began slightly rocking back and forth, the tip of his pre-cum soaked tip hitting your extremely sensitive nub. You went to open your mouth, a failing endeavor of speaking a sentence when the only thing coming out being sounds of pleasure.

“Don’t tease me Mr. Bang,” you mumbled in between each groan, bucking your hips to create a larger friction between your two bodies. Chan was getting impatient himself, but god, did he love to tease you. Your husband had no trouble making you orgasm over and over, he just had displeasure in making you cum so quickly. Your body was sensitive solely to him, even after all these years, it didn’t take much to get you there. Therefore, teasing you made the process so much more enjoyable. Watching you squirm was something that he really enjoyed. 

“Hmm Mrs. Bang,” he hummed, lifting his hips off of yours, one hand now wrapped around the base of him, “you’re so cute when you’re all hot and bothered.”

Your eyes formed into a squint, annoyed at how easily he was pinning you down, “stop playing games and fuck me. Preferably today before they get home.”

“Oh fuck,” Chan chuckled, prodding at your pussy hole with his length, “you’re right, let me get to business.”

It was funny when previously mentioned that Chan left to tease and see you squirm, because once his length was comforted by the strength of your tight walls, your husband was a mess. He couldn't help it. Your pussy, after being with you for so many years, molded exactly to the shape and maneuvers that Chan needed. He tried to maintain a slow pace, allowing for your cunt to stretch perfectly around him, wanting you to feel every inch of him; but it simply was too irresistible to resist. Chan wrapped his hands around your ankles, lifting your limbs in the air and stretching them as far as they could go before kneeling on his knees as he began to flat out pound your busy. His pace was not as fast no, by the velocity of the thrusts was truly toe curling. Your jaw dropped to the floor if it could, the bedhead surely denting the walls at the arms as each time his hope made contact with your contact, a large noise resembling a slap occurred. Your husband was usually not as rough, but it’s not that you’re complaining at all. It was rare that he would just throw you around like this, usually if he was frustrated or that you had been away. So really, you should have seen this coming. Maybe it was what provoked you to reply to his lustful text in such a similar manner; whatever you have been doing it was right seeing as he was making your pussy cry with arousal. 

Chan’s teeth sunk into your left calf, a string of large huffs and puffs escaping from his chest as he put all his mighty effort into each thrust, your husband breathing heavy at the combination of his force and pleasure he got from fucking you like that. His eyes ogled however, at how easily your tits bounced back and forth.

“Fuck,” you shouted, “s-so rough.”

“You like that?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, keeping your legs in the air as your pulled him by the neck, foreheads accidentally smashing foreheads together with a significant force, “you’re fucking me like you want to put another kid in me.”

“Maybe I do,” he grunted, pressing a kiss to your lips in between, “maybe I should put another kid in you.”

God the way he talks, especially like that, turns you on so much. Your hands now travel back to the familiar spot of his back, pulling his chest against yours as he picked up his pace, thrusts much smoother with rhythm as your eyes fluttered shut, head hitting the back of the pillow ad your husband relentlessly fucked your pussy. A deep breath blew from your lips, an insufficient try to maintain your composure as your husband refused to set a forgiving speed.

“Fuck your pussy,” he growled, unable to finish his sentence.

“Yeah baby?”

“Mine,” he huffed, his own eyes fluttering shut as he pinned your upper limbs next to your head, head dipping down back to your breasts, a ferociously lick on your left nipple before he continued, “Fuck I’ll fuck another fucking child into that fucking pussy if you want me to.” 

Chan became a menace when he reached his peak horniness, and during this timeline, that was right now. Anyone who met or knew Chan, as a well-respected friend, colleague, or even a stranger, knew that was one of the most polite people that you could possibly have the pleasure of meeting. Not one to swear, always use his manners and respect other people’s time and values. However, it was only you who got to see the truly feral side of him, like this, cursing his head off. It was only at this point did he forget that facade of a well-mannered gentleman. Chan was certainly not polite or gentlemen like when he fucked you, and it was a guilty pleasure of yours. It always aroused you to hear him say ‘fuck’, mumble a ‘motherfucker’ or ‘shit’ under his breath, even just in normal dialgoue. So when he said it during sex, it truly was one of the hottest fucking things your had ever seen. 

“Do it,” you mumbled, unable to use your full voice, “put a kid in me.”

“Really?”

His head snapped up immediately, lips moving back to your own, pecking you one more time, but with his eyebrows raised in surprise, “Are you being serious?”

“Yes,” you smiled, fingertips spreading across your husband’s cheeks, “you have my permission.”

“Oh fuck,” he grumbled, “you really shouldn’t have said that.”

Chan’s hands snuggled under your back, scooping you and placing you up right on him, cock still inside of you as he sat up himself, keeping you close to his torso as he scooched the end of the bed. He let out a groan as he stood up, hands trailing to your hips as began to bounce you. A new level of sound escaped your lips at the new angle he was hitting inside of your pussy. It was smart to keep your arms enclosed around his neck, head buried into his chest as he still managed to keep the same pace. You really didn’t know how much more of this you could handle; the pressure in your body was building. The pit of your stomach was making its way to your final high, and your muscles were tightening in conjunction. The room’s scent was full of sweat, but also passion. Sweet sweet passion and sweet sweet love filled the four nostrils in the room, bringing you even closer to the edge. 

“Chan?”

“Y/n, you okay baby?”

“I’m gonna cum baby,” you whined, “I'm gonna cum so hard.”

“Oh me fucking too baby,” he fritted through his jaw breaking teeth clench, “I’m about to blow so fucking hard.”

“Yeah?”

“All in this pussy,” he whined, placing you back down on the bed, “my pussy.”

“Mhm, all yours.”

Your husband kept your back arching off the edge of the bed, making sure that when let go of himself, that nothing but even a drop would drip out of your hole. His hips became erratic; you could tell that your husband would not last much longer. Not that you were far off either, but you know that the release of his seed would tip you over the edge. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, hard, “Y/n I’m so sorry I’m gonna cum first.”

“It’s ok,” you whined, “I need your seed inside of me so fucking badly.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you clenched, eyes dark with lust as he kept his gaze on you, “put a fucking kid in me.”

“I fucking love my fucking wife so much,” he spat, jaw falling agape as his load exploded, the ropes of your husband’s orgasm roping over and over inside of you, “I fucking love you so much.”

“Fuck Chan,” you screamed, your own orgasm washing over and sending you into a haze, “it feels so good inside of me.”

Your whine was so attractive to Chan that he leant down to kiss you one more time, before withdrawing his aching cock, falling to your side in a heavy breath. He was quick to get back into action, however, falling off the bed and grabbing your ankles again, lifting them off the floor and onto the bed, ensuring that not a lick of his load would fall out. A fat giggle escaped from your lips when you watched him do so.

“Fuck you were serious about that kid hey?”

He was already gone, annoyingly leaving you by himself. He was quick to come back however, returning with a glass of water and a banana from the kitchen bench, handing over to you without a second thought. Your lips turned into a smile automatically, practically chugging the water down to quench your thirst before peeling the banana open. Your husband took his spot next to you, lying on his side as he watched you with admiration. All of a sudden you felt self-conscious, hesitating before putting your lips anywhere near the fruit.

“I’m starting to think you got this fruit for a particular reason.”

“No,” he chuckled, “just eat it.”

You looked away from him as your lips ‘accidentally’ slipped down the banana, much past where necessary to take a bite. You could see your husband's jaw clenching out of the corner of your eye as your motion.

“What,” you mumbled, mouth full of food, “you were asking for it.”

“Fuck your lucky that your daughter is going to be home soon.”

[knack4harlow]

“Don’t go over your budget”

“Are you still giving me the silent treatment?” 

“…”

“C'mon Y/N I said I’m sorry .”

“…”

Jack tilted his body against the wall in the doorway watching his girlfriend as she refused to even look at him. Wanting to be the bigger person, he slumped his shoulders and slowly walked over to the edge of the bed where you laid. 

“C'mon, baby it was just a joke I swear.” 

“Would it be just a joke if I said you need to start covering that 100 acres of forehead you got?” 

“Guess you aren’t so sad anymore huh?” He mumbled, quietly fixing his curly bangs.

“You know how insecure I am about my body hair Jack.” 

He sighed, “Your right baby I’m sorry, I took it too far and I apologize. You're gorgeous with or without body hair”

You silently smiled to yourself at that, but wouldn’t let it show of course.

He started to gently rub your back and give you slow kisses on your arm and shoulder. “What can I do to make it up to you sweet girl?” He pleaded in between kisses. You immediately sat up. 

“Makeup run?” you smiled.

He laughed, “Wow that was easy.” playfully rolling his eyes. 

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Princess you know I like to spoil you but you spent over 2,000 dollars last time, we can do anything else. “

“How about no sex for a week?”

“I'll go get my shoes on”

15 minutes later both of you were finally ready and we're heading out the door and climbing into his jeep. The drive to the mall wasn't that far from your apartment and before you knew it you were pulling up to the parking lot. Before climbing out of the car your boyfriend grabbed your wrist.

“Y/N you have a budget of 400.”

“400?!” you yelled, a little bit too loudly. “After the way you treated me?”

“$450”

“$550”

“$500”

“$800” 

“$200”

“550 it is.” you smiled. 

“That's what I thought” he smirked. “Watch that attitude” you smiled back as you leaned into a kiss, rubbing his beard.

He grabbed your hand as you both walked into the store feeling the brush of air. 

“God damn it's cold in here,” he whispered to himself. 

“ Baby it's 90 degrees outside.” 

“And?”  

“Nevermind” you rolled your eyes. 

“Sassy ass” you mumbled to yourself. “Don’t start,” he replied. 

After a little bit of looking around with him following close behind, you both made your way to where you get your concealer. While looking for your shade you saw your boyfriend wander and go towards some other products. 

“God damn did everybody take my shade?” you uttered to yourself.

“Baby, what's up with these names?”, “Better than sex, better than sex foreplay, shit making me horny”. You giggled at his antics “Jack please put that down.” 

“Maybe we can go to the back of the store or something,” he said, wrapping his arms around you. 

“It's official, I’m never bringing you here again,” you said walking away from him as he smacked his lips together.

You made your way over to the skin care section and started piling your basket.

“Hey remember your budget,” Jack said furrowing his eyebrows. “It's $800 right?” you joked looking up at him. He didn't find it amusing though. 

“We should really get some of this stuff for you, especially something to help with those eyebrows.” your boyfriend jerked his head up at that, “What's wrong with my eyebrows?”

“Nothing” you smiled while walking away.

“Y/N wait!”

Truthfully there was nothing wrong with his eyebrows, or anything in his face for that matter. But since he wanted to tease you, you decided it would be best to tease him back.

After walking around more, soon you both had made it over to the fragrance section. 

