#fluffiness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What you could see, though, was his build.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”You dare me?”

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

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

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

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

You were the one that made his heart stutter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And when you looked up at him–

Your lips parted slightly.

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

Because God.

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

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

You could see them now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N.”

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

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

And just like that, it hit you–hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You gonna get his number?” She asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes caught on his hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You, somehow, didn’t flinch.

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

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

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

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

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

You tapped into his contacts.

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

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

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

“Appreciate that,” He drawled, voice low.

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

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

You nodded, smiling without meaning to.

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

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

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

And it wasn’t smug. Wasn’t cocky.

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

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

And all you could think was–

Holy shit.

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

—————————

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

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

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

You had agreed way too fast.

Embarrassingly fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

”The white one?” Jen nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

”It’s not too much?” You questioned.

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

”You’re absolutely ridiculous.” She smirked.

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

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

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

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

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

He liked it.

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

And when you opened the door…

It hit him.

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

And then his eyes hit your dress.

And your boots.

God.

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

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

Rhett stared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The truck rumbled to life.

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

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

—————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raised his brows. “Confidence?”

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

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

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

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

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

And somehow, it all blurred.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It did. A little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked at his mouth too.

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

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

And fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-Okay,” He murmured. “Yeah… okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

And God–his hands.

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

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

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

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

If his kiss felt like that…

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

————————

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

Jen blinked once. “Proceed.”

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re on birth control, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a pause. And then–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “Cry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

Because honestly?

You were counting on it.

—————————

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

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

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

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

“Wanna come inside?” You murmured.

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

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

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

That made him blink.

“You did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He followed without question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he kissed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t make it easy for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then his hands came up.

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

Because in this light…

His eyes were beautiful.

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

And the way he looked at you…

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

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

Then he kissed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t.

He held back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then his mouth found yours again.

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

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

The kiss never broke.

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

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

Then he dipped his head.

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

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

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

You gasped, spine arching faintly.

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

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

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

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

Then he sat back on his knees for a moment.

Just looking.

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

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

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

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

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

That was all he needed.

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

Your whole body jolted.

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

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

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

It was too much and not enough all at once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he reached the waistband of your shorts.

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

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

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

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

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

It was the matching set.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-Okay…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded a little, breath stuttering.

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

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

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

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

“Is that so, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first lick was slow.

Long.

Deliberate.

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

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

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

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

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

He squeezed your hand gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your answer was immediate. “Yes. Please…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You moaned out loud.

Loud and aching and raw.

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

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

It was too much and still somehow not enough.

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

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

Right there.

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

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

That did it.

The heat snapped like a whip.

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

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

Rhett held you there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all it took.

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

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

Your stomach flipped.

He was big.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ready?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you whispered back.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

You nodded again, breath shallow.

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

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

Your breath hitched. “Oh–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my god…” You whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You can move…”

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

And then he did.

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

He paused, breathing against your mouth.

“Okay?” he asked again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded instantly. “Yes…Please…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And without thinking, you whined:

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

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

Then his mouth crashed into yours as his hips bucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he kissed you again–slower now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then it hit you.

The comedown.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled. You felt it against your temple.

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

That morning, when your truck refused to start. You turned the key once, twice, three times; you tried the accelerator pedal, you pumped the key in the ignition over and over again, but the engine only responded with a dry groan and a muffled crackle. You checked the cables, the oil level, you even hit the steering wheel with your open palm—an old, useless habit. Nothing.

So you grabbed your work bag, the canvas briefcase you always carried with you. Inside were the essential tools: gauze, syringes, sutures, a small bottle of iodine, antibiotics. Then you got out of the vehicle. It had been a long week at the veterinary clinic , and you preferred to walk to town rather than sit around doing nothing.

The dirt road stretched out in front of you, cutting the meadow in two. The wind carried the smell of dry grass and fresh earth, and birds singing from the fences. It was a quiet day, too quiet.

Until you saw it.

Rhett Abbott lay in the middle of the road, or what was left of him. His body was half covered by the shadow of tall grasses, bleeding out when you found him, a half-transformed, wild thing with amber eyes. The blood, dark and thick, soaked the dust. His abdomen was open, a deep wound gushing blood. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in violent spasms.

You stood motionless. For a moment, your mind searched for a reasonable explanation—a wild animal attack, an accident, or kidnapping—but nothing fit.

As you looked at him lying there, still in shock, your mind wrestled with itself — He’s a werewolf. Do werewolves even exist in the first place? No, they’re just stories, legends your grandmother used to tell you as a child. But the evidence — wild and agonizing — was right in front of you, in the eyes that opened to meet yours. They weren’t human. They were golden, feral, animal.

Your grandmother's words echoed in your confused thoughts: “Never get close enough for them to smell you.“ “Never, ever touch them when they are in that cursed state between man and beast“

You couldn't just leave him there to fend for himself. The debate in your head was brief and brutal. Are you crazy? He's a predator, not a patient. But it's Rhett, you know him, he's the gruff but harmless cowboy who lives across the valley. Harmless? Look at him! If he bleeds out, he'll be a corpse by sunset. And you couldn't leave him there, not while his breathing turned into irregular growls.

