#( gossiper: rhett )

[thursdaymurderbub]

Silver Screen magazine, April 1939

[twistedheartsclub]

Pinned Beneath Him Male Mechanic X Reader

⚠️ Trigger Warning: This story contains themes of obsession, stalking, kidnapping, non-consensual sexual situations, psychological manipulation, physical violence, and dubious consent. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Please do not read if these topics may be triggering or distressing.

It was the kind of town where dust clung to your ankles and everybody knew your business before you did. Quiet, sun-bleached, always humming with cicadas and the low growl of trucks. Y/N didn’t plan to stay long. Just long enough to settle her late aunt’s affairs and figure out where the hell she was supposed to go next.

But the old truck had other ideas.

It gave out on a backroad just shy of town—shuddered, hissed, and died in the heat like a wounded animal. She coaxed it down the road in neutral, heart in her throat, until she spotted the garage: Walker’s Auto, paint peeling off the sign, metal doors thrown open to let the heat spill in.

Inside, a man was working on a car that looked older than sin but ran like it was sacred. He had his back to her, bent over the open hood—broad shoulders glinting with sweat, tan skin streaked with oil and grease. Shirt tied around his waist, black tank top hugging every line of his muscled frame. He looked like he belonged to the heat—mean and golden, all hard edges and rough hands.

She stepped closer, heart thudding.

“Excuse me?” she said softly.

He didn’t look up.

“Closed.”

“I—I know. I’m sorry. But my truck just died and I—”

“I said we’re closed.” He straightened finally, tossing a wrench into a tray. His eyes met hers—and she felt like she’d been struck. Dark eyes, sharp jaw, days-old scruff, and a mouth that looked like it only ever smirked or scowled.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she said, quietly, trying not to flinch. “Everything else is shut down.”

He stared at her for a long beat. Then looked past her at the steaming mess of her truck outside. He huffed a sigh, muttering something under his breath.

“Jesus. Fine. Pop the hood before it melts into the damn asphalt.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Don’t make me change my mind, sweetheart.”

And that was how she met Cal Walker—grumpy, grease-stained, absolutely carved out of stone. He barely spoke to her while he worked, just grunted and cursed under his breath, sweat dripping down his temples.

But she saw it—the way he glanced at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. The way his jaw clenched when she smiled at him.

He got the truck running, barely. Told her she’d need to come back. Told her not to drive it more than five miles or she’d blow it to hell.

Then he walked back into the garage without another word.

She brought him a pie the next day. Just to say thank you.

And that’s when it started.

The town was called Cedar Rock, but there weren’t many trees. Just dry hills, winding roads, and one main street lined with fading brick buildings that looked like they hadn’t changed since the 1950s. A diner. A barber shop. A bait-and-tackle store no one really needed anymore. And of course, Walker’s Auto—right on the edge of town like it was daring anyone to bother it.

Y/N had only ever been there once before, years ago. Her aunt Miriam had moved there for “peace and quiet” after a messy divorce, dragging her younger sister with her. Y/N remembered visiting in the summers, always itching to leave by day three. Too hot. Too slow. Too many eyes.

Now she was back for the worst reason—Miriam had passed suddenly. No warning. No goodbye. She’d left behind a modest home at the edge of town, a mountain of books, some old records, and a town full of people who acted like they’d known Y/N her whole life.

They didn’t.

But that didn’t stop them from butting in.

There was Mrs. Callahan, the nosy neighbor who brought over dry cookies and even drier gossip.

“So sorry about Miriam, honey. But between you and me, she was never quite right after that man left her. Maybe it’s good you’re here now. You can clean things up.”

And Rhett, the flirty cashier at the general store, who asked if she needed “a strong pair of hands” to help move furniture. His breath smelled like chewing tobacco and desperation.

Everywhere she went, people smiled too wide, asked too many questions, and called her “sweetheart” like it was her name.

“You stickin’ around?”

“What do you do again?”

“You seeing anyone?”

She lied. Often.

Y/N wasn’t planning to stay. She worked remotely as a digital illustrator—did book covers and concept art for indie authors. It paid the bills, gave her freedom. She could work from anywhere… but God, she missed the noise of the city. The coffee shops. The trains. The strangers who didn’t look at her like they already knew who she was.

Her sister, Ava, was supposed to arrive the next day. Loud, sharp-tongued, city to the core. Y/N was counting the hours. Until then, she stayed low, tried to keep to herself.

But the truck was acting up again.

So back she went to Walker’s Auto, fingers crossed, jaw tight.

This time, Cal was sitting outside the garage in a folding chair, smoking a cigarette like it owed him money. Boots planted wide, tank top soaked with sweat. He saw her pulling up and didn’t move. Just watched.

She parked. Stepped out.

“It’s doing that thing again.”

“No shit,” he said, flicking ash to the ground. “I told you not to drive it.”

“I had to pick up a delivery from the post office. It’s kind of important.”

He stood. Slowly. Walked over, looking her up and down like he was checking for damage.

“That pie you brought yesterday,” he said, squinting at her. “Was it supposed to taste like soap or was that a mistake?”

Her mouth dropped open. “What?!”

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

“I’m kidding. It was good. Real good.”

She blinked, caught between offense and shock. “You’re an ass.”

“Yeah,” he said, opening the hood. “I’ve been told.”

He’s under the hood again, hands deep in her engine, grumbling like he’s arguing with it. Y/N leans against the fender, arms crossed, trying not to stare too long at the way his back flexes every time he moves.

“So what now?” she asks after a beat. “You fixing it, or giving it last rites?”

Cal pulls his head out from under the hood, wiping his hands on a rag. “Needs a part I don’t have in stock. Gotta order it. You’ll be outta wheels for a couple days, maybe more.”

She sighs. “Of course.”

He eyes her. Then, after a long pause, says, “You got places you need to be?”

“…Why?”

“I can drive you.”

She blinks. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Didn’t stop me from eating your pie,” he shoots back, that same flicker of a grin threatening the corner of his mouth.

“…Y/N,” she finally says, slowly. “Y/N L/N.”

He nods once. “Cal Walker.”

A handshake might be too formal, too stiff for the heat between them. But he pulls out a phone, taps it once, then holds it out. “Put your number in. I’ll text when the part gets here. And if you need a ride—”

“I’ll owe you,” she finishes, narrowing her eyes a little.

“Damn right you will.”

But there’s no menace in it. Just something… curious. Interested. Like he’s trying to figure out what kind of storm just blew into his shop.

She hesitates, then takes the phone and types her number in. A moment later, hers vibrates with a text: “Cal – grumpy mechanic, don’t block me.”

She smirks, despite herself. “Grumpy is an understatement.”

“You city girls always this mouthy?”

“Only when we’re right.”

He watches her, the smile ghosting again across his face. “You said city—where from?”

“Chicago.”

He whistles low. “Your aunt ever tell you she made the best damn cornbread in this state?”

Y/N pauses. “You knew her?”

Cal nods, leaning against the truck beside her. “Yeah. Miriam was a hell of a woman. Smart. Tough. Didn’t take shit from anybody. She helped me out when I first started this place.” A pause. “Sorry she’s gone.”

The air softens between them.

“…Thanks,” Y/N says quietly.

He nods once more, eyes back on the engine like he’s hiding from something.

Two days later,

A blue car kicks up dust in the driveway. Y/N’s on the porch in cutoffs and a loose tee, hair up, sketchbook balanced on her knees.

Ava steps out of the car like she’s arriving for a magazine shoot—sunglasses, iced coffee, and attitude.

“Jesus Christ,” she says, shielding her eyes. “It’s hotter than Satan’s ass.”

Y/N laughs and runs down to hug her. Ava hugs back, then pulls away to eye her up and down.

“You look like a local. What the hell happened to you?”

Y/N grins. “I met a mechanic.”

Ava pauses, takes off her glasses. “You slept with a mechanic?”

“No!”

“…Yet.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but her cheeks warm.

Ava arches a brow. “What, is he hot or something?”

Y/N tries not to smile. “He’s—he’s rude. And weird. But yeah. He’s also built like sin and has forearms that could bench press a car.”

Ava whistles low. “And here I thought this was gonna be boring.”

Y/N laughs. “Oh, it’s still boring. But it’s getting…interesting.”

The next afternoon.

It’s early evening when Cal pulls up to the house in a beat-up black pickup that growls more than it drives. He doesn’t text first. Doesn’t call. Just shows up like he owns the dirt under his tires.

Y/N’s on the porch with Ava, drinking lemonade and sketching. Ava’s wearing sunglasses and a smirk, scrolling on her phone.

The truck crunches to a stop. The engine shuts off.

Y/N’s heart skips. “That’s him.”