“Jack smell this for me, baby,” you said, spraying some in the air. “It smells nice mama, but don't you already have a full shelf of perfumes already?”

“I'm sorry Jackman Thomas Harlow, are you judging me right now? Me? After you just disrespected and hurt my feelings?”

“Of course not, baby.” 

“That's what I thought, cause let me say something about your big ass box of Pokemon cards-” you started off

“You made your point”

“Mhm,” you smirked. 

Soon you were basically done with your shopping and you and your boyfriend were heading towards the register. While on your way you passed by a new collection by one of your favorite brands.  “OMG POOKS LOOK '' you yelped. He stood behind you watching you pick up every single product in pure enjoyment.

“I know I probably went over budget but baby please” you pleaded.

“Go ahead” he frowned jokingly.

You shoved everything into your basket and both of you headed towards the cashier. 

“Your total is $630.50, will you be doing cash or card sir?” the lady behind the counter smiled, handing her hand out.

You looked up at Jack ready for him to tell you to put some stuff back, but instead he smiled to himself and took his card out.  

“Thank you for shopping with us today!” the lady smiled(a little too hard in your opinion)

After getting settled in the car you looked up at him and frowned. 

“Pooks I went over my budget, why’d you still pay?” 

“You really thought you had a budget? Baby I would’ve bought the whole store for you if you had wanted it.” He laughed

“Wow so you really had your girlfriend in there doing calculations, knowing damn well I’m bad at math, trying to save your money?” You crossed your arms.

“Yes and it was adorable watching you.” He smiled teasing you.

“You're lucky, you're cute.” You smile, giving him a kiss on the cheek. 

“Thank you for spending your money on me though,” you mumbled in between kisses on his cheek. 

“I’m always going to do  whatever I can to see those pretty dimples.” That made you smile even more. 

“And plus, I really do feel bad about what I said baby, I’ll do anything to make you happy honestly.” 

“Thank you pooks” you smiled showing your dimples. 

As he started driving you started rummaging through your 8 full bags sitting by your feet. 

“So when are you gonna apply some of that Nair though?”

That earned him a hard smack to the back of the head and a mean glare.

“Too early?”

[lewmagoo]

soul as sweet as blood red jam | rhett abbott

part of the million dollar man universe

listen to the playlist here

description: in which a silver haired cowboy finally pledges himself to his little darlin'

pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader

warnings: 18+ only, age gap (reader is in their 20s, rhett is in his mid 40s), slight miscommunication trope, references to unhealthy past relationships, food mention, innuendos, mention of birth control, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, squirting, unprotected p in v sex, begging, creampie, overstimulation, crying, after sex jitters

notes: this is a prequel of sorts to the original million dollar man sex scene. it entails the first time rhett and little darlin' sleep together! this is not a virginity trope but reader is a little inexperienced.

It had been six months since that fateful day that Rhett Abbott walked through the doors of your workplace and swept you off your feet. 

Six months since he’d taken you away from your old life and given you a fresh start. Six months since he’d taken care of every debt and outstanding balance you owed. Six months since he’d changed your life.

You had never known such peace and security before. Instead of waking up on a rickety old mattress every morning, you woke up in a plush bed surrounded by cotton sheets and more pillows than you knew what to do with. 

You didn’t have to worry about where your next meal was coming from. The fridge was always stocked with good, whole foods. Foods you didn’t have to worry about preparing for yourself, if you didn’t want to, because Rhett would make them for you. 

Because he had been living alone for so long, he had taught himself how to cook. His meals were nothing fancy, but they were hearty and healthy, complete with vegetables from his garden. 

You had all the clothes you could ever want or need. Plenty of toiletries and personal products. Brand name things you never would have been able to afford before. Rhett spared no expense when it came to you. His money was hard-earned and he was content to spend it on you. 

It was important to him that you felt safe and secure. Lord knew you had endured enough fear and uncertainty in your life. He would be damned if he didn’t get to provide that safety you so desperately needed. And because he was so adamant about you feeling comfortable, he kept himself at a slight distance from you. 

He knew your history with men. Knew you had been ridiculed and shamed in the past by them. And he had no desire to make you feel any discomfort. While, yes, he did harbor feelings for you, and had since he met you, he hadn’t made any moves regarding those feelings. He didn’t want to overwhelm you while you were getting settled into a brand-new life. 

However, you wanted him to make a move. You knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that you had strong feelings for him. How could you not? He was your knight in shining armor, and he had been nothing but good to you. Who wouldn’t fall in love with him? 

You appreciated him giving you space to get acclimated, but it had been six months, and all he had done was kiss you. You knew he was attracted to you. The tension you shared was palpable, and had been since the beginning. But Rhett never took things further. 

You wondered why. Was it because he still hadn’t moved on from his wife, despite their relationship having been over for well over 15 years? Was he just not ready for sex again? Or did he not want to sleep with you because he thought you were inexperienced?

You pondered these things, but you were a little scared to ask him. Not because you thought he would react in a bad way, but because you still felt so shy about it. He was so much older than you. He’d been with multiple partners. He knew what he liked. 

You were by no means virginal, but you were intimidated by Rhett’s experience. And that intimidation kept you from outright asking him about sex. You weren’t quite sure how to approach the subject. 

You didn’t even sleep in the same bed, for goodness sake. You had your room, and he had his. You’d never spent the night in his bed, or he in yours. He was so respectful that it almost felt over the top. 

You tried to come up with a way to approach him about it. But you still carried the timidity that came with youth. Every time you thought you had worked up the nerve to bring it up, you chickened out and decided you’d ask another time. 

But you were dying. It felt like it, anyway. Your hormones were all over the place, and you wanted him so badly. He always smelled so good. A subtle, sophisticated scent that was also somehow rustic. 

When he went out to assist his ranch hands or carry out work around the ranch, he wore a flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of ratty Wranglers that hugged his hips just so. He looked delectable. 

Around the house, he wore relaxed jeans and a t-shirt. But it was what he wore to bed that always drove you wild. Oftentimes, he’d wear sweatpants or plaid lounge pants. You knew that you shouldn’t stare. That your gaze shouldn’t go south. But, much to your own shame, you could tell that he was well-endowed. 

You found yourself imagining what he might look like under those cozy-soft pants. How big he was. If you’d be able to fit it in your mouth. And every time you were struck with such lewd thoughts, you shook them off, body growing hot with embarrassment. 

However, you couldn’t help but wonder if he had those thoughts about you, too. Did he imagine what you looked like naked? Did he fantasize about you? Did he touch himself to the thought of you, the way you did when you thought of him? 

You were ashamed to admit the amount of times that you had found yourself with your fingers between your thighs, wishing they were his fingers. So long and thick. You knew they’d fill you just right. 

Could you ever tell him that you’d touched yourself to the thought of him? Would you ever dare to speak those words? You thought you might die of embarrassment if you did. 

How silly you felt. How immature and clueless. But the thing about Rhett was, he didn’t make you feel those things. No, he made you feel seen. He listened to what you had to say. He didn’t dismiss, infantilize, or patronize you. You were free to be your own person around him. 

You supposed that was partly why you found him so maddeningly attractive. It wasn’t just his physical traits that attracted you to him. Of course, he was beautiful. Silvery hair, the bluest eyes you’d ever seen, striking features that could make anyone weak in the knees. But who he was as a person added to that beauty. 

He was a successful rancher, but he came from humble beginnings. He’d grown up poor, and his family had always struggled to stay afloat. Now that he was much older, and well-established, he was able to invest his funds into the things that he cared about. 

His father had long since passed, but his mother was still alive, and he took care of her, making sure she was able to live comfortably. He also put his finances into causes such as a local shelter that rehabilitated horses, and a charity dedicated to victims of domestic violence. 

Though he appeared rough and tumble, he had a tender heart. as was revealed to you when he made the decision to get you out of the situation you were in. You had been desperately trying to save your money so that you could leave your hellish job and move elsewhere to better yourself. 

But waitressing at the local diner only paid so much. In fact, your boss thought he could get away with paying you a measly sum. He took advantage of your situation and mistreated you. You felt so beaten down and burnt out that you didn’t have the energy to fight with him. 

When Rhett came into your life, and offered to take you away from all of it, it seemed too good to be true. But he had quickly proved to you that he was genuine and kind-hearted. Not once had you regretted your decision to go with him. 

In your heart, you knew that you would be with him for the rest of your life. You didn’t want to be with anyone else. You’d never put much stock into believing in soulmates, but Rhett had made you reconsider that belief. If soulmates were real, then he was yours.

But again, there was that shred of self-doubt festering within you. Fear that you were not enough. That you were too inexperienced. Eventually, it would all come boiling over, like a pot left too long on the stove. 

It happened one night when he let his guard down. You were on the deck, stargazing together. Your head was resting upon his shoulder as he pointed out different constellations to you. He’d spent many a night under the stars, he knew them like the back of his hand. 

Listening to him talk about the stars with such wonder sent a warmth blooming through your chest. He was so knowledgeable. So intelligent. Oftentimes, people didn’t give him enough credit. They expected him to be a dumb cowboy who’d come from a poor family. 

But he was so much more than that. You were in awe of him. 

Maybe it was brazen of you, but as you lifted your head to watch him talk, his face illuminated by the pale moonlight, its beams complimenting his silver hair, you were overcome with the strong desire to kiss him. 

He smelled so good, fresh out of the shower. He was cozy and warm and inviting. If only you could trail your mouth down his jaw, if only you could suck and nip at his prominent collarbones. 

“What’re you lookin’ at?” His voice startled you out of your salacious thoughts. 

You caught his gaze, and you hoped he couldn’t see the heat of desire burning in your eyes. “I…” You weren’t sure how to reply. 

His mouth lifted into a knowing smile. “You were starin’ at me, weren’t you?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

You were suddenly keenly aware of how close you were. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours. He seemed to realize this too, because his eyes flickered to your lips. Your heart fluttered in your chest. You’d kissed before, so this was nothing new. But that moment before never failed to awaken butterflies in your stomach. 

“Now you really are starin’,” he murmured. He was inching closer. So were you. 

“Uh-huh.”

You didn’t know who leaned in first. But before you could register what was happening, his lips were on yours, and you were melting against him like a popsicle left out in the summer heat. 

Kissing him felt familiar and right. It felt like coming home. 

He tasted faintly like the cherry tobacco he’d smoked in his pipe after dinner. Perhaps it wasn’t the healthiest habit, but it was something he’d picked up from his grandfather. And you had to admit, he looked sexy while smoking it. 

Pair that with the reading glasses he wore to read the newest issue Working Ranch Weekly, and he was walking, talking wet dream. You weren’t sure why you found such simple, mundane acts sexy. But there was an ache between your legs and you knew there was only one way for it to be soothed. 