You were stupid.

You fell to your knees beside him, trembling. The metallic smell of blood mingled with that of iodine when you opened your purse. You poured saline solution onto the wound, cleaning the edge with gauze as your fingers turned red. You prepared the syringe, injecting lidocaine around the tear, even though you knew it wouldn't be enough. Then you threaded the needle, beginning to suture with catgut, your hands moving mechanically between fear and compassion.

He growled. Each breath was a muffled roar, a sound between pain and fury. Until, suddenly, his golden gaze rose and fixed on you.

And in return? You didn't see it coming when, in a quick, desperate move.

He bit you. You felt the heat of his breath before the pain, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, just for a second, long enough to break the skin and mark you.

He didn't transform you. Not completely. He just left a part of himself inside you, an invisible mark that began to burn from the very first day.

You felt it afterwards: the fever, a deep, restless pain beneath your skin, attraction mixed with a tingling sensation that never goes away. Then the whispers begin. A voice in the recesses of your mind, twisting around your thoughts, dark and hungry.

Accompanied by the fact that lately you have been dreaming that you find him in your bedroom lying on your bed, sprawled out as if he owned the place, as if he had been waiting for you.

Moonlight filters through the window, bathing his half-naked torso in a silvery, ghostly glow. It outlines his defined muscles and stomach, creating a play of light and shadow that seems alive. But it is his eyes that paralyze you: two golden orbs that do not reflect the light, but devour it. They burn with an inner fire when they fix on you.

You don't know why you are wet just from looking at him, even without him touching you. He inhales and his lips curve into a slow, mischievous smile.

“Mine.” The word is a growl, dark and definitive, resonating in your bones.

You try to pull away, backing toward the door.

“Wrong choice, beautiful“, a voice you now know is his echoes in your head.

You don't take a second step. Before you can process it, his body covers you, trapping you under a blanket of heat, muscles of steel, and a strength that is pure supernatural essence. His nose brushes your throat, he sticks out his tongue to taste the pulse beating there, and his lips move to your shoulder toward the mark as he kisses it, and that's when you realize something worse than the bite.

It wasn't just a claim. It's a bond. A tie that binds you to him. A bond that forces you to desire him with the same ferocity with which he desires you. It's the explanation for the fire in your veins, for the wetness between your legs, for the emptiness you feel that only he can fill.

And the worst part? You want him. You desperately crave the sharp bite of his teeth again. The rough touch of his tongue on your skin. The way his hands tremble as he forces himself to be gentle, to wait, to restrain himself; the visible struggle in him not to ruin you, even though everything inside him screams at him to do it, to fuck you so hard that it erases any trace of who you were, to claim you until only he remains.

He wants to devour you so badly.

Every night you wake up with a start, bathed in cold sweat that sticks the sheets to your skin. Your chest rises and falls at a frantic pace, and your breath escapes in ragged gasps that break the silence of the room. It is accompanied by a dull, stabbing pain in your lower belly and the obvious growing dampness of your soaked panties, your body craving it, needing it.

The knowledge seeps into your consciousness, cold and precise as a knife blade, as the full moon approaches.

And now, as you double-lock the doors and windows at night, you try to pretend you don't feel it. That its gaze doesn't follow your every move from the darkness beyond the glass.

Warm

“It’s freezing out there! It’s freezing in here! Frostheim sucks!” 

  You giggled a little at Kaito’s outburst as you followed him into his room. The bleach blond tossed a somewhat sheepish glance over his shoulder at you as he set his bag down near the table. 

  “Ah, sorry. Probably you didn’t want to just hear me whine about it. Not as if complaining about the weather changes it,” he murmured, cheeks still rosy with what could easily be mistaken as just the cold. 

  You shook your head, taking your own seat across from him, opening your bag and setting it to your side. The study sessions–when the both of you could make them–seemed to be helping, and Kaito’s focus and determination at each session made a small swell of pride within your heart. “Hey, sometimes a little complaining is good to vent,” you concurred, then turned your gaze back to him with a gentle smile. “At least your room is a bit of an oasis to the cold.” 

  He scratched nervously beside his head and sat down. “I have to keep it at least a little warmer in here. Otherwise our study sessions would end up with our fingers turning blue.” He glared a pointed look towards where the thermostat was. “Even if I keep turning that thing up, though, pretty sure someone’s been flicking it back down.” His volume lowered a moment to a grumble. “You’d think Frostheim wouldn’t care about a heating bill.” 

  You stifled another chuckle, your hand politely covering your mouth before you nodded your head towards the windows. “At least the snow is a good view.” 

  Kaito nodded, turning from the waist to look where you had indicated. You heard him sigh softly. The grounds that could be seen from his window near blindingly sparkled with the fresh snow, the color of the sky almost fuzzy with the day’s peaceful winter display. Trees glimmered in the setting light of the sun with the same sprinklings of frost that clung stubbornly to the edges of the windows’ panes. “Yeah. I definitely like looking at it more than walking in it.”

  After watching the snow continuing to fall for a beat, you took a deep breath and turned your textbook to the page you were working on, reaching thoughtfully towards a pencil. “I can agree with that. I don’t look forward to trudging back through the stuff. Maybe I can crash here, if it’s not imposing?” 