Ava lowers her glasses, eyes narrowing as she watches him climb out—tight jeans, oil-stained shirt, rolled sleeves, sun-kissed skin, and those arms. He looks like trouble in human form. And he’s walking toward them with that slow, heavy step that says he’s not used to being interrupted.

“You weren’t kidding,” Ava murmurs. “He looks like a one-man demolition team.”

Cal stops at the foot of the porch, eyes flicking between them. “Truck’s ready,” he says simply. Then nods to Ava. “You the sister?”

Ava flashes a practiced smile. “That’s me. Ava. And you’re the mechanic with the bad attitude?”

Cal lifts a brow. “Guess I am.”

Y/N gives her a look. “Ava…”

“What? I’m just being friendly.”

Cal’s eyes stay on Ava for a second longer—measuring, unamused—but then they shift back to Y/N, and something softens. “Brought the keys,” he says, holding them out. “Did a little more than I said I would.”

“Oh?” Y/N asks, standing to take them.

“Figured if you’re gonna be stuck here, you should at least be able to leave when you want.”

Ava raises a brow. “Romantic. In a caveman kind of way.”

Cal doesn’t look at her. His eyes stay locked on Y/N. “I’ll swing by next week, make sure it’s still running smooth. And your brakes—don’t trust ‘em just yet.”

Y/N nods. “Thanks. Really.”

For a second, the air gets heavier—like something wants to be said but neither of them says it.

Ava fans herself. “This is cute. You two got a whole Jane Austen-in-a-garage thing going on.”

Cal finally glances at her again. “You always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m bored.”

A beat of silence. Then—

“I don’t do entertainment,” Cal says coolly, turning back to the truck.

“Oh, honey,” Ava calls after him, “I wasn’t talking about you.”

The driver’s door slams. The engine roars to life. But before he pulls away, he gives Y/N one last look through the open window—something unreadable in his eyes.

Then he’s gone, dust rising behind his wheels.

Y/N lets out a breath. Ava sips her lemonade, looking smug.

“God, I love watching men squirm.”

“You’re going to scare him off,” Y/N mutters, cheeks warm.

Ava grins. “If that man gets scared, I’ll buy a church hat and call myself polite.”

The days pass slow. Hot sun. Lazy fans. The house creaks like it remembers more than it should.

Y/N and Ava spend their afternoons sorting through their aunt’s things—dusty records, yellowed books, notes scribbled in the margins of cookbooks. Every drawer holds something sentimental or strange. Miriam had been a little witchy, a little wild. She wrote letters she never sent. Kept love poems in a tin under her bed.

The girls laugh, cry, and argue through it all. But there’s an ache under the surface—waiting for the lawyer’s call to read the will. Waiting to know what their aunt really left behind.

And everywhere they go, the town has something to say.

At the diner, waitresses whisper when the girls walk in. At the gas station, old men tip their hats too slow. At the general store, Rhett smirks when he says, “Heard you’ve been spending time at Walker’s. He’s not the friendly type, y’know.”

Y/N ignores most of it, but Ava eats it up. She teases Y/N constantly.

“You’re a hot topic now,” she says one afternoon, tossing another stack of papers into a donation box. “The city girl who came back with legs, lips, and an oil-stained guardian angel.”

Y/N throws a sock at her.

Then the invitation comes.

The Cedar Rock Summer Social. A town dance held in the square, string lights, barbecue, live music, cold beer.

“Your aunt went every year,” Mrs. Callahan chirps when she drops off another pie. “She was always the best dancer. Real heartbreaker in her day.”

Ava’s already pulling up outfit ideas on her phone. “We’re going,” she says firmly. “You need to wear something soft and accidental. Like you just rolled out of a dream.”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” Y/N lies.

Ava smirks. “You already are.”

That night, the square glows like magic.

Y/N wears a simple sundress—dusty blue, soft and fluttery at the edges. Her hair’s pinned half-up. Lip gloss catching the light. She feels nervous for reasons she refuses to name.

Ava looks like she walked off a runway—red dress, cowboy boots, daring grin.

They walk through the crowd, greeted by too many hellos, and then—

Y/N sees him.

Cal.

In a clean, fitted button-down. Dark jeans. Boots polished. Beard trimmed just enough. Still rough around the edges, but God, he cleans up good. Like someone took all that smolder and gave it shine.

He doesn’t see her at first—he’s leaning against a light post, watching the music quietly, sipping from a cold beer. But when he does see her—his eyes track her like he’s bracing for impact.

And he doesn’t look away.

Y/N’s stomach flips.

Ava leans in and murmurs, “You’re welcome.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. Yet.”

Later, when the band kicks into a slow, swaying rhythm, Ava nudges Y/N toward Cal.

“I’m not doing that.”

“Oh yes, you are. Either you walk over there, or I will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I will. And I’ll ask him to dance myself, in that low sexy voice that always works.”

Y/N glares, red creeping up her neck. But Ava’s already pushing her forward.

She stumbles a little, stops a few feet from him. Cal’s brow raises slightly.

“You look different,” he says.

“So do you,” she fires back. “I almost didn’t recognize you without the grease and attitude.”

His mouth twitches. “Still got the attitude. Just left it in the truck.”

The music swells. People are dancing. The moment hovers.

Y/N hesitates, then blurts, “Do you… wanna dance?”

A beat.

Then, slowly, Cal sets his drink aside. Takes a step closer.

“I don’t really dance,” he murmurs.

She starts to nod, backing off—“It’s okay—”

But then he reaches for her hand.

“Didn’t say I wouldn’t try.”

When he touches her, it’s not like anything she expected. His hand is warm, rough, but his grip is gentle. Protective. They sway under the lights, surrounded by murmurs and soft fiddles.

And somewhere between his arm around her waist and the sound of his breath near her ear— Y/N realizes she’s in trouble.

Because her heart is beating too fast. Because she doesn’t want to pull away. Because Cal Walker smells like smoke and cedar and something else she could get addicted to.

And when their eyes meet—his gaze steady, unreadable—

She realizes she might not just like him.

She might really like him.

The song is slow. Soft. The kind of old tune you only hear at small-town dances or on your grandparents’ radio. The crowd sways, some couples close and lazy, others just barely moving.

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest, her free hand lightly resting on Cal’s shoulder—but it’s his hand on her waist that does her in. It’s firm. Possessive. Like he wants to pull her closer, but he’s holding back.

And their hands—God—he didn’t just take her hand politely like a gentleman. He intertwined their fingers. Like it meant something. Like he wasn’t planning to let go.

His thumb brushes the side of her hand in slow, unconscious strokes, sending heat racing up her arm.

“You’re not from around here,” he says, voice low. “That obvious?”

“You stick out,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to her mouth, then back up. “Not in a bad way.”

She swallows. “You… been here your whole life?”

“Most of it,” he says. “Left for a while. Came back. This town’s a pain in the ass, but it’s mine.”

A moment passes. The music hums on. His gaze stays locked to hers.

Then he says, “How old are you?”

The question catches her off guard. “What?”

“Your age,” he repeats, not letting her go. “You look young. Not a kid. But young.”

She hesitates. “Twenty-five.”

He’s quiet for a second. “Yeah. That tracks.”

“What about you?”

He smirks. “Older.”

“Cryptic.”

“Thirty-four.”

Y/N raises a brow. “That’s not bad.”

“You were expecting worse?”

“I don’t know. You give off serious grumpy-old-man energy.”

That pulls a low chuckle from his chest. It’s the first time she’s heard him laugh like that—real, unguarded. It does things to her.

Then his voice drops, a little rougher.

“You got a boyfriend back in the city?”

She blinks. “No. Why?”

“No reason,” he says, eyes dipping again, thumb still stroking her fingers. “Just wondered what kind of idiot would let someone like you go.”

The words hit like a punch wrapped in silk. Warm. Intimate. Dangerous.

She doesn’t know what to say. Can’t look away from him.

“You ask all the girls you dance with questions like that?” she tries to joke, her voice a little shakier than she wants it to be.

“I don’t dance with girls,” he says. “Just you.”

The space between them gets smaller. His hand slides just a little lower on her waist. Not indecent—but just enough to make her breath catch. Just enough to make her feel it.

“You cold?” he asks, voice like smoke.

“No,” she whispers.

“Good.”

Because he’s not planning to let go yet.

The song winds down, soft chords fading into the clatter of applause and laughter. Couples begin to drift apart, breaking to get drinks, cool off, or sneak kisses behind food trucks.

Y/N steps back, just a little. “Thanks for the dance,” she says, voice quiet, a little breathless.

But Cal doesn’t let go right away.

His hand lingers on her waist, rough palm warm through the thin fabric of her dress. His other hand still holds hers, fingers still locked, and when he leans in—just a little—he brushes his lips against her cheek.