Maybe tonight would finally be the night that he would fuck you. All your wishing and pining would come to an end and you would get what you’d been wanting for months. 

But as you whimpered against his mouth and tried to pull him closer by the collar of his shirt, he broke the impassioned kiss. 

“We…we should turn in,” he breathed. 

You stared at him, your heart sinking in your chest. He looked away, moving to stand. And that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“Why don’t you want me?” You asked. You hadn’t intended to sound so small and petulant, but your voice was wavering and you could feel your eyes welling with tears. 

He froze, eyes widening, flabbergasted. 

Suddenly, you felt terribly pathetic. “Nevermind, forget I said anything.” You jumped up from your seat, turning to rush toward the sliding glass door that led back inside. 

But he caught you, his large hand closing around your upper arm. He gently tugged you toward him, and in a low voice, he said, “Stop.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Look at me.” He tipped your chin up so you’d meet his gaze. “Y’ think I don’t want you?” His tone was incredulous. “I do want you. All this time, I’ve wanted you.”

“Then why do you always push me away when things get heated? It makes me feel like you don’t want me.” Your voice was wavering, but you fought the urge to cry. You wouldn’t cry over this.

Rhett’s face softened, and sadness filled his eyes. “Oh, little darlin’. I wasn’t… I never meant t’ make you feel like I didn’t want you. I’m so sorry.” He wanted to kick himself. How could he have been so clueless? He hadn’t stopped to think that maybe you would take his hesitancy as a sign that he didn’t want you. “I guess I just – well, I didn’t want to make ya uncomfortable, or make it seem like I was tryin’ to take advantage of you.”

Your shoulders dropped as realization washed over you. “Oh,” you dumbly spoke.

He breathed in deeply, choosing his next words. “I know that you’ve dealt with assholes in the past who had no respect for your boundaries. I never wanted t’ make you feel like they did. I’d rather cut off my own fuckin’ arm than be the reason you felt uncomfortable.”

The tears you’d been holding back began to spill forth then. How silly you felt. Here you were, thinking he didn’t want you, when in reality, he was afraid of making you feel uncomfortable. But he had never made you feel that way. From the moment you met him, he exuded safety and kindness. 

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry,” you whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, your voice would break. “I never should have… oh, I’m so stupid, I can’t believe I just assumed–”

“Hey, no, don’t you apologize. It ain’t your fault. I should’ve been more up-front with you instead of just brushin’ you off. I just never wanted things to go too far, didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t say no.”

“I never would have felt like that, Rhett,” you replied with conviction. “I feel safe with you. No one’s ever made me feel protected like you do. I know you’d never do anything to hurt me.”

He smiled softly, and by the light of the moon, you could see his eyes shimmer with emotion. Just knowing that he made you feel those things made his heart swell within his chest. It was all he’d ever wanted to be for you.

“‘m glad you feel that way,” he murmured lowly. 

“I want to be with you. You’ve done so much for me and I’m so grateful. I think I…I’m in love with you.”

He dipped his head, leaning in closer. “That’s good, ‘cause I think I’m in love with you, too.” He felt like a teenager all over again, professing his feelings to his first love. It had been so long since he’d been in a relationship. He hardly knew what to do with himself. 

You let your hands rest upon his chest. “Then I guess we’re on the same page.”

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, and a low hum, even as his eyes flickered to your mouth. “I guess we are.”

You weren’t sure who leaned in first. But before you knew it, his mouth was on yours again, and this time, he didn’t pull away. 

He kissed you deeply, lovingly, pouring all his emotions into the action. Your body felt warm all over, as if you’d just stepped into the light of the sun. 

When you parted, you were both breathless, and there was a palpable electricity thrumming between you. Rhett smiled, and the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled.

A steady hand came up to rest against your neck, his thumb pressing lightly into your pulse point. With his lips inches from yours again, the atmosphere shifted, and you shuddered at the words he spoke next. 

“As much as I want to, I’m not gonna fuck you tonight, little darlin’. Need to keep ya waitin’ one more night. Tomorrow, I’ll take y’ to bed, and I’ll touch every inch of your pretty body. I’ll do whatever y’ want me to. But we need to do a couple things first.”

“Oh?” You kissed at the corner of his mouth. 

“Uh-huh,” he breathed. Now that he’d admitted his desire for you, it was harder to practice self-control. “Gon’ take you to the store and we’ll buy some things.”

“What kind of things?” You gasped as his tongue lapped at your bottom lip. 

“Things like lube,” he replied, pausing to kiss you fully again. “Need to make sure y’ ain’t gonna get hurt while I’m inside ya.”

At that, you whimpered involuntarily.

“Gotta get some condoms, too. Been a long time since I’ve done this so I’ve gotta stock up on some things.”

You shivered, though your next words were slightly timid. “What if…what if I said I didn’t want you to wear one?”

“Are y’ sure?” He asked. 

He was aware that you were on birth control, and had been since before you’d known him. And now, it was even more accessible to you, because since you’d started with him, he had begun paying into your health insurance, out of the kindness of his heart. You didn’t have to pay anything out of pocket. 

“I’m sure. I want…I want to feel you. All of you.” You were more than certain of this decision. You had fantasized about it many times, and now that you were finally able to choose the option, you wanted him bare when he made love to you.

“Okay,” he hummed. His eyes fluttered, lips parting as he moved to kiss you again. He lingered, lips entwined with yours for a beat longer, relishing in the feeling of you against him.  

“Tomorrow,” he breathed, “I’ll give ya everythin’ you want.”

“Uh huh,” you sighed against his mouth.

“We should…we should head inside.”

“Yeah.” You continued to kiss him, and he returned the affection, his hands moving to rest against your hips. But he didn’t pull you any closer, no matter how much he wanted to. 

He was afraid that if he did, he’d decide to give in and take you right there on the deck, and he didn’t want to jump in headfirst like that. When he fucked you, you would be spread out against the softness of his king size bed, where he could lavish you in the way that you deserved. 

So he forced himself to pull back. “C’mon now, little darlin’.” And he guided you into the house. 

As you climbed the stairs that led up to your bedroom, you were struck with the realization that it was finally happening. You had spent all these months overcome with desire for him, and tomorrow, you’d be able to fulfill those desires. 

But now that you had the promise of getting what you wanted…would you be able to go through with it? Or would you grow shy and decide you weren’t ready?

You’d traded one personal dilemma for another. You could only hope that you wouldn’t let your insecurity get the better of you yet again. 

That night, as you lay in bed, sleep wouldn’t come to you. You were thrumming with eagerness and apprehension, all at once. You felt so ridiculous, making such a fuss over this. It wasn’t as if you’d never had a sexual partner before. But you’d never been with one that you loved before. This felt like an entirely new ballgame. 

What if you weren’t everything he was hoping for? What if you didn’t satisfy him? What if, what if, what if?

You were plagued with those thoughts as you tossed and turned. You only drifted off for a few hours before the sun shining through your window awakened you. 

It was early, but you knew Rhett would already be awake, tending to the horses. You were certain that you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, so you got up, wrapping your robe around yourself before you made your way downstairs. 

Perhaps cooking breakfast would get your mind off of the situation at hand. So, you sauntered into the kitchen and set about preparing a wholesome breakfast spread that you knew Rhett would enjoy. 

You timed it perfectly, because as soon as you finished preparing everything, Rhett came through the door. As he kicked his boots off, he breathed in, a smile reaching his face as he caught the scent of what you were making. 

“Sure smells good,” he mused as he padded over on socked feet. 

“Thought you’d be hungry when you came back in,” you replied as you set a cup of black coffee down at his usual spot at the table. 

“You thought right. I’m starvin’.” He took his seat, immediately reaching out to bring the mug of coffee to his lips. “Thank ya, darlin’. You sure know the way to my heart.”

He was grateful for your thoughtfulness. It had been so long since he’d had a loving touch in his home. Living on his own had been a boring, lonely existence. Now that he had you, he felt as if new life had been breathed into him.

In turn, it gave you great joy to see him enjoy what you made for him. He always expressed appreciation when you cooked for him, or did anything else for that matter. Knowing he’d been alone for so long made your heart ache. Every time you thought of what his wife had done to him, you felt a pang of anger toward her. 

Not only had she gone behind his back and committed the offense of cheating on him, but she had done it with his brother, of all people. You could only imagine the utter despair that Rhett had felt when it happened. 

But he had moved on. After all, that was fifteen years ago. Now, he was in a much better place. Even more so now that he had you. 

You truly believed that the universe had brought you together. And that was when it hit you. You had no reason to be anxious about what was going to happen later that night. You knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you were meant to be with Rhett, and he with you. There was no cause for fear, and certainly not when it came to the man who made you feel more safe than you ever had ever felt in your life. 

So the tension melted from your shoulders, and you let yourself breathe. Everything was going to be just fine. 

“Sit down an’ eat,” Rhett spoke up, pulling you from your reverie. “Wanna enjoy breakfast with my girl.”

My girl. You were certain that if you could see yourself in that very moment, you would be glowing like the sun. 

You sat at the table and did exactly as he said, relishing in a quiet, calm morning with your cowboy. So this was what true contentment felt like. You had been missing out on it your entire life. Now that you had it, you didn’t ever want to let it go.

After a peaceful breakfast, you moved to clear the table while Rhett slipped away to shower the barn smell off of him and finish getting ready for the day. He wanted to take you into town sooner rather than later. 

While you put the dishes in the dishwasher and put all the ingredients you’d used away, your mind drifted to the trip to the drugstore you would be making, to purchase lube, of all things. 

But then a thought struck you. What if he preferred lingerie? You didn’t really own any sexy undergarments. Although you had access to all sorts of frivolities thanks to Rhett, you hadn’t really spoiled yourself, outside of basic necessities or treats here and there. 

And up until now, you hadn’t had an occasion to buy lingerie. But now you were so close to finally letting him see you naked, and you hadn’t stopped to consider that he might like it if you wore something sexy. 

You sauntered upstairs to get ready with this thought on your mind. 

You spent a little extra time getting ready that morning, hoping to entice Rhett all the more with your outfit, and your perfume. Once you were dressed and feeling a little more put together, you took a deep breath and then exited your bedroom. 

You found Rhett downstairs, seated at the bench that was near the front door, putting his boots on. He was freshly showered and smelled so clean. He looked handsome in a light blue t-shirt, his gray hair still slightly damp, a stand of it curling against his temple. 

He’d told you once that his father had gone gray early in life. Part of you was glad he’d inherited it from the man, because in your opinion, it made him all the more attractive.

Rhett looked up as you approached, and his mouth curled into a smile. “Y’ sure do look beautiful,” he mused, eyes twinkling. 

“Thanks,” you murmured shyly, smoothing your hands over your outfit. 

He stood and opened the front door before he motioned for you to step out first. “After you, little darlin’.”