  When you looked back up at Kaito, he had turned back to you but appeared to be in suspended animation, his teal eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. 

  “Kaito?” you asked. 

  He didn’t even blink. 

  “Hey, Kaito? Are you okay?” you asked, a little louder this time. 

  The volume switch appeared to reboot Kaito, though the first thing to move was the color rushing to his face in a wave of deep red. “Y-yeah. You could… crash… h-here…” 

  In a wave of motion that nearly made you jump, Kaito pressed his palms down on the tabletop and pressed himself upwards to stand at attention. “HOT CHOCOLATE!” he announced suddenly. “I’LLGOMAKESOMEHOTCHOCOLATETOWARMUSUPBERIGHTBACK!” 

  As quickly as his words had babbled out of him, the ghoul had dashed away in a blur that would’ve given Haru’s bahnti competition. 

  His hands shook as he prepared the drinks for both of you, though the idea of you possibly staying in his room was at least making Frostheim’s chill tolerable; Kaito’s heart was beating so fast he thought he might faint, but the increased circulation warmed him right up. “Come on, Kaito, come on,” he coached himself. This isn’t a big deal. This shouldn’t be a big deal. Just relax. You can’t make them walk home in the snow! Of course there’s probably any other number of people willing to let them stay over. They could ask them. 

  Try as he might to bid them otherwise, images of the other Frostheim ghouls offering their rooms floated to the surface of his frantic thoughts.  

  No. No! They asked you! That’s good, right? 

  He forced himself to take a deep and slow breath, and then he slowly leaned around the corner of the entryway where you sat, now casually back to attending your own coursework. 

  You were too cute. 

  Naturally, that was why you had come here in the first place. You had been such an endlessly encouraging presence on the study sessions–Kaito had to stop himself for the millionth time thinking of it as a study date—that Kaito actually thought he might pass the test he was worried about. And then–

  He had honestly thought it would be shrugged off as a joke when the idea had slipped out his lips: that if he passed, he might be rewarded with taking you out on a date. 

  A real date. 

Just the two of you. 

  But you had surprised him by agreeing–and sincerely, at that. Of course, he would never think you to be the cruel type to have lied about your agreement, but… well, Kaito had the self-awareness to know that the small, doubtful inner voice that suggested you might be messing with him was just an aspect of his less-than-stellar self-esteem. But it still sucked, even if he knew, rationally, what it was. 

He took another slow and deep breath to calm his nerves. It wasn’t even just the prospect of the date. Kaito really enjoyed spending time with you, even if it involved schoolwork. The way your eyes would sparkle when he got a question right, or the way you’d let him down gently when he more often got it wrong–

  He was still pretty sure you were an actual, literal angel. 

  “Well, the nice kind anyway,” he reasoned quietly out loud, deciding he might pair the hot chocolate with a couple of muffins he had baked the other day. “...not the Biblically accurate kind with all the eyeballs.” 

  He hadn’t realized he was talking to himself until you called out towards him: “Kaito? Did you say something?” 

  “N-nothing! Be right out!” Way to go, birdbrain. Inner monologue is supposed to STAY inner. 

  He arranged his treats on a tray to carry back out, resolving to just keep things as they had been. After all, the study sessions were wonderful on their own, and if you stayed over, it wouldn’t be a big deal! It would just be practical! Because of the snow! Practicality was important! 

  Just be cool, Kaito. Just be cool. 

  If you heard the cups rattle slightly on the tray, you didn’t say anything, and you looked up at Kaito with a gloriously adorable smile that made the ghoul feel like his heart was melting into a puddle that rested comfortably in his chest. 

  Yeah. Maybe just this once… he could be cool.   

  ˋ°•*⁀➷♡

  The hot chocolate was smooth, the muffins were perfectly crumbly, and Kaito’s attention to the schoolwork was impressive. 

  “Okay, so… Sea ghosts, Living ghosts, Child ghosts… uh…. Wandering spirits…” Kaito’s eyes clenched shut in concentration as he recited the list, counting off on his fingers. “Mother ghosts… vengeful spirits, and…and…ah, I always forget this one…Goryō!” He grinned as his eyes opened, and you clapped your hands together gleefully. “That’s all seven types of Yūrei!”  

  “Great! You got it!” 

  The freckled ghoul stretched his arms up with a distinct look of pride and fell backwards, lying on the floor with a thrilled “Yes!” 

You made a little checkmark on the paper in front of you, face beaming with a grin of your own. “That should do it for today, I think.” 

  “Oooh, good,” Kaito drawled, still lying on the floor. “Because I think my brain is full. If I try to cram anything else in there, I might forget how to tie my shoes.” 

  You glanced up towards the window again. The sun had completely sunk now. The only thing visible against the black of night was the incessant snowfall, specks of white drifting with a seemingly preternatural glow down to earth. You sighed as you gathered your things together. “Though we might not even have all of our classes tomorrow,” you speculated. “I don’t know what Darkwick’s weather policy is, but I don’t think it’ll be easy for people to get out.” 