Not too close to the mouth. Not too far either.

Just dangerously in-between.

“Anytime,” he murmurs. And then he lets go.

The absence of him is immediate.

Y/N turns just in time to see Ava materialize, practically buzzing. She shoves a plastic cup into Y/N’s hand. Something cold and fruity.

“I could see the heat from across the square,” Ava grins. “You were practically glowing.”

“It was just a dance,” Y/N mutters, cheeks burning.

“Mmhmm. And I’m just your sister,” Ava says, sipping from her own drink. “You gonna pretend you didn’t like that?”

Y/N doesn’t answer. She just takes a long sip. Her lips still feel warm.

Then someone else approaches.

He’s cute in that polished, local, “still lives with his mom but has a good smile” kind of way. Button-up shirt. Fresh haircut. Hands in his pockets like he’s trying to play cool.

“Hey,” he says, looking straight at Y/N. “You wanna dance?”

Y/N blinks. She wasn’t expecting that. She opens her mouth to say no, gently, politely—

And then her eyes flick toward Cal.

He’s across the square again, leaning against a post, beer in hand. His head is turned toward a friend who’s talking to him—but his eyes?

Locked on her.

There’s no smirk. No playfulness. Just that deep, unreadable stare. His eyes say: I dare you.

And suddenly Y/N’s heart is in her throat.

It would be so easy to say no.

But then Ava nudges her hard in the side. “Go,” she whispers. “Don’t be weird. He’s cute.”

“I don’t—”

“Y/N. It’s one dance. Move your feet, Juliet.”

Y/N gives one last glance to Cal. Still watching. Still unreadable.

So she forces a smile, nods at the new guy, and lets him lead her back to the dance floor.

His hand is light on her back. He talks a lot. His cologne is too strong. His rhythm’s a little awkward. But none of that registers.

Because the whole time, she’s looking for Cal.

And when she finds him again, leaning back now, one boot crossed over the other, beer to his lips—he’s not smiling.

There’s a shadow in his expression now. A chill behind those hot dark eyes. Something possessive.

Something that says: You think I won’t take you back the second I want to?

And Y/N?

She feels it. All the way down.

The song drags on, too slow for how stiff the guy’s hands feel. Y/N shifts, trying to stay polite, but she’s hyper-aware—of his grip inching lower, of how he leans in a little too close to talk over the music.

And she can feel it.

Cal’s eyes. Somewhere behind her. Watching.

The guy chuckles nervously. “You uh… you new in town or just visiting?”

“Just here for my aunt,” she says softly, trying to shift her body without making it obvious. “She passed recently.”

“Oh. Damn. Sorry. That’s rough…”

His voice trails off because suddenly—Cal is there.

Standing just behind her dance partner. Silent. Still. And too close.

The guy turns mid-sentence, and freezes.

Cal’s not saying a word. He’s not even frowning. His expression is neutral—casual, even. But the energy is suffocating. He’s taller. Broader. And he’s looking at the guy like he already knows where to bury the body.

“Everything good?” Cal asks, voice calm. Smooth.

The guy swallows. “Y-Yeah. I was just—uh—just saying hi.”

Cal tilts his head. “That so?”

Y/N can feel the tension bleeding into her skin. It’s quiet, but deadly. Her partner takes a step back.

Then, as he’s turning to walk away, Cal does something only she sees:

A hand—flat, fast—pressed hard against the guy’s lower back. Not friendly. Not visible to the crowd. But the guy stumbles a little as he walks away, eyes wide. He doesn’t look back.

Y/N just stares.

Cal turns to her like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just threaten someone with a touch.

“You looked uncomfortable,” he says. No apology in it.

“I was fine.”

He raises a brow. “No. You weren’t.”

Before she can say anything else, Ava reappears—laughing too loud, flushed from dancing, holding a cup in each hand.

“Ohhh my God,” she slurs lightly. “Y/N, this DJ is playing Backstreet Boys. Get your ass over there, we’re time-traveling.”

She hands her a drink, clearly her second or third. Maybe fourth.

Y/N pulls it away. “Are you kidding me? I drove.”

“Pfft, so? I’ll crash at the house. You can stay for a bit—loosen up.”

“You’ve had way too much—”

“I’m fiiiiiine,” Ava purrs, then promptly disappears into the crowd again, drink sloshing.

Y/N stands there, tense, annoyed, her hand still holding a sweating plastic cup she didn’t ask for.

Then Cal leans in.

“Come on. Let me take you home.”

She looks at him. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His tone dips lower. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself tonight. Especially not with her like that.”

Y/N glances around—people laughing, drinking, dancing like they’ve got nowhere to be. She could stay. Could walk home. But her body’s already leaning toward him.

“Okay,” she says, voice quiet.

He doesn’t smile. Just nods once. Leads her to the truck.

Only… he doesn’t take her to her aunt’s house.

They pull out of town, passing familiar turns. Y/N watches the road, confused.

“This isn’t the way back,” she says.

“Nope.”

She tenses. “Where are we going?”

“My place,” he says, casually. “Closer. Safer.”

She turns to him. “You could’ve told me that.”

“I figured if you didn’t trust me, you wouldn’t’ve gotten in the truck.”

And the worst part is—he’s right

The truck rumbles to a stop outside a modest, one-story house set back from the road. Wood-paneled, metal roof, gravel driveway. A garage off to the side, lights off now. Everything is quiet, too quiet—except for the buzz of crickets and the hum of electricity in the air.

Y/N steps out and follows Cal up the porch steps, her shoes crunching against the old wood. He unlocks the door with a heavy keyring, pushing it open without ceremony.

“Come in,” he says over his shoulder, already walking in like she belongs there.

She steps inside slowly. The air smells like cedar, motor oil, something masculine and woodsy. Not dirty—but lived in. The living room is all worn leather, flannel throws, a couple old records scattered near a player. Tools on the counter. A knife on the coffee table.

Y/N slips off her shoes at the door, barefoot against cool wood floors. She tucks her arms around herself.

It feels too quiet. Too intimate.

But Cal?

Cool as ice.

He tosses his keys into a bowl, heads into the kitchen like this is routine. Opens the fridge. “Want a beer?”

She hesitates. “…Sure.”

He tosses her one underhanded. She barely catches it.

He leans back against the counter, popping his own open. She cracks hers with a soft hiss and takes a small sip. Cold. Bitter.

“You always bring girls home this easy?” she asks, trying to mask her nerves.

He smirks. “You’re not easy.”

That shuts her up.

He watches her over the rim of his bottle. Eyes sharp. Curious.

“So,” he says slowly, “you ever been in love?”

The question punches the air out of her lungs.

She looks away. “What kind of question is that?”

“An honest one.”

“…Once. Maybe.”

He takes another drink. “You ever get your heart broken?”

She nods, slowly.

“Ever break someone else’s?”

“Probably,” she says. “But I didn’t mean to.”

He steps closer. Casual. Still holding his drink.

“You with anyone now?”

“No.”

He tilts his head. “How many people you been with?”

She bristles. “That’s private.”

“I know,” he says softly. “That’s why I’m asking.”

She exhales. “Three. That matter?”

His eyes flicker. Something dark. “No.”

A beat.

“…Fewer than me,” he admits. “But I haven’t touched anyone in a long time.”

She meets his eyes again. Something tight and breathless coils in her chest.

And then he’s closer. Inches.

He reaches up—slowly—and brushes a strand of hair from her face. His fingers trail down her jaw, calloused but gentle. Her breath hitches.

Their eyes lock.

Then his gaze drops—to her lips.

And he leans in.

The kiss is soft at first. Testing. Tasting. He’s careful. She’s frozen.

But then she exhales—and kisses him back. Her beer forgotten, she sets it down blindly on the counter, arms wrapping around his shoulders as if something inside her cracked open.

His hands slide down to her waist, grip tightening.

And in one smooth motion—he lifts her.

She gasps against his mouth, legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, arms around his neck. He walks, steady and sure, past the couch, down the short hall.

To the bedroom.

The door shuts behind them.

The door clicks shut behind him, soft but final. The room is dark except for a lamp in the corner, casting a golden glow across worn wood, thick sheets, and shadows dancing on the walls.

He doesn’t set her down.

He just presses her back against the door, their mouths crashing together again, hotter now. Less careful. His hands roam—strong, calloused palms dragging down her sides, gripping her thighs, squeezing her like he’s memorizing the shape of her.

Y/N whimpers when his teeth catch her bottom lip, tugging just enough to make her feel it. Her hips rock forward instinctively, and he groans against her mouth—low, rough, like he’s holding back something wild.

“Been thinkin’ about this,” he mutters against her neck, “since you walked into my garage in that damn sundress.”