Smiling, giddiness swirling in your tummy, you ducked your head and stepped outside into the warm spring morning. It was a gorgeous day. The skies were clear and brilliant blue. The hue reminded you so much of Rhett’s eyes. 

You followed him to his truck, allowing him to open the door before you climbed inside. As you got settled, he quickly rounded the other side, tugging open the door and sliding into his seat with ease.

He glanced at you as he turned over the ignition. “Y’ buckled?” He asked. He always liked to make sure you were safe, in big and small things.

“Yep!” You replied, as the buckle clicked into place.

With a nod, Rhett put the truck in drive and pulled down the long driveway that lead to the main road. His ranch was situated nearly thirty minutes outside of town, so you had a little bit of a drive ahead of you. This left you plenty of time to sift through the different radio stations, trying to settle on one that was playing something worth listening to. 

Once you were satisfied with the station, you settled back into your seat, your gaze shifting to look out the window at the expansive land that surrounded you. Wyoming truly was a breathtaking place. You still weren’t tired of the view, even after living here for half a year. And Rhett, who’d lived here his entire life, wasn’t tired of it, either. 

But your mind quickly drifted elsewhere as you staired at the sprawling plains. “Rhett?” You softly spoke up.

“Yeah?”

“Do you, um…” you hesitated, still feeling a little shy about bringing these things up. “Do you want me to wear lingerie for you tonight?”

He glanced at you, pausing a moment before he replies. “Darlin’, I ain’t picky. Wear whatever makes ya feel good about yourself. I promise, I’ll find you beautiful no matter what you’re wearin’.”

Something about his words struck you. They took your breath away, and out of nowhere, you felt tears welling in your eyes. You tried to keep your emotions at bay, but it was futile. Rhett noticed your tears, and immediately, he pressed his boot against the brake, putting the truck in park in the middle of the deserted road.

“Hey now, what’s the matter, sweetheart?” He gently asked, turning his body toward you.

You shook your head, your eyes downcast, staring at your hands. “I don’t…I don’t understand why you’re so good to me.”

“Look at me.” 

He had to reach out and coax your face toward him. When you caught his gaze, you saw what you could only describe as love in his eyes. “Because you deserve good things. Too many people in your life have failed you. I ain’t gonna be one of those people, you hear me? I’ll be damned if I don’t take care of m’girl and show you the way you’re supposed to be treated.”

It was clear that Rhett had so much love in his heart to give. The fact that he was bestowing it all upon you was a bit overwhelming. Even all these months later, you were still floored by it. But you knew that he had not always been able to give that love so freely. Much like you, many people in his life had failed him. He didn’t really have anyone left to care for.

His niece, Amy, was grown and married, and no longer needed him to look after her in the way that he had when she was younger. There was his mother, of course, but she lived on her own, and even in her old age, she was still healthy and spry, as well as stubborn, and refused to let him hire an at-home care nurse to watch over her.

His father was dead and gone, and his relationship with his brother had never been repaired. So, essentially, he was alone. Until he found you, that is. 

In the beginning it was a little difficult to get used to him taking care of you.

It wasn’t that he thought you couldn’t take care of yourself. He knew you were capable of doing so, but he also knew how exhausted you were from fighting just to keep your head above water. He simply wanted to help alleviate that burden. 

Now, as you sat in the cab of his truck, you were overcome. “Oh, Rhett,” you whispered. “I love you.”

You’d never spoken those words to him before. The way you felt about each other had mostly remained unspoken until now. But as soon as the confession left your mouth, his lips curved into a smile. One that reached his eyes. “I love you too, little darlin’.”

And somehow, that was all you needed to hear to put you at ease.

He put the truck back in drive and resumed the trip into town, but this time, he let his hand rest upon your thigh as he drove. 

The tension seemed to have melted, and you fell into comfortable, quiet conversation for the entire ride. Being in Rhett’s presence was a comforting thing. His demeanor was relaxed, and it put you at ease. 

But all too soon, the calm car ride came to an end as he pulled into town and found a parking spot right outside of Walker’s Drug Store. 

He wrenched open the driver’s door and hopped out of the truck, striding around the front to open your door for you. You slid from the leather seat with ease, feet landing on the solid concrete beneath you. 

Rhett led you into the store, and you had to admit, you felt just a little awkward perusing the intimacy aisle, but the ice was quickly broken when he began reading some of the descriptions on different boxes aloud. Words and phrases that were meant to sound appealing and enticing, but ended up sounding terribly cringeworthy when spoken out loud. 

“You’re going to get us kicked out,” you whispered through your giggles. You felt like a pair of immature teenagers, laughing at innuendos. It did wonders to put you at ease, which was Rhett’s intended purpose in making you laugh. 

When it was time to check out, you were infinitely grateful that this drugstore had a self-checkout station, because you were more than certain that the older lady at the only other open cash register would heavily judge you for what you were purchasing.

You walked out of that store together, your items in a bag, and your hand resting in the crook of Rhett’s elbow

“Y’ wanna get somethin’ for lunch?” He asked you, as he guided you to the truck. 

“I’d like that,” you replied. 

So he took you to Goldie’s Diner, where you enjoyed all the French fries your heart desired. You sat across the table from Rhett, and he watched you in awe as you recounted a story from your childhood. He was so in love with you, it was ridiculous. 

He felt like he was back in school, pining after a girl. It was an odd feeling. He’d spend all these years alone, and now that he had you, he hardly knew what to do with himself. After the way Maria had broken his heart, he was certain that he was destined to never find love again. 

But here you were, sitting in front of him, munching on fries and sipping a soda, and he’d never been more enamored with anyone in his life. 

He could just kick himself for making He could just kick himself over the fact that he had made you feel like he didn’t want you. How foolish he felt, getting into his head like that.

He was determined to show you how much he truly wanted you later that night. He couldn’t wait to ravish you. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined what you would look like, naked beneath him. Now that daydream was becoming a reality.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Your voice pulled him out of his reverie.

He smiled shyly. “You,” he confessed.

You ducked your head, flattered. “Oh?”

He didn’t dare admit that what he’d been thinking wasn’t suitable to utter in public. Instead, he reached across the table, placing his much larger hand over your own. “Go on, finish your story. Promise I’m listenin’ now.”

So you did, and he listened with rapt attention. When it was time to leave, he left a generous tip on the table, as he always did. It gave you a flashback to one of the first times you’d met him. He had given you a one hundred dollar bill, insisting you keep the change as a tip. You had been amazed, because in your line of work, you were lucky to get a few measly dollars as a tip, let alone one hundred dollars. 

It wasn’t just for show. You had seen him leave servers hefty tips several times since you’d known him. It was a testament to how kind and gracious he was. 

You walked out of that diner with a smile on your face, so grateful that this man had been brought into your life. Since last night, things felt different between you. The barrier that had been there, a wall put up because of his fear of making you uncomfortable, and because of your fear that he didn’t desire you, had been torn down. 

There was no hesitancy. No more walking on eggshells. You simply felt at ease. And that was exactly how you were supposed to feel with a person who truly loved you. It had taken you so long to come to that realization. The love that Rhett bestowed upon you was the love you deserved. 

As he drove you back home that afternoon, you found yourself leaning over the center console, your head resting on his shoulder. He placed his hand on your thigh, his touch comforting and warm. 

At the feeling of you relaxed against him, Rhett couldn’t quell the joy that washed over him. It felt right, having you tucked into his side. Like you were always meant to be there.

You made yourself so comfortable, in fact, that you ended up dozing off against him. Sometime later, he gently coaxed you awake. “We’re home,” he murmured as you stirred.

Home. Warmth flooded your chest at the mention of it. The place that Rhett had built with his own two hands. 

Humming sleepily, you waited for him to come around and open your door for you, as he always did, before you hopped out onto the gravel driveway. The warm sun shone on your face as you followed him up to the house, and you basked in it for a moment while he unlocked the door. 

As you headed inside, he kicked off his boots, setting them on the shoe rack near the door. He held the bag from the drugstore in his hand, and you glanced down at it, wondering when you’d put its contents to use.

Rhett hooked his fingers beneath your chin and lifted your head so he could catch your gaze. “Here’s what I’m thinkin’,” he murmured. “I wanna do this right. Make y’ feel special. So I’m gonna make you dinner tonight. Want ya to get yourself all gussied up, put on that pretty blue dress I got you a while back. How’s that sound?”

You nodded in agreement, though you were a little dizzy at just how close he was standing. “Sounds good.”

His eyes narrowed slightly as he ducked his head forward, lips enticingly close to yours. “An’ then after dinner, I’m gonna lay you down in my bed and make love to you all night. Alright?”

You went weak in the knees, caging your bottom lip between your teeth in anticipation. “A-alright.”

He smiled and tapped your nose lovingly. “Good. Now that that’s settled, ‘ve got some boring ranch paperwork to do. How ‘bout you go for a swim while I’m at it?” He suggested. 

A dip in the pool sounded rather inviting. So you slipped away, allowing Rhett to head to his office to pore over financial papers while you went upstairs to put on your swimsuit. In the process, you grabbed your Bluetooth speaker, carrying it outside with you so you’d have a soundtrack to listen to while you lounged in the pool. 

Rhett had worked closely with a local architect to design this house. It was an A-frame house that resembled a cabin, but it was much bigger. The front had floor-to-ceiling windows, but despite its loftiness, the house felt so cozy inside. It was all rounded edges and worn wooden finishes. Deep jewel tones made up the color scheme of the decor. 

Rustic art pieces decorated the log-paneled walls. There were masculine touches, such as bearskin rugs stretched across the floor and animal heads mounted to the walls. It was so stereotypically cowboy, but at the same time, it felt like Rhett. He had many beautiful pieces in his home, but none of it felt over the top or impractical. Everything had a story behind it, a thought process for acquiring it. 

Living here, you felt comfortable and safe. Walking through its halls felt like walking through home.

What a relief it was to be able to feel that way. To say that you belonged somewhere. 

That thought brought a smile to your face as you sauntered out onto the back deck, toward the in-ground pool that was situated in the expansive, private backyard. You retrieved a towel from the standing wardrobe that was positioned on the deck, tossing the fabric down onto the concrete floor beside the pool. Then you set your speaker up and selected a playlist before you crouched down on the edge of the pool.

You dipped your toes in, testing the temperature before you finally decided to take the plunge. The cool water swallowed your body, and you welcomed it, sighing at the feeling. What a charmed life you led. 

You stayed in the pool for hours, climbing out only to grab a raft, which you promptly climbed onto and let yourself float around until the sun began to sink low in the sky. You lost track of time, entirely engrossed in your playlist, nearly dozing off as you lay sprawled on the raft.

“You gon’ stay out here all night, missy?” Rhett’s voice startled you slightly, and you lifted your head, catching sight of him standing on the deck. He was smiling knowingly at you.