  You took out your phone to check messages–you and Kaito had agreed early on to put the phones aside while studying–and confirmed your suppositions with a nod. “Ah! Isn’t that just as well, Kaito? They cancelled classes. Snow day~” 

  When the blond didn’t respond, you set your phone down with a puzzled expression. “Kaito?” 

  You stood, immediately seeing why he hadn’t responded. 

  Arms still stretched out above him, Kaito was fast asleep right where he lay, the faintest snore starting. 

  He really was tired. 

  You crossed around the low table, kneeling beside him. He looked so relaxed and calm, smiling ever so slightly in his sleep. Not wanting to startle him, you softly placed a palm on his elbow and gently nudged him. “Kaito. Hey,” you breathed quietly. His lashes fluttered open, and his ocean-colored eyes settled on you with hazy focus. You couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t wanna sleep on the floor, do you?” 

  His bangs shifted a little as he shook his head side to side. “...No,” he agreed, voice low and drowsy. “Wouldn’t be…very comfortable.” He groaned softly as he tried to sit up, his eyes still not coming into focus. He was definitely exhausted. 

  You let your hand move down to rest on the floor beside him as he wavered sleepily in place for a beat. “No classes tomorrow. Called for snow.” 

  “Mm.” His eyes closed again, though his smile widened. “Cool.” 

  Once again, you found yourself laughing a little. “You never answered me earlier,” you pointed out, feeling your own cheeks redden a little at the request. “Is it okay if I stay the night?” 

  After a pause that made you think perhaps he had fallen back asleep while sitting up, Kaito reached blindly towards you. A small gasp fell from your lips as his hand found yours, his fingers wrapping around yours, warm and soft. You hadn’t even realized your fingers were so cold until that moment.  “‘Course, Angel,” he mumbled sleepily. 

  Your heart fluttered in your chest. Angel? You shook your head, trying to push past the butterfly-soft tremble that inched through you. Nonetheless, you let your hand stay in his, maneuvering to slowly lace your fingers together. “Come on, Kaito,” you suggested, standing and trying to take him with you. He obediently stood up with another drowsy murmur. “Bedtime, Kaito. Come on.” 

  “Mmhm.” His eyes peeked open once again, his movements pliant as you walked him towards his bed. “Yeah. Seepy.” 

  It was almost too much. A part of you wanted to wake him up a little more, feeling somehow that his utterly… defenseless state was somehow something forbidden, that you were somehow sharing something decadent or even obscene, and yet… 

  You had definitely heard him call you “angel.” Obviously, he cared about you. And you certainly cared about him. Once upon a time, you had feared that this was just Kaito, that he was just wanting someone, anyone, and that idea hurt. You didn’t want to just be anyone, you wanted… 

  He had called you “angel.” 

And angels were special. 

  Resolute now not to wake him, to let him sleep, you moved to remove his blazer for him as he sat on the edge of his bed. You remembered that he only had the one, and you didn’t want it to get wrinkled by sleeping in it. His tie was next, already loosened in his usual casual way, followed by his vest. Sleep-clouded, he moved with no resistance, those bright eyes of his trained, though unfocused, on you as you took each item and laid it neatly over the back of a nearby chair. 

  Turning back to him, your breath caught in your throat as he caught your hand once again in his. His eyes were closed again, a delicate smile on his bespeckled features. 

  Your heart fluttered again. 

  “Cold out,” he mumbled, the smile morphing into a slight frown. “Cold in here.” 

  You couldn’t resist smiling again; his groggy gestures were so soft and childlike, it felt sweet and light, like a dusting of powdered sugar. “Here. This is warmer,” you offered, lifting back his blankets for him. 

  Kaito swung his legs onto the bed and under the blankets gratefully. 

He didn’t pull you in, not at all, but the ease with which you found yourself crawling under the blankets beside him was almost startling. His arms found their way around you, the motions both of you made as you nestled close seeming natural, instinctual. Kaito had been close to you on missions before. You had embraced before. It wasn’t as if this were the first time you had ever touched. Yet, this was different. He was so relaxed and calm now, the safety of sleep keeping his usual anxieties at bay. 

  His breathing slowed and steadied, and you allowed your eyes to close, allowed your own tensions and anxieties to melt away. 

  ˋ°•*⁀➷♡

  He had never gotten used to the cold of Frostheim. He had never quite gotten comfortable with the too-large bed, with the too-pricey sheets; sheets that never even seemed to keep him warm. Even the crystalline tones of the walls seemed intentionally freezing. Sure, Kaito could check his own body temperature, and he was warm-blooded as any human, but Frostheim had always seemed to make the cold somehow deeper, somehow biting and bitter in his bones. 

  Until that morning. 

  The sun reflecting off the snow outside was enough to blind even the heaviest sleeper into consciousness. In some inexplicable way, sunshine on snow and ice still felt cold, in his opinion, but– 

  He wasn’t cold at all. When consciousness found him, Kaito at last felt warm. The ache of the bitter cold seemed to have finally, blessedly toasted out from his very soul, and he was warm. 

  When he realized why, it was a wonder he didn’t immediately pass back out. 