His teeth find her throat—bite, not just a kiss—and she gasps, clinging tighter.

“You smell sweet,” he growls. “Soft little thing… I knew you’d melt in my hands.”

He walks them to the bed, tossing her down onto it like she weighs nothing. She hits the mattress with a soft gasp, hair spread around her like a halo—but her eyes? Glazed. Wanting. His.

Cal peels off his shirt, slow and deliberate, muscles rippling. She watches him like he’s carved from heat and sweat and sin.

Then he climbs over her, straddling her hips, fingers finding the hem of her dress.

“This pretty thing,” he murmurs, pushing it up inch by inch, “how wet are you in it right now, sweetheart?”

She squirms. Breathless. Embarrassed. Turned on.

His palm slides between her thighs—and when he presses his fingers to her panties, he growls low in his throat.

“Fuck. You’re soaked.”

Y/N whines as he rubs slow, steady circles over the fabric—teasing, never enough. His other hand slides under the dress, up her belly, to her bra.

“Can I mark you?” he asks, voice dark velvet. “Can I make you mine?”

She nods—barely a breath.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” she whispers.

He leans down—mouth hot on her collarbone, then her shoulder—then her breast. He bites. Sucks. Leaves a dark mark just above the lace edge. And another. And another.

She’s panting now, writhing beneath him.

“You’re mine tonight,” he growls against her skin. “No one else gets to touch you. Look at you. Think about you.”

His fingers slip beneath the soaked cotton of her panties—and she moans as he finally touches bare skin.

His fingers slide beneath her panties, slow and deliberate, until they find the slick heat between her thighs.

“Goddamn,” he growls, voice thick. “You’re dripping, baby.”

Y/N arches against him, mouth open, breath coming fast as his fingers stroke her—teasing, circling, dipping inside just to pull back out again. It’s maddening.

“Cal—” she gasps.

He cuts her off with another kiss—deep, hot, tongue sliding against hers while his thumb finds her clit and presses. She cries out into his mouth, and he grins against her lips.

“That’s it,” he rasps. “Let me hear it.”

He pulls her panties off with one strong tug, rips the bra from under her dress with barely a flick of his wrist. She’s laid bare beneath him—flushed, panting, legs spread—and he just watches her for a beat, eyes drinking her in like he’s memorizing every inch.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters.

Then he’s on her again—mouth everywhere. Kissing down her chest, biting her soft skin, leaving dark bruises on her breasts, her ribs, her thighs. She writhes beneath him, hands tangled in his hair, moaning his name like a prayer.

When he slides two thick fingers inside her, she gasps—hips lifting off the mattress.

“Cal—oh my God—”

“You’re gonna come for me first,” he says roughly. “I’m not even getting inside you until you fall apart on my hand.”

He curls his fingers just right, rubbing deep, his thumb rolling over her clit with perfect pressure.

It doesn’t take long.

Y/N shatters with a cry, her back arching, her thighs clamping around his wrist. He keeps going, slow and steady, dragging it out, watching her tremble beneath him.

When she finally sags back against the bed, boneless and whimpering, he leans down and licks her slick off his fingers.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he growls.

Then he strips the rest of the way—jeans, boxers—and she sees him.

Big. Thick. Hard. Veins running down his shaft like sin carved into flesh.

Her breath catches. “You’re gonna kill me.”

He smirks. “Not tonight.”

He spreads her legs again, crawling between them, lining himself up. He pauses—just a moment—pressing the tip of his cock against her soaked entrance.

“You sure?” he murmurs.

“Please,” she whispers.

He thrusts into her in one slow, thick push—and they both moan. Deep, guttural. She clutches at his shoulders, gasping as he stretches her wide, fills her completely.

“Jesus, you feel good,” he groans into her neck. “Tight little pussy—fuck.”

He starts to move. Deep, slow strokes at first. His hips grind against hers, dragging delicious friction over her clit. Her nails dig into his back. She’s already close again.

Cal gets rougher. His hand wraps under her knee, pushing it up toward her chest. He drives into her harder, deeper, his breath hot against her ear.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “Say it.”

“Yours,” she gasps.

He slams into her.

“Louder.”

“Yours, Cal—yours!”

That snaps something in him.

He fucks her like he’s claiming her—biting her shoulder, sucking marks into her throat, holding her down with one big hand against her belly while the other grips her throat just enough to make her feel it.

She comes again. Harder this time. Screaming his name.

He follows with a groan, hips stuttering, holding deep inside her as he spills hot and thick. His teeth sink into her collarbone as he rides out his orgasm, growling her name like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

Morning.

The sun’s peeking through dusty blinds. Y/N stirs beneath heavy covers, skin sore, marked, and still humming from the night before.

She’s in his shirt—massive, soft, hanging off one shoulder. She stretches, her thighs aching deliciously.

Cal’s already up. Shirtless, jeans half-buttoned, tugging on boots by the door.

He looks back when he hears her move—and grins.

“Sleep alright, sunshine?” His voice is low, teasing—but there’s a glint of something darker behind it. Possession.

She sits up, rubbing her eyes. “Barely. You didn’t exactly let me rest.”

He chuckles. “You didn’t complain.”

She blushes and looks away. “Where’s my dress?”

He walks over, leans down, one hand cupping the back of her head as he kisses her—slow, lingering, deep. Like he’s reminding her who put her in his bed.

Then he pulls back, eyes locked on hers.

“I’m takin’ you home,” he says. “But don’t think for a second you’re done with me.”

Y/N’s aunt’s house. Late morning. The sun is way too bright for someone who got absolutely destroyed the night before. Y/N slips through the front door barefoot, wearing her wrinkled sundress and Cal’s flannel jacket thrown over her shoulders.

The house is quiet.

Too quiet.

She tries to creep past the living room, but Ava’s voice cuts through like a knife.

“Well, well, well,” Ava drawls from the couch, still in pajama shorts and an oversized tee, coffee mug in hand. “Look what the cat dragged home.”

Y/N groans. “Not now.”

“Oh no, we are absolutely doing this now.” Ava grins, propping her feet up. “Is that his flannel?”

Y/N glares. “I wasn’t gonna walk barefoot in my dress like a walk-of-shame fairytale character.”

“So you admit it was a walk of shame.”

She sighs, collapsing into the chair across from her. “Can you just—don’t make this worse.”

Ava sips her coffee with a sparkle in her eye. “Alright, alright, I’ll be chill… after one very important question.”

Y/N lifts a brow. “…What?”

Ava leans in, eyes wide, voice stage-whispers: “Please tell me you used a condom.”

Y/N covers her face with both hands. “Oh my God.”

A beat of silence.

Ava gasps. “Y/N.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You didn’t?!”

“He was—ugh, I don’t know, it just—happened!”

“Girl,” Ava groans, flopping back dramatically, “these small-town men are always raw-dogging. That’s why Mrs. Kellerman has seven kids and looks like she hasn’t slept since 1992.”

Y/N groans into her hands. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“Oh, it is not. You got absolutely ruined by a hot mechanic. You’re glowing. I’m just making sure you’re not glowing with twins.”

“I’m going to scream.”

Ava smirks, clearly living for it. “You should at least get brunch out of it. Maybe a ring.”

Y/N throws a cushion at her. Ava catches it like a pro.

“Okay, okay, I’m done… for now.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Then Y/N, still curled up in flannel, mutters, “…Wanna do dinner tonight?”

Ava’s head tilts. “You cooking, or are we being classy with gas station wine and frozen pizza?”

“I’ll cook,” Y/N says, “if you promise not to bring up the phrase ‘raw dog’ ever again.”

“No promises,” Ava says with a smirk, “but I will bring dessert.”

That evening, dinner at the house.

Y/N cooks something simple but good—pasta, garlic bread, salad, wine. Ava "helps" by dancing around the kitchen to 2000s pop and drinking more wine than she pours into the glasses.

The front door creaks open. Y/N looks up—heart skipping—just in time to see Cal step inside. Clean jeans. Fitted henley. Beard freshly trimmed. His usual brooding energy wrapped up in something just charming enough to survive dinner with Ava.

Y/N hadn’t invited him.

Ava did.

He walks over, gives Y/N a once-over that makes her glow, and says, “Smells good.”

She mumbles a flustered thanks.

At the table, things are... chaotic.

Ava’s halfway through her second glass, going off about town gossip, weird neighbors, and Cal’s “grumpy hotness.” Y/N hides her face while Cal just eats like none of it phases him.

Then Ava leans in, wine-drunk and grinning. “So, Cal… you got a hot brother too, or are you the whole damn bloodline?”

Y/N nearly chokes on her drink.