“I lost track of time!” You exclaimed, sliding off the raft and hurriedly swimming toward the ladder. Rhett remained on the desk as you climbed out of the water, his eyes on you as you bent to reach for your towel. 

Your swimsuit clung to your body, and you knew that it left little to the imagination. You caught Rhett’s gaze, and you purposely lingered, deciding against drying off quite yet. Struck with a sudden surge of boldness, you walked up to him, holding your towel in one hand, swaying your hips as you moved. 

You stepped up one step. Then two. He looked down at you, eyes narrowing, mouth parting. Then, you stretched your arm out, pressing your towel into his chest. “Wanna help me dry off?” You asked. 

You didn’t miss the quiet, but sharp, intake of breath. Wordlessly, he took the towel, shaking it so that it would unfold completely. Then he began drying you off, patting the fabric into your glistening skin, dragging it lower and lower, until he was kneeling before you, gazing up at you in a way that made the breath vacate your lungs. 

Slowly, he patted each leg dry, moving up, up, up, until he paused. Instinctively, your hand came down to tangle in his silvery locks, and he took that as permission to lean forward, pressing a loving kiss to your exposed midriff. 

You stood frozen in place, watching him. And then, his tongue darted out, tasting salt and the remnants of chlorine on your skin, laving at the spot just beneath your navel. You gasped, your knees growing weak. Then he left another kiss where his tongue had just been before he pulled back.

Slowly, he stood, never breaking eye contact as he did. Then he dipped his head low, mouth just barely hovering over your own. “If I don’t stop now, I’ll end up ravagin’ you right here.”

You were embarrassed at the whine that escaped your throat. 

“Now g’on, go get dressed up for me. When you’re finished, I’ll have supper ready.”

Pulling away from him felt like trying to escape a strong magnetic field, but you managed to tear yourself away, walking on unsteady legs into the house. The cool air inside made goosebumps prickle across your flesh, and you shuddered, but it wasn’t from the chill.

In a haze, you went upstairs, going through the motions as you got ready. You took a shower, used the body wash and lotion you saved for special occasions, spritzed your favorite perfume behind your ears and a little on your inner thighs in anticipation of what was to come.

As you put extra time into making sure your outfit looked impeccable, you caught the scent of dinner cooking downstairs, and you realized then just how hungry you were, after spending all that time in the sun. 

But at the same time, your tummy was churning with anticipation and anxiety. Would you even be able to stomach anything, knowing that very soon, you would be in Rhett’s bed, entirely naked before him?

You tried not to psych yourself out, forcing your best foot forward as you completed your outfit. It was now or never. So you headed downstairs slowly, your hand trailing down the wooden banister, hand-carved by Rhett himself. 

Then you stepped into the kitchen, and Rhett stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you. His sapphire eyes softened, and he smiled, beaming as if a ray of sun had just been cast over his face. “Just look atcha. You’re beautiful, little darlin’,” he breathed. 

To your embarrassment, you giggled like a schoolgirl. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself, cowboy.” It was a modest way of saying he looked incredible.

He had changed into something nicer, too. His nicest pair of Wranglers hugged his hips. A navy blue pinstripe shirt was tucked into the denim, finished off with a black leather belt, a polished old rodeo buckle fastened to it. His hair was combed, but still had some wave to it. God, he looked handsome. 

He had the nerve to smile shyly, and then he pointed the wooden spoon he was holding at the table. “Have a seat, I’m just puttin�� dinner on.”

You nodded, moving to take a seat at the table, pleased to find that he’d set it with his nicest dishes. When he still lived under his parents’ roof, his nightly job was to set the table for dinner. His mama had taught him a very specific way of doing it, and he still hadn’t lost his touch to this day. The place settings were neat and orderly. 

He still owned the nice china that had been gifted to him and Maria when they were newly married. Even though she’d been gone for years, he hadn’t gotten rid of any of it. He wasn’t much for entertaining, but he certainly was glad that he’d kept the china, because it gave him an opportunity to impress you. 

He wanted to do this right. Wanted to treat you to a good meal, wanted to romance you and make you feel special. He knew that this wasn’t just a fulfillment of sexual attraction. This was so much more than that. 

He should have known from the moment he saw you in that diner all those months ago, that you’d be it for him. The one he would spend the rest of his life with. 

What a strange feeling, to come to that conclusion after spending so much time alone. He remembered how broken he’d been after Maria betrayed him. It was agony. He’d pined after that girl since he was sixteen years old. And to catch her in the act, sneaking around with his own brother, had destroyed him. 

It had taken so long for those wounds to heal. Now, it was simply part of his past. It had shaped him into the man that he was. And to think, if he hadn’t gone through that time, he never would have met you. He didn’t put stock into spiritual things, but if God or the universe had worked this out for him, then he was eternally grateful. 

Now here he was, making you dinner, while you sat at his table, dolled up for him. Not even because he’d asked you to do so, but because you wanted to. 

“Um…Rhett? I think your pot is boiling over,” your gentle warning pulled him from his thoughts. 

He jolted, turning on his heel to find that the pasta he was cooking had begun to boil over. Quickly, he turned the flame down, reducing the heat. Then he glanced over his shoulder at you with a sheepish smile. “Guess I was a little distracted by the pretty gal sittin’ at my table,” he admitted. 

You shook your head, but couldn’t deny that you were charmed. He certainly had a way with words. 

As he finished making you dinner, pausing to pour you a glass of water, how could you not be enamored with him? Watching his strong forearms on display as he went about such a domestic task, it was enough to make you think about what it would be like for him to bend you over the kitchen table and have his way with you. 

You jolted slightly at the thought, because you’d pictured it so clearly. 

“Y’ alright there, little darlin’?” Rhett asked as he set a bowl of fresh, green salad down on the table. 

“U-um, yes,” you peeped, shifting in your seat. When you glanced up at him, there was a knowing glint in his eyes. Oh, god. 

You shook yourself out of your salacious imaginations, leaning your back against the chair as Rhett set everything out. A starch, a protein, a vegetable. It was a balanced meal, and although it was simple, you knew it would be delicious. 

Sure enough, it was. Together, you thoroughly enjoyed your time at the table, talking about anything and everything. And although this was a form of foreplay, it didn’t necessarily feel like that. As always, Rhett expressed genuine interest in what you had to say. 

Sometimes it was difficult to hold his gaze when you spoke. The undivided attention was almost too intense. Brilliant blue staring back at you often made you lose your train of thought and stumble over your words. 

Rhett thought it was the most adorable thing, the way you’d get all bashful. It made his chest swell with pride, knowing he had that effect on you. 

He wondered if you would get shy like that when he took you to bed. He couldn’t wait to see the way you reacted to his touch. Couldn’t wait to hear the pretty sounds you made for him. 

Silently, you yearned for each other, thinking of what was to come soon after dinner. Rhett only fanned the flames of desire as he reached across the table and placed his big hand over yours, as he flattered you and bestowed a look of adoration upon you.

It made butterflies flutter in your belly.

The subtle touches, the pointed glances, his body language. It all made your head spin. He flirted and he teased and he made you feel like the most beautiful woman in all the world. And to him, you were.

Then, it was time. Supper was finished. Complete with dessert - apple crisp. It was delicious, but you couldn’t finish it, because you were thrumming with anticipation. And when Rhett moved to begin clearing the table, you shot up out of your seat a little too quickly, offering to help him, to distract yourself.

But he declined. “Here’s what I want y’ to do, little darlin’,” he spoke, voice low, smooth as velvet. “Go up to my bedroom. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be up soon.”

“But you made the meal, the least I can do is help clean up,” you tried to protest.

“I’ll take care of it.” Then, he leaned in close, lips barely brushing yours. “Just go up and sit nice and pretty for me. That’s all I need ya to do for me.”

“O-okay.” You cringed inwardly as your voice came out in a squeak. Your legs felt like jelly as you turned on your heel and began walking toward the steps on autopilot. Your feet carried you to the end of the hall, where Rhett’s bedroom was. With trembling hands, you turned the doorknob and opened the oak wood door. 

As you stepped into the room, feet landing on plush carpet, you were met with the soft glow cast by the bedside lamps that flanked either side of the king-size bed. The bed was adorned with a handmade quilt, displaying different wildlife silhouettes, all surrounded by shades of deep green and burgundy.

The bedroom was cozy, and it was Rhett. 

Tentatively, you sauntered further into the room, trailing your hand lightly over the edge of the carved wooden dresser to your right. Personal touches decorated the top of it. A wooden tray held all of his cologne. A watch stand was home to all of his wristwatches. A glass display case boasted of various belt buckles, several of which he’d scored during his riding days. 

There was a stand for his pipe, hand-carved and passed down to him from his grandfather Abbott. It was where he’d gotten the not-so-nice habit of smoking tobacco. You didn’t mind, though. He smoked cherry tobacco, and to you, the scent was strangely comforting.

All of these things – the decor, the personal belongings – sent warmth spreading through your body. It was all so domestic. Being made privy to these things made you feel that much more connected to Rhett.

You took your own tour of his bedroom before you finally decided to take a seat on the bed, your body buzzing, warm to the touch. You let yourself fall back, closing your eyes as you let the softness of the quilt beneath you envelop you. The bed smelled like him. The bed that you would soon find yourself naked upon.

“Comfortable?” His voice startled you, and you gasped, sitting bolt upright. He hadn’t meant to scare you, and he told you as much. “Sorry, thought y’ heard me comin’.”

“That’s okay,” you murmured in reply. 

He shut the door behind him, eyes glimmering in the low light. You watched as he stepped over to the dresser to remove his wristwatch, which he then placed directly on the watch stand you had just been looking at moments prior. 

His eyes narrowed slightly, mouth parting as he gazed upon you. Your mouth went dry as he approached, and you almost felt like an innocent prey animal at the mercy of the big, bad wolf. But you knew that this wolf’s bark was worse than his bite. 

He lifted his hand, knuckles lovingly stroking down your cheek before he tipped your chin up. “If y’ wanna stop at any point, if it gets to be too much and you feel the least bit uncomfortable, then just say the word, and I’ll stop. This is a safe space, alright?”

“Alright,” you breathed.

“Now I need y’ to tell me, sweet girl. How many times have you done this?”

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of your own trepidation. “I…I’ve done it a handful of times. It was never really that good,” you admitted.

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip. “It wasn’t? Why do ya say that?” His fingers traced over your jaw, touch warm.

“The guys, um, just cared about their own pleasure. They didn’t really focus on mine.”

Then he leaned in, bending so that he was eye level with you. “Tell me, little darlin’,” he continued. His voice swirled through your head like the smoke from his tobacco pipe. “Did any of ‘em ever make you come?”

You thought you might burst into flames beneath him. You were scorching. “No,” you said. “They didn’t.”