  That so-bright morning light haloed around your sleeping form, and if Kaito hadn’t already thought of you as a divine being, he would have now. Wrapped in his arms, nestled close and dozing softly, you seemed to have an ethereal glow about you. It was only a testament to how comfortable his sleep had been that he didn’t tense every last muscle in his body, and a testament to how desperately he didn’t want to disturb you that he maintained his composure as well as he did. 

  You stirred a little in your sleep, and the blond shifted only to wrap more blanket around you. Shyly, so softly that it might have been a dream, he brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. 

  It was a snow day. All of Darkwick was frozen, Frostheim was frozen even within, but here… here the both of you were warm. 

  Kaito closed his eyes. 

  He’d save his freak out for later. 

  ˋ°•*⁀➷♡

BONUS:

A screenshot of the voiceline inspo

\You wake up as the sunlight filters through the curtains, grabbing the blanket, you pull it up over your head. Huffing, you reach out hoping to find a body near you, lifting your head, you see the bed is empty. A small pout forms on your lips as you look around the room. Even Rex had left, his bed empty beside his pillow. Moving around, you find your phone on the bedside table. It was only eight in the morning, but neither of the men slept in much. Sighing, you try and decide if you should get up or try and get some more sleep. 

There was no way you were going to be able to go back to sleep. Your mind is already wondering what the two of them had been up to. You kept your oversized shirt on, but found yourself a pair of bike shorts. The summer sun was already making it clear it was going to be another hot, humid day. 

Taking your phone, you scroll through any notifications, nothing that couldn’t wait until next week. You go to the stairs and can hear music playing. Both of them had always loved listening to music, you feel your cheeks flush. Momentarily wondering if you should leave them be, let them have this time together. 

Shaking your head, you go down the stairs, knowing that you all were in this together. Whatever that might mean. It fuels you enough to take the stairs, the music getting slightly louder. Something from the eighties and catchy, making you sway a little as you enter the living room. Walking towards the kitchen, listening to the sounds of cooking, and someone humming. 

You lean on the corner, peering into the kitchen. Steve sat on the counter, no shirt on, as he watched Bucky move around the kitchen in an apron and sweats. Holding back a giggle, you watch as Bucky turns around and slides himself between Steve’s legs. The two men leaned into one another, kissing softly like they had never been apart. You felt your heart pulse, cheeks going pink, feeling like a voyeur in your own house. Giving them a few more moments, you let yourself come out into the kitchen. 

Bucky sees you first, pulling away from Steve, who then turns around to see you. Both of them flushed from kissing, smiling at you. Both men are graced with bodies that would make anyone jealous. Bucky’s left side is covered with swirls of tattoos. Steve’s arms tanned a little darker than the rest of him, from many days of jogging in the sun. 

“Didn't mean to interrupt you both.” You worry at your lip, wanting to cover your face. Feeling like you're on a first date.

Rex walks over and pushes his nose under your hand. You give him gentle rubs and pats.

Bucky reaches for you with grabby hands. “Come on, plenty of room for both of you.”

Steve gestures as well, “Bucks making breakfast. Says we have to sit and wait.”

You chuckle and come over, Bucky grabs you by the waist and sits you on the counter. The way he could move you around like it was nothing made your stomach flutter. Steve’s hand overlapping yours. Leaning over, you kiss him gently on the cheek, sliding so that the two of you are curled against each other. Rex comes to sit just on the boundary of the kitchen, big hazel eyes watching everyone move through the room. 

“Wanted to let you sleep,” Steve murmurs as Bucky brings you a cup of coffee. The cup is placed beside you. 

“You’re adorable when you are sleeping.” Bucky leans down and kisses you gently. You’re taken aback for a moment, but kiss him back. Feeling your breath catch in your throat at the feeling.

“Thank you for the coffee,” You say to Bucky, as he releases you.“You guys been up long?”

You look over at Steve, whose feet are moving back and forth against the cupboards. “Not too long, just enough to get breakfast started.” 

He drags you back against his side, and you curl close to him, grabbing the coffee and taking a sip. The two of you sit there, listening to music, watching Bucky move around the kitchen like he belongs there. Bucky makes three plates, along with more coffee. 

“I had no idea you could cook, Bucky.” You tease, sitting at the dining table with everyone. “

“I am not saying I am a good cook, but it’s hard to mess up eggs and bacon,” Bucky says, dosing his eggs in hot sauce, while slipping a piece of toast to Rex.

“True,” Steve says, eating some eggs. “But these are good.”

The three of you talk over breakfast, about everything and nothing. It’s easy, so damn easy it’s almost painful. Rex is getting bits and pieces from the table. You tease Bucky about the extra crispy bacon, and Steve bemoans that you both snore. It feels as if you have always been here. Yet, you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop out of the sky. 

“Do we have plans for today?” Steve asks, sitting between both of you. His fingers fiddling with the fork, twirling it around beside the plate. 

“I hadn’t thought of much past last night,” You reply. It was true, the only thing you’d thought about was seeing Steve. Then, getting past the awkwardness. Though that was still there, it probably would be for a while. It wasn’t like there was a guidebook on this. 