Cal lifts a brow, lips twitching into the smallest smirk. “No brothers. But you couldn’t handle two of me.”

Ava cackles. “I don’t know, I’m pretty strong.”

He glances at Y/N, eyes sharp with heat. “You’d be surprised what you can or can’t handle.”

Y/N kicks him under the table. He doesn’t flinch.

Later, the dishes are stacked high in the sink. Y/N’s washing, humming quietly, trying to calm the storm still simmering in her chest. She hears Ava turn on the TV in the next room, half-tipsy and stretched out on the couch.

Cal moves beside her, grabbing a towel to dry.

“I could’ve done this tomorrow,” she murmurs, trying to focus on the water and not him. “You didn’t have to help.”

“You cook, I clean. Fair trade.”

She hands him a wet plate. He brushes her hand on purpose.

It happens again. And again.

Then—a shift.

She’s leaned slightly forward, reaching for a dish, when she feels it—

His cock.

Hard. Pressed right against her bottom. Just enough to feel the shape, the size, the intent. Not by accident.

Her body stiffens.

“Cal,” she says softly, warning in her voice.

But he doesn’t move away.

Instead, his hand slides around her waist. Slow. Sure. Then the other comes next, still damp from the towel.

He leans in close, breath hot against her ear.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about last night,” he murmurs.

Then, in one quick movement, he turns her—hands on her hips—and lifts her up onto the edge of the counter. Her legs fall open around him instinctively.

“Wait—” she gasps.

But his mouth is already on hers—hot, hungry, filthy. His hands slide under her dress, gripping her thighs, thumbs brushing the soft crease where her hips meet her core.

She moans, head tilting back, fingers tangled in his shirt.

His cock grinds against her through his jeans, slow and heavy.

“Cal,” she breathes, “we can’t—Ava’s right there.”

“She’s out,” he growls. “TV’s up. She won’t hear.”

He pulls his jeans down just enough—hard cock springing free—and pushes her panties aside.

He thrusts into her in one smooth stroke, hand clamped over her mouth to muffle the moan that rips from her throat.

“You missed this, didn’t you,” he grits out. “This pussy’s still fuckin’ wet for me.”

He pounds into her—rough, deep, making the whole counter shake. She claws at his back, biting her lip to stay silent.

When she comes, her body jerks—tight, shaking—clamping around him until he growls and follows, burying himself deep.

They breathe hard in the dark kitchen, the smell of soap and sex thick in the air.

She finally whispers, dazed and wrecked, “…Next time, wear a condom.”

He leans in, kisses the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then her lips.

“Sure,” he murmurs. “But I won’t promise I’ll stick to it.”

Time Skip: One Week Later

The lawyer is still dragging his feet.

Some "delay in the estate paperwork," whatever that means. Ava called it "small-town disorganization with a hint of secret conspiracy." Y/N didn’t laugh. Not really.

The house is half-packed now. The girls have boxes stacked in every room, bubble wrap everywhere, and half-finished coffee cups forgotten on windowsills. They’re ready to leave—ready to go back to the noise, the smog, the chaos of the city. Somewhere safe. Somewhere familiar.

But something keeps tugging at Y/N. A weight she can’t explain.

Maybe it’s the way Cal’s been showing up every day, like clockwork—dropping by with food, touching her lower back when Ava’s not looking, whispering things that keep her up at night. Or maybe it’s the silence in her aunt’s room—the room she’s been avoiding.

That Afternoon

Ava’s digging through the old cedar trunk at the end of Miriam’s bed, tossing out scarves, dusty photo albums, ancient candles.

Y/N’s in the hallway, boxing up books, when she hears:

“Uh… Y/N?”

Her sister’s voice sounds… weird.

Y/N walks into the room, wiping her hands on her shirt. “What?”

Ava’s holding something. A small leather-bound notebook, worn soft with age, and an envelope tucked inside.

The envelope says Y/N’s name. In her aunt’s handwriting.

“Where’d you find that?”

“Stuffed inside one of her old cookbooks,” Ava murmurs. “The one you were obsessed with when we were kids.”

Y/N takes the letter slowly. Her fingers tremble as she unfolds it.

The Letter

My sweet girl,

If you’re reading this, then I’m gone. I hope you’re okay. I hope you came with Ava, that you didn’t come back here alone. And I hope you’re safe.

There’s something you should know about Cal Walker.

He helped me fix this house after the divorce. He was kind. Quiet. A little too quiet. But I didn’t think anything of it at first. Until I started noticing… things.

Photos going missing. Your name coming up too often. Questions about your life in the city. About your job. Your routines. Your looks. At first, I thought it was protective.

But then I found the letters.

Old ones. From when you were still a teenager. Letters to me… about you. I kept them. They're in the trunk.

Y/N… he’s been watching you longer than you realize. I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want to scare you. I thought maybe he’d moved on.

But if he hasn’t—if he’s still around—you need to be careful. He doesn’t just want to protect you. He wants to own you.

Y/N’s hands are shaking. Her chest feels tight. Ava is staring at her, pale.

Y/N whispers, “Where are the letters?”

Ava opens the notebook.

Inside are three folded pages. Yellowed. Creased. And written in Cal’s handwriting.

Y/N's vision blurred with unshed tears. The weight of her aunt's words pressed heavily on her chest. Ava, sensing the gravity of the moment, placed a comforting hand on her sister's shoulder.

"We need to get out of here," Ava murmured, her voice laced with urgency. "Pack our things, leave tonight."

Y/N nodded slowly, the reality of the situation sinking in. "But what about the lawyer? The estate?"

"Screw the lawyer," Ava snapped. "Our safety comes first. My car's in good shape; we'll manage without the truck."

Determined, the sisters moved swiftly, gathering their belongings with a newfound urgency. As they packed, Y/N's mind raced, piecing together moments and interactions with Cal that now took on a more sinister hue.

Evening

The horizon was painted in shades of crimson and gold as Ava loaded the last of their bags into the trunk. Y/N took one final look at the house that had once been a sanctuary of childhood summers and family gatherings. Now, it felt like a cage, its walls whispering secrets she wished she'd never uncovered.

Sliding into the passenger seat, Y/N fastened her seatbelt, her hands clenched into fists. Ava started the engine, the car humming to life, ready to put miles between them and the shadows of the past.

As they pulled away, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of unseen eyes watching, a chill crawling down her spine. The road ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: they were leaving Dodge, and there was no looking back.

Later That Night – Somewhere on the Road

The highway stretches out before them, long and dark, flanked by open fields and flickering street lamps. Ava drives with one hand on the wheel, music low. Her other hand holds a gas station coffee like it’s a lifeline.

Y/N is silent in the passenger seat, curled up with her knees drawn close. Her phone’s screen glows faintly in her lap—silent. Waiting.

She’s holding one of the letters.

The paper is soft, yellowed with age. The handwriting is unmistakably Cal’s—strong, deliberate, just a little rough around the edges.

The First Letter

Miriam, She came to visit again today. Y/N. She’s older now. Grown into herself. Beautiful. Not just in the way she looks, but the way she moves—like she doesn’t know how the world leans toward her without realizing it. Like the gravity around her is different.

She asked about my truck. Smiled when I showed her the rebuilt engine. That smile stuck in my head all night. It’s still there.

You said not to write about her. That I should let her be. But I can’t.

I’m not going to hurt her. I just want to protect her. Keep her safe. Keep her mine. And if she ever comes back here for good… I’ll be ready.

She doesn’t belong in the city. She belongs here. With me.

— Cal

Y/N’s stomach twists.

She flips to the next page.

The Second Letter

I saw a photo of her on your fridge. She cut her hair. She looked tired.

Does she know how beautiful she is when she’s tired? Does she know how much she needs someone to take care of her?

I don’t like the men she dates. I looked one of them up. Banker. Pretty boy. He wouldn’t know what to do with her. Wouldn’t know how to touch her, or how to make her feel safe. She needs someone strong. Someone who’s not afraid to take what’s his.

I’ve been fixing the spare room. Just in case.

She’d be happier here. Eventually, she’d see that.

Y/N’s hands shake.

There’s a third letter.

She doesn’t read it right away.

Because—her phone starts to buzz.

She looks down. CAL WALKER.

She lets it ring. Ignores it.

It rings again. And again. And again.

Her hand hovers. Ava glances over. “Is that him?”

Y/N nods silently.

“You better not answer that.”

“I won’t.”

The phone goes quiet.

Then—a text.

Where are you?

Then another.

Y/N.

Then another.

Answer me.

She doesn’t move.

But something inside her feels like it just snapped.

Highway. Still dark. Still nowhere.

The dashboard glows dimly. The hum of the road is the only sound until Ava speaks—sharp, low.

"He's not stopping, Y/N."