“Oh, honey.” He knelt before you, and you realized that the blue of his eyes had gone several shades darker. His hands came up to rest upon your thighs. “I can make y’ feel good. Give it to ya better than anyone else ever did. Will you let me?”

Where was your voice? It seemed to have abandoned you as you attempted to reply. When you found it again, it came out as more of a croak. “Y-yes.”

He couldn’t repress the soft groan that escaped his throat. When he moved to kiss you, you happily accepted it, relaxing into the slot of his mouth against yours.

As he stood, you chased his lips, not yet willing to pull away. But then he was towering over you as you remained seated on the bed, and suddenly you felt very timid. Then there was his belt buckle, shiny and perhaps a little gaudy, but in that moment, its addition to his belt was the sexiest thing you’d ever seen. 

Instinctively, your trembling hands came up to unfasten it, and Rhett watched you, chest heaving slightly at the sight of your focused expression. But all too soon, he stayed your hands. 

“I need ya to say it,” he gruffed. “Tell me you wan’ it. Gotta hear the words.”

“I want it, Rhett,” you replied. 

He grabbed your face in his hand, squishing your cheek slightly. “No. Not like that. Say it.”

This was it. This was how you died. Death caused by Rhett Abbott’s fiery gaze. What a way to go. “I want you to fuck me.” 

It was simultaneously for him to hear your spoken consent, and to listen to the dirty words leave your mouth. 

He pulled you to your feet, your body pressed to his. His hands rested against the small of your back. You were suddenly very aware that he was hard in his jeans, bulge pressed against your belly. 

He stepped back, only to bend forward, fingers curling around the hem of your dress. The pretty blue you had been admiring a few weeks ago, only for it to show up in a neatly packaged box on your bed, with a note from Rhett telling you he saw you admiring it and wanted you to have it. 

That same dress was now being lifted from your body and discarded on his floor in a heap. You didn’t care where it landed. 

That left you standing there in the middle of his bedroom in just your undergarments. Already, you felt exposed, and you fought the urge to cross your arms over your body. But then Rhett was taking your hands and placing them against his chest, silently urging you to unbutton his shirt. 

So you did, fingers unsteady as you undid each button, revealing a white undershirt beneath. His button down floated down to some unbeknownst place, and you tugged his undershirt from where it was tucked into his jeans. He shrugged out of the cotton, leaving his torso bare to you. 

You had seen him without a shirt before. But this was different. This was up close and personal. You could see his minimal tattoos. A bill and rider on his right pec. Two skeletons kissing on his ribs. 2013 written on his bicep. 

Without thinking, you smoothed your hands over his chest, tracing the bull and rider before you went lower. Palms trailing over his abdomen. Down toward his belt again. You put your focus into removing the buckle, but soon grew frustrated with yourself. It should have been simple. Why were you struggling? 

But Rhett stayed your hands. “I’ve got it,” he murmured. You watched as his fingers undid the buckle with ease, undoing his belt in the process. Then he was popping the button of his Wranglers and easing the zipper down and you thought you were going to go lightheaded. 

He eyed you, and said, “G’on. Take it out.”

Fuck. Your knees went weak. Your hands still shook as you reached into his jeans, pushing his boxers down so you could free him. You gasped softly when your fingers wrapped around his shaft, and your gaze flickered down to take it all in. 

Thick and heavy, rounded and pink at the tip. You never thought to describe a cock as beautiful. His was. Even in all your imaginations, you had never pictured this. You couldn’t decide whether to drop to your knees and take it into your mouth, or fall onto the bed and beg him to fuck you with it. 

He made the decision for you. “Y’ can have it in your mouth another time. Right now, we’re takin’ it slow.”

“O-okay.” It came out as a pathetic whisper. 

He took your moment of distraction to rid himself out of his jeans and underwear entirely, heavy hardness bobbing between his legs as he then reached out to help you out of your bra. Your panties came next, and he knelt down to remove those, meeting your gaze as he gently urged you to lift each leg so that he could pull the fabric off. 

One hand rested behind your knee, thumb tracing circles, warm and gentle, comforting. He gave you a moment to gather your wits about you before he stood again. You were entirely bare to one another. This was what you had been dreaming about for months. Now that it was finally happening, you were a little overwhelmed. 

He was so close you could smell his cologne, and the underlying natural scent that was simply described as Rhett. You could feel the heat of his body. Hear each intake of breath. He was beautiful like this. The most beautiful man you’d ever seen. Freckles dotted his skin. Years of running around with a shirt off as he carried out ranch work. You thought perhaps you might be able to connect each freckle and make a constellation out of them. 

Did he find your body’s intricacies attractive, too? Your random scars and marks. The uneven parts of your skin. The things that made you, you. 

His finger hooked beneath your chin. Guiding you to look at him. To meet his gaze. Then he gently grasped your wrist and brought your hand against his aching cock. “This is what you do to me.” 

You whimpered. Heat pooled between your thighs. You clenched around nothing. But you still had the wherewithal to take his other hand and guide it to where you needed him. And this is what you do to me, you wanted to say. But your voice failed you. 

He could feel it, though. His fingers parted your folds and he swiped each digit through. Your sharp gasp as he circled your clit was music to his ears. “So wet already? Y’ need it so bad, huh baby?” His mouth was hovering against your ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of ya.”

He felt the way your cunt pulsed that time. 

He carefully led you to the bed. When the backs of your knees came in contact with the edge of it, you nearly fell backward, but he caught you, easing you down as if you were floating into a cloud. 

As you got yourself situated against the mattress, he joined you, body soon hovering over your own, so broad above you. You glanced down at the sight of the considerable length of him, and knew that very soon, it would be enveloped within you. 

He pulled your attention back toward him as he kissed you again, pushing your thighs apart so he could slot his body between them. He wasn’t finished with his foreplay yet. He still wanted to savor you. 

“Do ya have any idea how fuckin’ beautiful y’are?” His fingers danced down your side. “Soft, too. Like a peach.” Then his mouth curved into a smile as he ducked his head to kiss at your neck. “Bet ya taste like one too.” 

When his teeth nipped at your flesh, you whined low in your throat. His cock pulsed against your thigh. He began his descent of your body then, tongue and teeth exploring, tasting. When he reached your breasts, he swirled his tongue around a nipple, his hand attending to the other one. 

“This okay?” He asked. 

“Uh-huh,” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he wrapped his lips around the pebbled bud. 

“You think of me?” Came his next question. 

“Wha…?” It was growing harder to form words, your mouth loose around the vowel. 

He lifted his head to look at you. When had you tangled your hands in his hair? You had no recollection, but his silvery curls were mussed, and your fingers were the culprit. 

“When y’ touch yourself. Is it to the thought of me?”

Oh, god. “Y-yes,” you peeped. 

He kissed your abdomen, nuzzling into its softness. “What am I doin’, in your imagination?” Another kiss to your hip. Then directly over your pubic bone. 

“I…you’re…”

“Is it this?” Fingers parted your folds, swiping through your arousal. He offered a kitten lick to your sensitive bub. 

You had imagined him doing that, yes. But usually you pictured him splitting you open on his cock. 

“S-sometimes.”

“Oh? What am I doin’ other times, then?” Another lick. Lips wrapping around to suck it into his mouth. 

“You’re…well—”

“Say it, honey. S’just me and you.” A reassuring kiss to your inner thigh. 

“I think about your dick inside me.” There. You’d said it. 

“Gotta give me more than that.”

“You’re making me come around it. Showing me what it feels like to be fucked by a real man.” Speaking the words out loud felt silly. But Rhett’s reaction made you realize he thought it was anything but. 

You didn’t expect him to growl low in his chest. A deep sound, gravelly in pitch. He came back up so that his face was just inches from yours, noses bumping, lips brushing. 

“Y’ want me to show you what it’s like to be fucked by a real man? Cause I’ll show you, baby. I didn’t come to play. You give me your pussy and I’ll treat her right.”

“Please, I want it! I want it so bad, I’ve wanted it for months now,” you gasped, rolling your hips, trying to feel him. 

His hand against your lower abdomen kept you still. “And I’ll give it to you. Gotta be patient now, I ain’t about to rush this and hurt you.” Punctuated with a kiss. Then another. 

He pulled back only briefly, reaching over to the bedside table. Your eyes followed him and you realized he was grabbing the bottle of lube you’d gone into town for earlier. Oh, you’d forgotten about that. 

“I’m takin’ my time with this pussy. Because as much as you’ve thought about me when y’touch yourself, I think about you, too.” There it was. “I close my eyes and dream about your pussy, clenchin’ around me. Drippin’ all over the place.”

You whined. 

He opened the lube and poured a good amount into his open palm. You watched, hypnotized, as he wrapped that big palm around his cock, smoothing the liquid down his shaft, ensuring that he was slick from root to tip. Then, he poured a little more on his fingers, letting his body temperature warm it before he carefully smoothed it over your pussy, making sure to put a little extra around your already-soaked entrance. 

“Gotta get her nice and ready f’me.” 

You gasped when he slid his middle finger into you, testing the waters before he added his ring finger into the mix. The stretch wasn’t painful, but it was there, and you shuddered. 

His brow furrowed in concentration as he began moving his fingers. “Tell me how y’ like it. How should I move my fingers, baby?” He experimented with angle and pressure, curling the digits upward. 

You knew what he was trying to do. But you had been disappointed too many times in the past by guys who didn’t know what they were doing. Thinking they were making you see stars with just their fingers when you quite literally felt nothing. 

You’d convinced yourself that the alleged g-spot didn’t exist. It was just a myth. 

But Rhett seemed determined to find it. “C’mon now, honey. Talk to me. S’been a while since I’ve done this. I’m a li’l rusty.”

“D-don’t bother, you’re not gonna find it,” you told him, shaking your head, slightly embarrassed. 

He looked at you, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I don’t make it a habit to back down from a challenge.”

He angled his hand a little more, pushing his fingers deeper into you. His other hand came up to rest lightly upon your mound. 

“It should be right about…” He went deeper and crooked upward, and all of the sudden, you yelped and jolted beneath him. He had the audacity to grin. “Here.”

He built a rhythm, faster and deeper, all while you lay there with your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, trembling as he fucked you with his fingers. The squelch of your wetness was lewd. It almost made you want to cover your face in embarrassment.

But how could you, when he was gazing down at you as if you’d hung the moon and stars in the sky? “Look atcha. So pretty. All f’me.” When he said those words, when he told you how beautiful you were, he spoke with such conviction that you believed him.

You couldn’t bask in the praise, though, because you were quickly losing yourself. “Oh my g– ah!!” You were clutching at the quilt beneath you, fingers clawing at the fabric. God, you were dripping, you could feel it. Briefly, you worried about staining the quilt. But that was what Rhett wanted. 