“Same. I think I was waiting to get kicked out,” Bucky swallows, you can see that he is still struggling with it in his own way. 

Steve groans, grabbing Bucky’s hand and squeezing it. “I am not that scary. I swear.” 

You roll your eyes, “Terrifying, Stevie.” You say, as you finish drinking your coffee, then stand up. “Showers, then bed.”

Both men look at each other, as if they are surprised by how forward you are. Rex’s head is lifting and turning to the side. 

“I thought we needed to get tested first,” Bucky smirks, finger running over the rim of his cup.

“Who says we are getting that far?” You tease and head towards the stairs. “And we are still getting tested.”

You aren’t sure what to expect upstairs, your mind running wild with ideas and possibilities. Taking things slow was not what was going to happen. You were all adults. Consenting friends wanting to explore being lovers. Everything felt like it should end with a question mark. Just one big question mark. Maybe that was why things were moving towards more physical aspects. You were friends, best of friends. This was not going to be all of your undoing. 

Yet when Bucky and Steve grab your hands, you feel a ripple of hesitation run through you. They bring you upstairs, hands touching gently along your arms and down over your back. Eyes fluttering close as all the sensations overwhelm you. Steve’s large palm slides over your stomach, teasing over the skin around your navel. 

“Think all three of us can fit in the shower?” Bucky murmurs in your ear, making goosebumps trail down your back. 

“It’ll be a squeeze, but we will make it work,” Steve replies from the other side and jesus, your body is reacting to every word they say. 

You nod, and let your hands go to the hem of your shirt and push it up and off your head. Turning, you watch Bucky’s eyes go down from your neck, over the top of your breast and down to the top of your bike shorts.

“Fuck,” Bucky says quietly, as Steve leans down to kiss along the side of your neck. 

Steve chuckles, “Told you, she’s the prettiest thing you’ll ever see.” 

Bucky hums his approval as his hand cups your breast, thumb moving over your nipple. 

“You two are trouble,” You giggle, leaning up to kiss Bucky. How were you kissing him, topless, in your own bedroom? It felt like a dream. “Shower first, come on.”

You tug at Steve’s sweats, getting him to free himself from his confines. Breath hitching as your eyes trail down, he’s already half hard. Turning Bucky is next, and fuck, he’s just as aroused as Steve. His dick is thicker as it twitches against his thigh. The three of you standing there panting, arousal mixing in the air, making it hard to think straight. Rolling your shoulders, trying to keep yourself calm,  you walk over to the master bathroom. Fan on, you get the shower going, the two men following behind you. They make the space feel small, their eyes on each other. You let yourself step out of your shorts and perch onto the edge of the tub, watching them. 

Steve moves first, one hand going to rest on Bucky’s chest, the other coming to cup his face. You can’t help how your breath hitches when they meet each other. Plush lips meet each other, Bucky’s large hand grabbing Steve’s face, holding him in place. Lips moving against each other, Steve groans, and Bucky takes the moment to push his tongue inside. 

Heat blooms in your lower stomach, your thighs clenching together as steam starts to fill the space. One of Steve’s hands slides down from Bucky’s chest to his hip, slotting the two of them together. Both rutting against one another. A small whimper leaves your lips; it’s more than hot. It’s like watching two stars collide with each other. You can feel how much they’ve wanted this. How lucky are you to watch them come together?

You stand up and step into the hot steam of the shower. “Come on, boys.” Your tone is teasing and light. “You keep doing that, none of us are going to get clean.”

Bucky is the first to enter, and fuck, he fills the space, your eyes unapologetically looking him over. He is built of hard-worked muscle, from hours spent under machines and vehicles. His left side is decorated with swirling whirls of dark lines of tattoos. A mix of natural curves and lines that blend with parts, tools, and pieces of vehicles. He had slowly added to it over the years; it now spanned from the top of his hand up over his whole arm across his shoulder. Then went down over his pectoral muscle and across his ribs, ending just over his left hip.  

Taking a step back, you let him have space so that Steve can come in behind him. His hand finds the other man's hip to steady himself. You can’t help the feel of the spray on our back, and the heat in front of you. Head feels a little fuzzy as need starts to sweep through your body. Every touch has your skin heating up, your body leaning into it, craving more. 

Keeping your eyes to yourself is harder than you expect. You feel their eyes on you and each other. The shower is way too small, making passing luffas and washing clothes clumsy. Large hands on soft skin, and bodies pressing against each other under water, that makes you all have to rotate to wash off. The laughter breaks out when Steve gets soap in his eyes, and you nearly slip. Bucky having to grab you as Steve tries not to drown himself under the spray. 

Somehow, you all ended up mostly clean and wrapped in fluffy towels. The bed is stripped and new sheets put on, even if it will probably have to be changed again. You drop your towel and climb onto the bed, entirely unsure of what to do next. 

Steve’s mind was left somewhere in the shower. It felt like he was high, his body fluttering and warm. He watches Bucky’s eyes darting between you and him, like he couldn't decide what to do next. You shuffle back on the bed, tucking your knees under your chin, face flushed and not from the shower. 

“Go on, Buck,” Steve comes over and kisses his cheek. “I am right behind you.”