Y/N’s staring at the phone. More texts flood in:

You shouldn’t have left.

Come home.

It’s not safe out there.

Answer me or I’ll come find you.

Her breath shakes as she clutches the last letter—still unopened, folded tightly in her hand like it might bite her. Ava glances at it, then back to the road.

“That the worst one?” she asks.

Y/N nods, barely.

Ava jerks the wheel and pulls off the road into a gravel turnout, dust kicking up as the car rolls to a stop under a blinking gas station sign long out of service.

“We’re reading it,” she says. “Right now. You need to see what else he’s hiding before he shows up on the fucking road.”

Y/N hesitates.

Then unfolds the letter with trembling fingers.

The Third Letter

I watched her from across the street today.

Not close. Just... enough.

She had no idea I was there. But I know her patterns. How she walks. When she stops to tie her shoe. When she takes that dumb little sketchbook out at the café. People walk right past her like she’s just another girl.

They don’t see her. Not like I do.

She belongs to me, Miriam.

And if she ever comes back here, I won’t make the mistake of letting her go again. I’ll be gentle. At first. She’ll understand, eventually. She’ll be grateful.

Because no one will ever love her like I do.

Y/N covers her mouth with a shaking hand.

Ava’s face goes pale.

“Oh my God. He’s been stalking you for years.”

Y/N nods, heart hammering.

Her phone buzzes again.

A new message.

You really think you can leave?

She drops the phone like it burned her.

Another buzz.

You’re mine, sweetheart. You don’t walk away from me.

“Fuck this,” Ava mutters, throwing the car into drive. “We’re going straight to the city. No stops. We’ll find a motel later, lock ourselves in, get new phones, whatever it takes.”

“Do you think he’s following us?” Y/N whispers.

“I don’t know,” Ava says tightly. “But if he is, we’re gonna make it real hard for him to catch up.”

Y/N stares out the window, heart pounding, letters clutched to her chest.

But in her gut?

She feels it.

That cold, crawling certainty.

Cal knows exactly where they are.

3:02 AM – Ava’s Apartment, Chicago

The city’s quiet in that eerie way it only gets when the night is almost over. When everything’s still except the occasional whoosh of a late cab or the hum of the fridge.

Y/N stands in the doorway of Ava’s guest room, arms wrapped tight around herself, still wearing the same clothes from the road. Her hair’s messy. Skin clammy. Her eyes look hollow under the yellow streetlight pouring through the blinds.

Ava’s already sprawled across her bed, phone on the nightstand, shoes kicked off. She hasn’t said a word in twenty minutes. Just… breathing, watching the ceiling. One hand still gripping her keys.

Neither of them really slept on the way back. They took turns behind the wheel, taking corners like they were being followed. Because maybe they were. Or maybe fear just made it feel that way.

Y/N lowers herself onto the bed slowly, like her bones aren’t hers anymore. She curls up in one of Ava’s oversized hoodies, but she’s cold.

She closes her eyes.

And he’s there.

Not in the room. In her mind.

Cal. Between her legs. Whispering in her ear. Biting her skin like it was his. The way he looked at her like he already owned her. That first slow kiss in the kitchen. His hands gripping her thighs, her throat, her hips. The sound of him growling her name when he came inside her—raw, deep, and shameless.

The way she wanted it.

The way she let him.

Y/N sits up suddenly, choking on her own breath.

Ava stirs. “Hey—hey. You okay?”

“No.” Her voice is barely there. “He touched me like he knew me. Like he always had. And I let him. I let him take me like I was already his.”

Ava’s eyes soften. She sits up too, wrapping an arm around her.

“You didn’t know,” she says firmly. “You didn’t have all the pieces. He played you, Y/N.”

“I liked it,” Y/N whispers, tears building. “That’s the worst part.”

“Liking something doesn’t make you responsible for someone else’s manipulation. He hid this from you. He hunted you.”

Y/N shudders, curling into Ava’s side.

“But what if he comes here?”

Ava tightens her grip. “Then we call the cops. We change your number. We tell everyone. We don’t let him take another inch.”

Silence.

Then Y/N, barely audible: “I don’t think he wants just inches. I think he wants all of me.”

Her phone buzzes.

She forgot to silence it. The name on the screen?

No Caller ID.

Y/N doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move.

But the screen stays lit until the glow fades to black.

A Few Days Later 

Ava didn’t waste time. By noon the next day, she was on the phone with a detective friend—Detective Reyna Cruz. Blunt, sharp, all business. Within hours, Cruz was at the apartment, taking statements, reading the letters, staring at Cal’s name like she already knew trouble when she saw it.

“He’s got no criminal record,” Cruz said as she flipped through her notepad. “But that doesn’t mean he’s clean. Men like him—quiet, helpful, devoted—they know how to hide obsession in plain sight.”

They filed a restraining order. It wouldn’t hold forever, not if he stayed quiet, not unless he did something big. But it was a start.

Ava changed the locks.

Y/N changed her number.

They bought cameras, set up alerts, and even took turns sleeping on the couch.

But no knocks. No shadow in the hall. No Cal.

Not yet.

Weeks Pass

The days stretch out soft and uneventful.

Y/N returns to her art, to her job, to the comforting noise of the city. She drinks her old coffee. Takes the train again. Falls back into the rhythm of anonymity—where strangers don’t stare too long, and no one looks at her like they know what she looks like when she cries.

She even begins going out alone. Not far. Just enough to breathe.

She’s working again. She’s smiling again. She goes to lunch with Ava, texts old friends, reorganizes her kitchen, listens to music too loud.

The nightmares come less often.

The bruises faded.

Sometimes, she thinks about the way Cal kissed her, and she hates herself for remembering it fondly. Sometimes she wonders if it was all fake—or if part of him really thought it was love.

But Then…

The first weird text comes at 1:47 AM.

No number. Just a message:

Still taste you on my tongue.

She blocks it.

Two days later, a call from a random number. No voicemail. Just silence when she answers. Like someone breathing too softly.

She brushes it off.

Then a text, later that week:

You looked pretty in that sweater. The gray one.

She hasn’t worn that sweater since yesterday.

Her throat tightens.

She wants to believe it’s just paranoia. That she’s overreacting.

But when she turns her head at the coffee shop window, just for a second, she sees a man across the street.

He’s leaning against a post. Not moving. Not on his phone.

Just watching.

And when she blinks, he’s gone.

The Next Morning

Y/N stares at the message on her phone again:

You looked pretty in that sweater.

She hadn’t worn it in a photo. Not recently. Not publicly.

But she scrolls through her old posts anyway. Tries to find one where maybe—maybe—she had the same one on. Months ago. Years ago. Something to explain it.

She finds one. Over a year old. Same sweater. Her face is barely visible in the selfie, mostly coffee and a croissant. But it’s enough.

“That’s it,” she tells herself. “He’s just online. He’s not here.”

But she doesn’t believe it.

Still, she says nothing to Ava.

That Afternoon – The “Date”

It’s not even a real date.

Just coffee with Jordan—a coworker from her freelance team. Friendly, harmless, a little flirty, but nothing serious. He’d been helping her on a project, and this was just their first time meeting in person.

They laugh over overpriced lattes. Jordan leans in when he talks. Compliments her hair. Offers to walk her home after.

Y/N says no. Politely.

But her smile lingers longer than it should.

She doesn't know across the street, under the shadows of an old alley awning, Cal is watching.

Cal, in the Dark

He sees her laugh. He sees the way she touches her necklace when she’s nervous. He sees the man—sitting too close, saying too much, looking at her like he has the right.

That’s his girl.

He fed her. Held her. Fucked her. He marked her body with his teeth and name. She was soft in his bed. She moaned for him.

Now she’s pretending none of that happened?

Worse—she’s replacing him?

His fists clench in his jacket pockets. His jaw ticks. His chest feels like it’s going to split open.

She needs reminding. She’s not free. She never was.

That Night – 1:11 AM

Y/N’s apartment is quiet. Ava’s out of town for a weekend conference. Y/N double-checked the locks. She lit a candle. Turned on soft music. Her favorite movie plays low in the background as she lays on the couch, trying to unwind.

She feels proud. Confident again. Even… maybe ready.

She doesn’t notice the unlocked window. The one in the bathroom, barely cracked from earlier when she aired it out after a shower.

She brushes her teeth. Rinses her face. Slips into an old tee and cotton shorts. Her phone is already charging.

She turns off the light.

She climbs into bed.

Pulls the blankets over herself and exhales.

Then— a hand. Over her mouth. From behind.

She screams, but it’s muffled. Her body is dragged back, strong arms locking around her, one around her waist, the other pressing tight to her mouth.

“Shhh,” a voice growls into her ear. Low. Familiar. Final.