You swore, you’d never been so wet in your life. Not even when you touched yourself to the thought of him. Yes, the added lube helped, but it was more than that. You were soaked because of him. Because of your desire for him. Because of the affect he had on you.

But you could see the effect you had on him, too. Through hazy eyes, you glanced down, catching sight of the way his cock twitched against his thigh as he knelt on the bed. You wanted it inside you. 

As if on cue, his fingers slowed within you. Absently, his thumb circled your clit. You whimpered. “One day I’ll make this pussy squirt for me. But right now, I gotta get her nice an’ ready. Make sure she can take me.”

He leaned down to kiss you languidly as he slid his fingers out of you. Then he pulled back, holding eye contact with you as he wrapped his mouth around those same fingers, moaning deeply as he sucked your arousal off of them. 

“Mind if I make y’ come on my tongue first, honey?” He asked. 

“I…I…” your voice failed you. 

He raised a brow. “I ain’t gonna do anythin’ unless I hear the words leave your mouth.”

You had to focus to get your reply out. “Y-yes, you can use your tongue,” came your gasp.

He smirked sofly, eyes glimmering. “Atta girl.” Another kiss before he descended your body yet again, leaving kisses in his wake. Large hands pushed your thighs apart as he slotted himself there. “Need ya to tell me what feels good, alright? If you ain’t grindin’ all over my face beggin’ me to keep goin’, then I ain’t doin’ it right.”

“O-okay.” Your stomach clenched in anticipation. 

Carefully, his fingers parted your folds, and he lowered his head, licking a flat stripe up your slit before he swirled the tip of his tongue around your twitching clit. He didn’t give it direct contact, however, only teasing the outer edge. It was maddening, and you found yourself trying to push your cunt against his face, searching for more.

“Uh-uh, lemme enjoy myself,” he murmured against you, hands holding your hips steady. Then he dove back in, resuming his teasing.

You shivered, squeezing your eyes shut as you focused on the feeling of his tongue against you. He noisily slurped at you, humming in satisfaction. You realized that he was getting as much pleasure out of this as you were.

When you lifted your head to gaze down at him, he locked eyes with you, and finally wrapped his lips around your neglected bud, sucking firmly, tongue flicking against you amidst the suction. 

“Oh!” You yelped, back arching off the bed as your hands came down to tangle in your hair.

He went at you like a man starved, sucking and licking, kissing and nipping. You felt as if you might float away, up into the clouds, straight toward heaven. Warmth was beginning to bloom deep within your abdomen, growing more intense with each passing moment. 

You hadn’t realized you were subconsciously making sounds, whines and whimpers and moans, but they were music to Rhett’s ears.

“Y’sound so pretty,” he spoke into your cunt, his voice muffled. He lifted his head only to kiss your inner thigh. A small gesture, but it did wonders to ground you. “How’s it feelin’ for ya?”

“G-good,” your mouth felt like it was made of jello. You weren’t sure how you were even able to form a response.

With a satisfied smile, he went back to business. His thick fingers delved back inside you as his tongue lapped at you, eager to draw a sweet, sweet orgasm out of you. He wouldn’t properly fuck you until he got it. He was remiss in his duties if he didn’t draw at least one out of you before he got his cock inside you. 

You shuddered as the intensity mounted. With his fingers and tongue working you over, you knew that you were going to plummet over the edge very soon. The tingle started at your fingertips, but it quickly spread to your other extremities. Warm and fizzy, as if your bloodstream had turned to shimmering champagne.

With your fingers gripping his hair, your brow furrowed as you focused on the way he was making you feel. You pulsed around his fingers, and he groaned, very aware of how quickly you were losing yourself.

“C’mon now, honey. Give it to me.” His fingers went deeper, faster, thumb coming up to rub at your clit while his mouth was occupied with speaking. “Wan’ feel you let go around my fingers, on my tongue. Gimme that sweet fuckin’ cum.”

“Rhett!” You cried out, jolting as if you’d been struck by a bolt of lightning.

Victorious, he wrapped his lips around you again, fingers undulating inside you as he drew you to the precipice, and finally, sent you tumbling, hurtling, soaring over the edge.

You blacked out, it was so intense. 

You were unaware of how tightly you were tugging at his hair, unaware of how you shoved your pulsing cunt against his face, riding him for all he was worth. He growled unabashedly against you, drinking from you, taking all you had to give as your cunt twitched and pulsed around his invading fingers. 

You were trembling, convulsing, unable to control your body’s response as you wailed and sobbed and went silent as it rendered your brain into a mess of white noise. He didn’t let up, continuing the caress of his tongue and fingers until you began to float down from the blinding heat. 

When you came to, Rhett was hovering over you, face gentle, eyes kind. “Hey there, honey. That was a lot. Y’ alright?” He asked, tone sweet.

I’m fine, you tried to say, but it came out more like “‘m fuh.”

Cautiously, he stroked his fingers over your warm cheek. “Did so good f’me, but I need your words. You want me to keep goin’, or do ya need a break?”

“K-keep going,” you managed. Why were your cheeks wet? Were you crying? 

He wiped the tears away. “Hey now, you’re safe. I’ve got ya.”

“I kn-know.” You reached for him, and he let you wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

He sat up, pulling you with him, hugging your body close to his, holding you until your unexpected bout of tears subsided. 

“How you doin’? Wanna take a break?” He repeated.

You leaned back to look at him, laughing slightly at yourself as you gathered your wits about you. “I’m okay. Not sure why I’m crying. That’s so embarrassing.”

But he shook his head. “Don’t apologize, little darlin’. That was a lot for you, I get it.” He kissed your temple. “Maybe we should continue this later.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I want to keep going.” There was no doubt in your mind.

“Okay,” he relented with a nod. His lips captured your own, and you melted into him. You could taste yourself on his tongue. “How do y’want me, then? Wanna ride me? Want me on top?”

You hesitated, considering the options. “Can, um…can you be on top?” You wished to be enveloped in the sheer size of him, safe and warm beneath his broadness. 

His mouth curved into a smile. “Sure thing. Lemme get you situated.” He eased you out of his lap before he moved to grab a pillow from the bed, putting it down in just the right spot. Then he patted the pillow. “S’for your hips.”

He guided you so that you were spread out against the mattress, your hips elevated slightly by the pillow. Then he reached for the bottle of lube again, drizzling more of it onto his cock, as some of it had wiped off against the bed when he’d been between your thighs. “Kinda jumped the gun, puttin’ this on earlier. Didn’t think I was gonna take a detour. But when I saw this pretty li’l pussy, I just couldn’t resist,” he admitted. 

Again, he smoothed more lube onto your puffy cunt as he spoke, and you whimpered at the sensitivity. But you were quickly distracted by the sight of him wrapping his fist around himself, offering a few firm strokes as he shifted to hover over you. 

He took a moment to gaze down at you, face a mask of adoration. He didn’t take this lightly, the fact that you wanted to give yourself to him like this. You trusted him implicitly, and it made his heart soar. 

“I’m gonna take it slow, honey,” he hummed, as he guided his cock through your slick. 

You gasped at the feeling, shivering beneath him. Pulsing with the desire to be full of him. His gaze remained focused on the way your folds parted to accommodate him. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to be inside you. 

His tip caught at your entrance once, twice, as he slid over you. Just as you were about to plead with him to fuck you already, he aligned himself with you. 

With one big hand placed lovingly against your lower abdomen, the other still wrapped around his shaft, he slowly began to ease into you. Your brows pinched together at the feeling, and with every inch, you felt the stretch. Faint at first, but growing as he filled you further. 

Although you had loosened up considerably with the help of your orgasm, the sheer size of him still took your breath away. He wasn’t so big that it was painful, but it was certainly a lot to adjust to. 

His jaw clenched, and he had to hold himself back from thrusting forward without warning. “You’re so tight, darlin’. Fuck, oh my god, you feel s’good.”

It had been too long since he’d been in the confines of a warm, wet, inviting pussy. His hand and the silicone stroker he used in his alone time were nothing compared to the way you felt. 

You could only whimper as he continued to bring his hips forward. Now, even now, it felt right. As if this was where he was always meant to be, buried within the deepest part of you, one with your body. Strangely enough, it felt so comforting, so safe. Filled to the brim, shivering beneath his weight. 

Your thighs trembled around his hips, and you cried out when you realized he’d bottomed out, given you all he could, all that you could take. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and Rhett nuzzled his face into your neck, sucking in a sharp breath as he relished in the way you felt wrapped around him.

“How y’ feelin’, huh? Talk to me,” he rasped against your skin, tongue tasting the salt of your sweat. 

“F-full,” you whined. “So full. So big.” 

He gave you a moment, allowing your body to relax beneath him. Soon, his mouth was on yours again, kissing you sweetly. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he encouraged. There was no hurriedness in his tone. He wanted you to take it at your own pace. 

The tension melted, replaced by an itching, burning, deep desire. You knew you were ready. You’d never been more so. “I’m ready,” you confessed, clutching at his shoulders. “Please, want you to move.”

He braced himself above you, arms bracketing either side of your head as he pulled back and then shunted his hips forward. Slowly, not too fast, but it still drew a squeak from you. 

He swallowed the sound, mouth open against yours as he drew back again, only to fill you right back up. Tears pickled behind your eyes. Heat licked at your skin. 

The drag of his cock was so slow it was almost maddening, yet nearly too much all at once. You were so fucking full, and he drove himself deeper still. You could barely focus on anything else but him. His warmth, his scent, the sound of his sighs and grunts, the heave of his chest against your own. 

“Faster,” you pleaded. “Harder.”

He obliged you, jaw set in focus as his rhythm picked up. Your eyes rolled back, body undulating as he drove into you repeatedly. But he wasn’t satisfied just yet. A little shift of your hips, pulling you up toward him, angling you a bit better, and then, “Oh my god, Rhett!”

He grinned, breathless, victorious. “That’s your spot, ain’t it?” 

He already knew the answer. 

You lost yourselves in each other that night, in the warmth of his bed. All that had been building for the last several months came forth, as if a dam had been broken. 

Now that you were joined in such an intimate way, you didn’t want to part. 

Rhett let his forehead rest against your shoulder, mouth open to let out his moans and grunts, his eyes shut tight as he fucked into you. “Take it, take it, take it,” he gruffed, head spinning, strong thighs shaking as he drove himself into you. 

He licked at your collarbone, teeth grazing soft skin, sending pleasurable ripples through you. You felt lightheaded, each of you gasping, heaving. He was impossibly deep inside of you, connected to you, to the point where you couldn’t tell where you began and he ended. 

He owned you, and you let him. You’d never dreamed it could be like this. A connection so intimate, so loving, yet so primal. No one had ever given it to you like this before. No man had ever been able to make you feel like this with just his cock. 