Bucky moves onto the bed and drags you close to him. You squeak a little, cheeks blushing as you curl towards him. Steve goes to the other side, sliding in behind you. Your head tipping back to give him a lazy kiss from over your shoulder. His hands sliding down your side so you can lean against his chest.

“I thought we would take things slow.” You murmur, which makes Steve smile. It was hard to stop a boulder from rolling down a hill. 

“Nothing you don’t want to do, sweetheart,” Bucky says softly, leaning down to kiss you. Your hands cupping his face so delicately. 

Steve could watch you both for the rest of the day, but he also was greedy. How could he not be? The two people that matter the most in the world to him are right here in his bed. Reaching out, he ran his fingers along Bucky’s arm, tracing the swirling pattern of the tattoos. Bucky leans back, his eyes darkened, as he looks up at Steve. There is no hesitation as he leans in to kiss Steve. Steve pulls Bucky close, his hands finding the back of the man’s head to hold him for a moment. 

“You two are going to be the death of me,” You whimper, moving so that you’re learning against the headboard, eyes wide with excitement. Legs rubbing together as you shift against the bedding.

Bucky grins as he pulls away from Steve, both of them moving to lie on either side of you. Squirming, you look between them, something akin to awe on your face. 

“What you want, baby,” Steve asks, kissing along your neck, hand coming to cup your breast. 

Bucky is doing the same on the other side. “Can’t believe I am here.”

“Feels like a dream.” You reply, leaning up to kiss him, hands roaming down his chest. Before you turn back to Steve, you lean up to kiss him, body trembling. “Just touch me, however you want. Can’t think straight.”

Sliding down the bed, Bucky leans forward and takes your nipple in his mouth. Your hands find the back of his head, fingers digging into his scalp. As Steve keeps kissing you, moving his hand down over your stomach. He traces little circles there, knowing it’s teasing you, making you push up against this hand. Bucky pulls back his eyes a haze of lust, Steve’s eyes find him as he breaks from your lips. 

Bucky worries at his lip, his hand going down to go over Steve’s. Both of them are moving lower, your stomach sucking in, as the two of them go lower. Bucky reaches up and grabs Steve’s face, the two of them kissing over top of you. Your hands go down across their chest, reaching for them. Steve moans into Bucky’s mouth when he feels your hand wrap around him. 

“Fuck,” Bucky moans, both their hands sliding down in between your legs. 

Steve grins and moves his fingers over your clit. “Yeah, that’s it,” 

Your hips buck up, a whimper coming out of your mouth. Bucky quiets you as he kisses you deeply, Steve resting his head on your chest as he starts to work your clit just the way you like it. Bucky’s fingers are pushing inside you. The way you react is beautiful, the room filled with the sounds of you starting to fall apart. 

Your hands falter, squeezing and twisting with gentleness that was trying to find rhythm. Bucky’s large hand cupping your face, as you try and squirm. Steve holds you still as he kisses and sucks at your skin. Leaving little marks along your collarbone and down over the swell of your breast.

“Let go, baby.” Steve moans, increasing the rhythm of his fingers. He rolls your sensitive bundle of nerves between his two fingers, Bucky’s fingers increasing their pressure at the same time. The feel of him pushing against the sensitive spot inside makes Steve’s cock jump in your hand. 

You break away from Bucky, face going pink as you gasp for air. Legs shaking as they both guide you over the edge and through it. You ride the wave until it becomes too much. Steve can see your eyes glaze over as your hands go limp, your body sinking further into the bed. 

Bucky chuckles, carefully removing his fingers from you. Steve snatches up his wrist and licks the fingers clean. Steve’s eyes locking with Bucky’s.

“You always were the dirty one, Stevie.” Bucky chuckles, Steve making sure to lick every crevice off his fingers..

You giggle, still completely satiated against the bed. “Mmm, you two are so hot.”

Steve pops off Bucky’s fingers, tipping your chin up so he could kiss you. Pushing his tongue inside and listening to you moan against him.

Bucky groans, lying down against the bed, starting to stroke himself slowly. Steve lets go of you, and you rub a hand over his jaw, before gently pushing him towards Bucky. You curl on your side, hands rubbing along your thighs. Steve is half tempted to drag your legs open and make you come again. 

Instead, he's dragged over by Bucky’s large hands. So that Steve is straddling the man's lap. The intimate feeling of being manhandled so easily made his already hard cock throb. He was used to being the one manhandling, pulling your smaller body to him. Bucky had been the only one who was able to move him with ease. 

“I missed you,” Bucky murmurs, his large hand wrapping around both of their swollen dicks.

Steve groans, feeling the soft yet so hard skin move against each other. “Missed you. Never letting go.”

You hand Steve some lube, conjuring it from somewhere. Steve kisses you gently, murmuring thanks, as you rest back against the headboard. Adjusting pillows and resting your head against Bucky’s shoulder. Your fingers are moving down between your legs to push at the oversensitive bud. 

Lube is poured onto Bucky’s palm, making both men whimper with the slick sensation over heated skin.. Steve leans forward kissing Bucky like he is never going to get to kiss him again. Holding onto Bucky's face, fingers remembering every divot and mark that he used to touch. Things he thought he'd never be able to do again. Finding new scars and marks that he gets to remember now. 