Cal.

“You’ve been very, very bad, sweetheart.”

Her scream dies under his hand—rough, calloused, clamped over her mouth with the same hands that once stroked her hair and held her waist during slow dances. Only now they don’t feel safe.

They feel like iron.

Y/N thrashes wildly, kicking, scratching, bucking—but his body doesn’t move. He’s solid. A wall of muscle and heat. She can feel his thigh pinning her down—hard, heavy, and wide as her hips. His breath fans over her ear, hungry and dark.

“Did you miss me?” he whispers, lips brushing her cheek. “’Cause I missed everything about you.”

She writhes harder, screams again, but he only tightens his grip—arm clamped around her middle like a belt.

“Shhh,” he growls, lowering them both to the bed, pinning her beneath his weight. “You’ve been out there pretending. Playing house. Laughing with other men. But that’s not you, is it?”

He nuzzles against her neck, inhaling her like a memory.

“No,” he murmurs, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw. “That’s not my girl.”

Y/N spits under his hand, jerks her head violently, but he catches her chin and forces her still.

“God, you’re so difficult when you’re scared,” he growls, his body pressing tighter to hers—hips locking hers in place. “But I like that. I do. Makes it more fun when you give in.”

His thigh grinds between hers and she sobs into his hand, trying to twist out from under him. Her nails rake his skin. Her legs kick, desperate.

He grunts when she lands a hit, but it only fuels him.

“You’re still soft under all that fight,” he mutters, his hand sliding low over her stomach. “Still mine. Still mine.”

She shakes her head violently, tears spilling.

His lips ghost her ear. “Shhh. I’ll be gentle, baby. I’ll remind you how good I make you feel. You remember, don’t you? You remember how I stretched you open and made you beg. You’re already wet for me—”

“NO!” she screams under his hand, thrashing so hard she almost breaks free—

But he snaps.

Suddenly his palm leaves her mouth, and she gets half a cry out before his hand slams down again—across her face.

Her vision flares.

She gasps—shock, pain—and then—

Darkness.

Later – Somewhere Else

She comes to slowly.

The air is colder. Rougher. It smells like sawdust and oil.

She’s lying on something soft but unfamiliar.

Blankets. A cot?

Her wrists are tied in front of her with something thick—shop rags. Her legs are free. For now.

And when her eyes finally adjust—

She sees him.

Cal. Sitting in a chair across from her, watching.

His elbows rest on his knees, forearms flexed, hands still streaked faintly with grease. His eyes are calm—but underneath? Something wild.

He smiles, almost tenderly.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “Home.”

[hederasgarden]

Stand By Me - Part 3

Summary: When a local ranch hand’s attention evolves into something more sinister, Rhett Abbott becomes an unlikely source of comfort and protection for you. Pairing: Rhett Abbott x F!Reader Word Count: 4.8K Rating: Mature, future chapters will be explicit and 18+ only. Stalking, anxiety, and Rhett being protective. Future chapters will include some violence. No spoilers for Outer Range. A/N: Welp, here we are a year later. 😬 Sorry it has taken me so long to update. I cannot thank my beta N, @mayhem24-7forever and @whatblogisthis216 enough for their help and support putting this together. Thank you @callsignhurricane for the absolutely gorgeous header.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed this story. Your interactions keep me writing and inspired.

Masterlist | Lewis Pullman Characters Masterlist

"I see you're in with the Abbotts now," your boss remarks, watching Rhett climb into his truck. "Got a phone call from Cecilia this morning about you not closing up by yourself anymore. That woman has a real way about her, all polite-like when she's handing you your ass." 

“Mr. Anderson,” you start, rushing to explain but he waves you off. 

“She was right, of course. I know you got that, er- fella who hangs around too much.”

“My stalker?” You question, your tone harsher than you intend. He looks down at you, surprised. There’s an apology on the tip of your tongue but you resist, meeting his brown eyes. Maybe it’s knowing you had Rhett and Cecilia on your side, or maybe some leftover frustration from the Sheriff. Either way, you don't back down from your statement. 

“I suppose he could be,” Mr. Anderson agrees. “Anyhow, I’ve got Johnny set to close from now on. You go on and tell that to Cecilia now. One dressing down from that woman is enough.”

“I’ll let her know.” 

He nods, patting your shoulder briefly before disappearing into the back office. You exhale and look back out to the empty street. It’s stupid to miss Rhett but a small part of you does. You’re safe in the store; there’s no need to have him here with you. He has a life of his own and a ranch to help run. 

“Was that Rhett Abbott?”

You turn to face the owner of the voice, finding your coworker Sandra watching you excitedly. She’s got that glint in her eye, the one that means she’s not going to let this go easily. Wabang didn’t have a town gossip, but if they did, everyone knows she’d happily take the job. In high school, she was in everyone’s business, spreading rumors and ferreting out information. She never looked twice at you back then, you were too boring and quiet. 

“It was. He just gave me a lift. Not a big deal,” you promise her.

“Uh, nope," she says, popping the p and stopping you with a hand on your arm. "We’re not going to breeze past the fact that you left your car here last night and now the manwhore of Wabang is dropping you off. Spill," she demands.

"We're not…," you start, an automatic denial falling from your lips before you can stop it. She gives you an incredulous look and you stammer out an answer. "It's not a big deal. We're, um, dating," you explain.

"Rhett Abbott doesn't 'date'," she tells you, eyes narrowed. "He has sex with whatever buckle bunny catches his eye.”

“He’s not like that,” you argue, defensive at the way she speaks about him. You know Rhett’s reputation, pretty much everyone does, but you saw a different side of him last night and this morning. You know there’s something more under that charming smile. He listened when no one else did and that means something to you. 

“Honey, please,” she says dismissively. “That boy is nothing but trouble and trash. You best stay away from him."

“Don’t talk about him like that,” you tell her, voice warbling with emotion. “He’s not like everyone says.”

Sandra’s perfectly plucked brows disappear into her hairline. “Alright, alright,” she concedes, hands held up. “Just be careful. He might not stick around after he gets what he wants from you.”

“He’s stuck around the last two months just fine,” you fire back, only realizing after the words are out that you and Rhett never talked about a timeline. 

“Really?” Sandra says, leaning in closer enough for you to catch the fruity scent of the gum she smacks noisily. “That certainty explains why he hasn’t been hanging around the Handsome Gambler lately. I just thought maybe he was getting serious about bull riding or Royal had him on a short leash after the last fight.” She leans back, looking contemplative. “Well, that was some exciting gossip for a Friday morning.”

“Please don’t spread this around,” you ask her, knowing full well she would. Although the idea of people talking about your personal life made your skin crawl, you knew if Rhett were here he’d say it was good. The more it spread, the more likely your stalker would learn of it and back off. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” she promises you, crossing her fingers and winking. 

Sandra spends the rest of your time together on her phone, chewing on the endless supply of gum she keeps next to the register. You’re normally not a self involved person but you’re fairly certain she’s texting about you and Rhett. During lunch, you send him a text of your own about your conversation with Sandra. He responds immediately with a thumbs up emoji which doesn’t help your anxiety. What if he was mad? What if he was with another girl at that time and you just screwed up this whole story?

You spend your shift distracted, overthinking what you told Sandra enough that you keep losing track of the inventory you’re working on. Eventually you give up and volunteer to work the till. An unexpectedly busy afternoon keeps your focus on the task at hand and you don’t even notice it’s 5 p.m. until you look up and find Rhett in line for your register, a shopping basket in hand. 

He steps up to the counter and smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you return, feeling unexpectedly shy. You stare at him long enough that he clears his throat and nudges the basket towards you.

“You gonna check me out?” he asks, his tone playful. 

Beside you, Sandra scoffs. When you spare her a glance, you find her watching Rhett. His attention, though, is focused on you. 

“What’s all this?” You question, taking out the deadbolt kit and some window locks.

“For your apartment. When I was there last night I saw they could use an update.”

“Rhett…” you trail off, embarrassed. 

He seems to sense your emotions and leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “I think this is the part where you ask me, cash or card,” he whispers. 

“Will that be cash or card?” You ask, thankful for how easily he dispels your discomfort.

After you’ve finished checking him out, you clock out and let him walk you to his truck with an arm around your shoulder.  Once you reach your apartment he pulls out a tool bag from the bed of the truck and says he’ll install the new deadbolt while you get ready. A part of you wants to protest or offer to pay him for the supplies, while another is too embarrassed to draw attention to what he’s doing for you, so instead you say nothing and disappear into your room.

“Pretty sure they’re doing line dancing tonight,” Rhett calls out in between the sounds of the power drill. “You got some boots you can wear?”

“Uh…I think so," you half yell back, staring at the contents of your closet. 