But Rhett was not just any man. He was everything. Your sun, your stars, your moon. Your universe. 

“I love you!” You heard yourself cry out. Not of your body. Not of this earth. You were somewhere else. Somewhere ethereal. Heavenly. 

He groaned breathlessly, and the pitch of it changed, almost to a whimper, high in his throat. “I love y’too, honey. So much.” His hips stuttered. He had to focus on lasting just a little longer. 

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he gritted out. When he lifted his head, his hair had fallen against his forehead in fair curls. “Y’feel so good. I can hardly stand it.” He kissed your tears off your cheeks. “Gon’ have me coming for you.”

“I-I want it,” you squeaked, eyes wide, pleading. “Want you to fill me up, please!”

“And I’ll give it to ya, promise,” he murmured, voice strained, “but y’gotta let me get you there first.”

He switched his rhythm, grinding deeply against you, and your twitching, puffy clit brushed against his pubic bone with each movement. It immediately pulled a sharp cry from you, and your body catapulted into his as if you’d been struck with a live wire. 

You buried your face against his shoulder, biting at the skin, sure to leave a bruise. It felt so good, so good, so good. But how could you properly describe it? There were no adjectives in any language to fully, accurately describe the way you felt. 

You lost control of yourself, experiencing a sort of out of body sensation. You were floating, but he kept you grounded. You were going to shatter into a million pieces, but he held you together. You were consumed with wildfire, but he was the cool summer rain calming the flames. 

Rhett’s voice was rough in your ear. “Atta girl, baby, shit,” he grunted. You couldn’t hear him over your own sobs of euphoria. He was so strong and steady above you. A great big immovable force of a man, even as he lost himself. “I can feel you squeezin’ me. Are y’close?”

“Uh-huh!” You weren’t even sure how you managed that when you barely had a single coherent thought going through your mind. All you could think was Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. 

He was losing himself. “Please, darlin’. Let go f’me. I’m gonna come so hard, gonna fill you up, but I need you to do it first. Just let go, I’m beggin’ ya honey.” Pleading, ready to fall apart, barely hanging on. 

You were a thread being pulled taut. Tighter, tighter, tighter. Any more and you’d snap. But then his mouth was against yours and he offered one last please. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my fuckin’ cock.”

Maybe it was his words that sent you over the edge. Maybe it was that one last thrust deep within you. Either or, you were freefalling. Hurtling straight off the edge of a cliff. You tried to cry out, but when you opened your mouth, no sound came. 

All you could do was let it wash over you in deliciously intense waves, even more intense than your previous orgasm. It seemed to last forever, yet not long enough. Wonderfully dizzying, yet comforting, as if you were floating down into a warm hug. 

You must have blacked out again, because when you came back to yourself, Rhett’s face was buried against your breast, mouth open against your skin as he pulsed within you, emptying his seed deep within your fluttering cunt. 

The feeling brought a lazy smile to your face. Oh, how far gone you were. 

But as he came down from his own euphoria, you noticed something. It started in your thighs at first. A subtle twitch. But then it intensified, spreading further. Within seconds, you were full on trembling, so much so that your teeth had begun to chatter. 

“O-o-oh my god,” you whimpered. “I-I can’t stop!”

Rhett hummed, strong arms wrapping around your torso as he pulled you upright, softening cock still seated within you. “Hey, I’ve got ya. Was just intense, ‘s all.”

You had no control of your extremities, all you could do was curl into your man’s embrace and wait for the tremors to pass. “Th-that was so insane,” you spoke against his shoulder. And then, all at once, a flood of emotion hit you out of nowhere. 

Now you were crying, on top of shaking uncontrollably. You felt like an absolute mess, sobbing in Rhett’s arms. He was so patient with you, soothing you, cradling you close as your body processed it all. 

“You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m right here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” It was his velvet drawl that soothed you and brought you back to yourself. His strong, work-roughened hands were gentle against your skin, familiar and careful all at once. 

You had no idea how long you stayed like that. When you finally lifted your head to look at him, your thighs were slick with your combined released, and gravity had long since released his cock from you. 

“Hey there, sweetheart. Welcome back,” he murmured, smiling kindly. “How you feelin’?”

“Like I ran a marathon,” you replied with a sleepy smile. “In a good way.”

“Yeah?” He nuzzled his nose against yours. 

“That was…I’ve never felt like that before. I can’t even describe it. You…you’ve ruined me for anyone else.” 

That made his chest swell with pride. But he didn’t take the time to bask in it. Instead, he guided you off his lap. “Need t’ get cleaned up before you fall asleep on me, alright?”

You stood, but your legs were unsteady, and your first few steps were much like a newborn fawn’s. Rhett bit back a smile as he guided you to the bathroom. There, he helped you clean up. You weren’t sure that you could handle a shower in the state you were in, so he lovingly wiped you down with a damp cloth. 

After you were situated, he led you back to the bedroom. “You need some jammies,” he mused. “Wan’ me to go grab ‘em for you?”

“Would you?” You asked, grateful for his offer. “They’re in the middle left drawer of my dresser.”

“Sure thing.” After he threw on a pair of plaid lounge pants, he disappeared from the room, leaving you alone for a moment. 

You took that time to gather your wits about you. You had just experienced the most wonderfully intense sex of your entire life. Never in your wildest imaginations did you think it would be like this. You’d literally gone into a shaking fit after the fact, he’d given it to you so good. 

Part of you felt a little mortified at the way you had reacted, but it wasn’t as if you could help it. It had quite literally been involuntary. But Rhett has soothed your worries, offering you understanding. 

For him, your involuntary trembling and tears had reassured him that he’d done his job right. And as he searched for a pair of pajamas, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Everything was out in the open. You’d both taken that leap and now, there was nothing keeping you apart. 

He was glad that your miscommunication between each other hadn’t done any damage. Now that you’d talked it through, you each knew where the other stood. There were no more guessing games to play. 

As he sauntered back to join you in his bedroom, he felt a sense of relief. All was as it should be. 

“Thank you,” you told him, as you reached for the pajamas. You’d wrapped his quilt around yourself, shielding your nakedness from him. Although you had just allowed him to fuck you, you felt a little shy in the aftermath. 

Rhett allowed you a moment of privacy, slipping into the bathroom to brush his teeth while you put your pajamas on. Once he returned, you were sitting cross-legged on the bed. 

You were staring at a wet spot in the fabric. “Guess we made a mess,” you bashfully mused. 

He smiled, shaking his head. “Guess we did. Don’t worry, I’ve got another blanket in the closet. I’ll wash the quilt tomorrow.” He leaned down to kiss you before he tugged the quilt off the bed. “Next time I’ll put a towel down.”

Next time. 

“Rhett?” 

“Yeah, darlin’?” He was already halfway across the room, searching for a blanket in his closet. 

“Thank you. You, um, you made me feel really safe during that. And you didn’t make me feel stupid for getting all shaky like I did.”

He paused, blanket in hand before he made his way back to you. He set the blanket aside as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. “I’d never do that to ya. Hell, if I fuck you, and you’re tremblin’ that hard after the fact, then I know I did my job right.”

You ducked your head, smiling brightly at his admission. “Even so, thank you.”

He tipped your chin up. “You’re welcome.” But then his face grew serious as he rested his hand on your knee. “I need you to know that when you said I ruined you for anyone else…that’s what I want. I don’t want there to be anyone else. Just you an’ me, for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Good, because me too.”

His eyes shone, happiness glimmering within them. “Glad that’s settled.”  And then, “by the way, I was thinkin’…would you wanna move your stuff down the hall and start sleepin’ in here, with me, from now on?” Then he caught himself. “Unless of course you’d rather not, that’s okay too. Don’t want y’ to feel any pressure.”

“Rhett.”

“Yeah?”

“I’d love to move into your room with you.”

He grinned, clearly pleased. “That’s what I was hopin’ you’d say.”

You leaned in, kissing him sweetly. “I hope you know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Rhett Abbott.”

He pulled you closer, big arms wrapping around your waist. “And you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, little darlin’. Don’t you forget it.”

You sighed, melting into him, entirely relaxed. For a man who had such a rough and tumble air about him, he had a soul as sweet as blood-red jam. He was so good to you, kind and patient, sparing no expense to make sure you were taken care of. 

After all, he was your million dollar man. And you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

-

tagging (those who might be interested):

@milesmillergf @rhettabbotts @peachystenbrough @withahappyrefrain @up-thereinthesky

@attapullman @sebsxphia @damrlova @lovinglyeternal @laracrofted

@bobfloydsbabe @sugarcoated-lame @sunblchdfly @fragilefearnie @floydsmuse

@blindedbythelightt @princess-vibes25 @rockstxr-x @phoenixhalliwell @xdaddies-babyx

[stuffeddeer]

15!dazai is overtaking my brain bc just imagine him taking u to an arcade and trying to win u a plushie at the claw machine bc he noticed u staring at it but failing miserably and he refuses to give up until he gets that plushie

“It’s okay, Dazai, let’s just move on,” you laughed slightly, amused by his determined expression as he failed once again.

“This stupid claw machine is rigged!” He groaned, resting his head on your shoulder with a pout.

Nodding in agreement, you try and tug him away. “Exactly. So let’s move on, ‘kay?”

A small child ran by, the same brown plush design that was flaunted inside the claw machine was grasped in her hands. Dazai lifted his head up to look at you, to which you only sighed. “Her parent probably got it for her, don’t— “

Four more quarters were slotted into the machine that only needs two to play, the lights flickering as its speakers started playing the same grating song.

Seven dollars. He’d already blown seven dollars in quarters on this stupid machine with nothing to show for it, and you were growing bored. “If you’re gonna try and win this plushie for me, I’m gonna try and find one for you.”

He nods dismissively, too focused on trying to line up the dangling claw. The sight makes you smile: it was always nice to see him act his age, too used to the serious Dazai that ruled by Mori’s side. Sliding 4 quarters from his pocket, you vanished to the other side of the row of machines. Hm… what would he like…

“WHA— Hey!” Dazai called your name in shock, and you quickly rushed back to his side. “Look! Look look look!” He was jumping up and down as he finally made it, staring up at the big CONGRATULATIONS! flashing on the display on top of the machine.

You stood in shock. Less than two seconds is how long you must’ve been away from him! How did he..?

Holding the stuffed deer plush he pushed into your hands, you gave him a celebratory kiss on the cheek. “You did it!”

Dazai puffed his chest out confidently, hands on his hips. “Yep! Guess you were just bad luck.”

You deadpanned before hitting him over the head with the plush. “I take my kiss back!” You huff, which only causes Dazai to laugh.

“It’s too late! I got a kiss!” He starts chanting, running away as you chase him through the aisles of the arcade.

you two got kicked out of the arcade after running into a bunch of things. mori had to pay to replace a machine and he was pissed 😋