Can feel emotion welling in his chest; it's been so long, and it feels so good to be close to him. The sparks he let die, lighting up and floating around him. The feel of his release charging at him like a bull. It's all Steve has missed so much. With the knowledge you were there experiencing it, making his head feel light. He was going to go over the edge way too soon.

“I am, ugh, I'm not gonna-,” Steve tries to get out the words, but it just pushes Bucky’s hand to work and twist faster. The rhythm is almost punishing in how good it feels. 

“Right there-” Bucky moans as you kiss along his jaw. “Oh, fuck, Stevie-”

You suck a mark on Steve’s shoulder, and it pushes him over the edge. His hips move as hot ropes burst out of him, a cry ripping from his chest. You hold onto both of them. Bucky follows soon after Steve, his thumb smearing cum over both of them as their release continues. A whimper coming out of Steve as it becomes too much and so sensitive. They push the limits until Steve is whining for it to stop. Both are now covered in the mess of their release.

Steve feels you move off the bed, and he leans his forehead against Bucky, both of them trying to find air to breathe between them. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed, Steve taking in his blissed out face. A smile cracking across his lips; it had been way too long. At the same time, it was like he had never left.

“Here,” You murmur, handing them both a hot towel, before moving to rest against the bed.  

The two clean up, Steve feeling like he is floating, as Bucky drags him onto his chest. You curl in beside them, dragging the blankets up over them. Your hand running up and down Steve’s back, Bucky’s arm wrapping around your body. 

“Love you, both of you,” Steve mumbles, his head tucked under Bucky’s chin. 

Bucky’s chest rumbles, “Love you too, Stevie, never stopped.” The man moving to kiss you softly. “You too, luckiest man in the world.”

Steve feels you giggle against him, before saying. “I’ve always loved you both.”

Bucky doesn’t sleep; instead, he just lets himself float comfortably in his post-coital bliss. Steve is comfortable against his chest, body limp, breath even. The feel of him resting against him was something he had craved for a long time. It didn’t even touch on the fact that you were curled up there, the sound and feel of you falling apart still playing in his mind. It made his heart swell; he didn’t know he could love two people the way he loved both of you.

How easily you both just fell into a rhythm, like it was meant to be. Maybe it was. Bucky knew it wasn’t always going to be sunshine and rainbows. There was going to be a hard time, and moments that couldn’t be explained. His mind drifted back to his small friend group, wondering how they’d react to knowing. 

It wasn’t like Sam and Thor hadn’t teased him endlessly about living with his best friend's wife. Or how close the two of you had always been so close. He knew they all had rumours and ideas, none had been true until now. Would they think they’d lost their minds? Joined a cult? Would it be okay? Would they even tell anyone? 

Closing his eyes, he just took a deep breath, filling his nose with the mingled scents of all of you together. That would come, in time, or maybe it wouldn’t. There were so many unknowns, and he had to mentally tell himself to enjoy what he had. Even if it was only temporary. The thought made his eyes well up. The idea of losing was too much, after losing it for so long. He’d lost you both before, which means he could lose you both again. He was going to do everything in his power to hold this group together. 

“Hey,” You whisper, fingers going up to brush away stray tears.

Bucky shakes his head, not wanting the emotions to spill out anymore. There was so much to say, he’d pushed down to try and make it through the day, to try and survive. Now he didn’t have to; now he was lying in bed with the best thing that ever happened to him. 

You shift a little so that you’re more eye level with him. “It’s okay. Whatever you’re feeling.”

He smiles, swallowing down his emotions, “Never been good with feelings.”

Leaning up, you kiss his cheek, fingers running up into his hair. Steve’s breathing was still even as ever; the man was out cold. 

“I know,” You wink at him. “One thing at a time. We aren’t rushing things, and we can slow down too.”

“Made a promise,” Bucky murmurs back. “Hard not to wonder what might come next.”

“Hopefully more of this,” You wiggles your eyebrows, making you both chuckle. “Steve will be home more soon. Doesn’t mean we have to tell the whole world,”

“Sam is going to be insufferable if we ever tell him,” He groans, his hand still rubbing along Steve’s back. 

You snort, “Oh, he is the last person we are telling. If.” You hold up a finger. “If. We tell anyone. Cause we don’t have to.”

Bucky shifts, with a smirk. “Probably over-thinking things.”

“You and me both,” You say softly, “Not exactly, uh, commonplace.” Shrugging a little, you smile. “But that never stopped anyone before.”

“True, just nervous. Maybe a little scared.” He confesses, even as Steve stirs a little. “A lot of unknown.”

Steve mumbles something, rubbing his face against Bucky’s chest. “You guys talk too much.”

You lean over and kiss him, “Yeah, yeah, sleepy head.”

Bucky rubs Steve’s back some more, “Just planning rooming arrangements.” 

“Hmm, bigger bed,” Steve mumbles some more, “Right on it.”

Chapter 8

Authoer note: There will be angst coming, but I promise this story will always be more on the fluffy side of things.

Everything goes taglist : @turtle-tot