You have to get on your hands and knees and pull aside a few boxes to find a pair of brown boots. The last time you wore them was for high school graduation, back when your grandfather had been alive. You trace the delicate lines of embroidery around the calf, pale pink and periwinkle flowers connected by green vines. There hadn’t been a reason to wear them since, all you did was go to work and come home. 

Tonight seems as good as any and you stand to finish getting dressed. The sundress and jean jacket are a little dated but they’re comfortable and look nice enough. Once you’ve managed to fix your hair and makeup, you return to the living room to find Rhett replacing the old window locks.

The creak in the floor draws his attention to you briefly before his eyes return to the window. A second later they’re back on you. He blinks and stands, clearing his throat. 

“I think I’m ready," you announce. 

“You, ah, look real nice,” he tells you, nodding. “I like the flowers.” 

“Thanks. You look nice too,” you add, touching your neck self-consciously when he doesn’t immediately speak again but keeps watching you.

“Well…we should probably get going then.”

“Yeah,” you agree, watching Rhett gather up his tools. “Thanks again for installing that stuff.” 

Rhett nods. “I’ll finish up with the other windows tomorrow.”

The drive to the bar is quiet. Rhett’s fingers drum on the steering wheel as you wait at the stoplight. You cycle through potential conversation openers but discard them all. Nothing feels right, and you realize that the sour pit in your stomach only grows the closer you get to the Handsome Gambler. 

Would he be there tonight you wondered? Just the thought of seeing him is enough to make your breath come quickly and your hands tremble. You exhale and close your eyes, trying to get yourself together. Rhett is here. 

When the engine cuts out you look up, eyes drawn to the neon glow of the Handsome Gambler’s sign. Rhett’s quick to meet you at the curb, offering his arm. You curl your hand around his bicep and he draws you close. At this time of night, the bar is busy, humming with energy and conversation. Rhett navigates the crowd with ease, exchanging brief hellos with a few people, finally stopping at an empty booth. You slide in and he follows. 

“Want a beer?” He asks.

You’re not much of a drinker but you nod anyway. Rhett flags down a waitress and a few minutes later two cold beers are dropped off at your table. You fiddle with the label as Rhett takes a long swig and leans back, shoulders relaxing. When you sense him watching, you bring the bottle to your lips and take a drink. It’s cold and a little bitter on your tongue. Your distaste for it must show because Rhett cocks his head to the side with a faint smile on his lips.

“I can order you something else,” he offers. “Wine? Something fruity?”

“Maybe something fruity… honestly though this is okay. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Rhett shakes his head and flags down the waitress again, ordering you a daiquiri. “It won’t go to waste,” he assures you, pulling the beer toward him.

You return his smile as he rests his arm along the back of the booth. His fingertips hover just above your shoulder, not quite touching your jacket. This close to him you can smell his cologne, faint and a little musky but nice. Everything about this is surprisingly nice, including the way his denim-clad leg presses against yours, warm and firm. 

“He’s not here,” Rhett announces and you look up at him sharply. He’s still scanning the bar as he sips from his beer. For one silly moment, you forgot why you were even here, something that seemed impossible earlier. 

“Should we go?” You ask Rhett.

You’d only come to make it clear to the man that you were with Rhett.

“What?” Rhett’s brow furrows as he glances at you. “Why? You wanna go?”

“No.” You shake your head just as the waitress arrives with your drink. “We came so he’d see…”

“There’s more than one way to make sure he knows,” Rhett tells you, pushing up the brim of his hat before leaning in close. You can feel his breath against your cheek. “Look to your right, past the pool tables. You see those men?” You nod, watching the rowdy group in the corner playing darts as you absently sip your drink. 

“They all work at the Dustin ranch, including the one in the baseball cap who keeps looking at us.” At that moment, the man in question stands up for his turn and looks back, meeting your eyes. If he is surprised to find you looking, he doesn’t show it. He holds your gaze for a second before glancing at Rhett who smirks and waves. His expression doesn’t change but when he turns back you catch a brief flash of something.

“He’ll make sure Jimmy gets the message that you’re with me.”

“Jimmy?”

“Your stalker," Rhett clarifies. "After I dropped you off this morning I paid a friend of mine a visit that’s friendly with the foreman of the Dustin ranch. That’s the man’s name. He hangs out with the guy in the baseball cap, Rick.” 

“Oh.” You stare at the table, trying to process the information Rhett gave you.

When he says your name softly you realize several minutes have passed in silence. “Sorry, I….” you trail off and look back at the man with the baseball cap. 

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Rhett says. “This is a lot.”

You nod, lips pressed together because you don’t trust yourself to speak. 

“Line dancing looks fun,” he notes, taking a swig of beer. “Might be a nice distraction and you can put those fancy boots to good use.”

“They’re not fancy,” you defend. 

“Hmmm, don’t look like nothing I’ve seen at the feed store,” he teases. “Come on.” He stands and offers his hand. 

You let him pull you up and follow him to the dance floor as Vince Gill’s What The Cowgirls Do fades from the speakers and a soft, more subdued song  plays. The crowd thins and you realize the remaining dancers are pairing up. Rhett doesn’t seem deterred by the change in music, grasping your right hand and wrapping his left arm loosely around your body. His palm rests firmly on your shoulder blade, pulling your body close to his. After a moment of hesitation, you settle your left arm on his bicep.

“It’s been a while since I’ve danced like this,” you admit, watching how easily the other couples move around the dance floor. 

“Nothing to it. All you gotta do is follow, I’ll lead,” Rhett promises, surging forward and taking you with him. 

You stumble a little but he’s quick to adjust his pace for you, whispering words of encouragement. Maybe it's how Rhett guides you around the dance floor or some long buried muscle memory from high school but soon enough you’re moving in sync. Then he raises his arm to spin your body in a circle before quickly drawing you back into his arms. When he does it again a second time, a breathless laugh escapes you. 

“Atta girl,” Rhett says, drawing you closer. 

Your skin tingles and you feel warm all over when he speaks those two simple words. The world narrows to Rhett’s handsome face, his blue eyes dark pools in the dim light. Your chest constricts, only allowing you to pull in shallow breaths that leave you lightheaded. It’s only when someone else bumps into the two of you and the spells breaks that you realize a new, more upbeat song is playing. 

Rhett’s lashes flutter and he releases you, his gaze falling away a moment later. 

“Beer’s probably getting warm,” he says and you hum your agreement, letting him lead you back to your seat.

Before you can make it, two men you don’t recognize stop Rhett. 

“Shit, that you Abbott?” The shorter one questions, swaying on his feet. 

You watch Rhett for his reaction, only relaxing when he smiles. “Smitty.”

“Heard you’re riding tomorrow.”

“I am,” Rhett agrees.

“Damn,now we gotta go to see that,” he tells his friend before turning his attention to you. “Did you know your boyfriend's one of the best damn bull riders in these parts?" He asks. 

You’re not sure what to say so you just nod. 

“You guys gotta come get a drink with us,” Smitty says. 

“Thanks, but my girl and I were about to head out,” Rhett says, capturing your hand in his. “Y'all have a good night.”

My girl. 

Rhett uses that phrase so casually, like he’s done it 100 times before. For a moment, you let yourself imagine a world where it’s true, losing yourself in the fantasy long enough to miss the rest of their conversation. When Smitty and his friend stumble away, Rhett leads you back to the booth where  your daiquiri has all but melted. If Rhett’s beer is warm, he doesn’t show it, finishing it off in one gulp. 

“If you want to get a drink with your friends…,” you start hesitantly.

Rhett’s quick to cut you off with a shake of his head.  “Not with those two dipshits. They’re fun for sure but… trouble too.”

You turn to face him. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

He waves your comment away, grinning with one side of his mouth. “Maybe, but it aint suitable for girls with flowers on their boots.” 

The rest of the evening passes surprisingly easy, so much so that before you know it, it’s nearly midnight and you’ve all but forgotten about Jimmy and the man in the hat. Rhett pays your bill with cash and walks you to his car, keeping a hand on your lower back. 

Once you arrive at your apartment, Rhett turns off the truck and leans forward to look out the windshield.

“Want me to stay the night?” He asks, leaning back. 

You do, but you’re aware of just how much he’s done for you already; staying over last night and pretending with you at the bar. You should decline and let him go home to sleep in a real bed but behind him you can see the dark windows of your apartment and the words catch in your throat. 

“Never was an Eagle Scout,” he starts, pulling a black duffle bag from behind the seat, “but I came prepared.”

You stare at the bag, surprised, and when you look back at Rhett he gives you that half smile of his, brow arched. You find yourself nodding before you can think too hard about it.

“Alright,” Rhett says, opening his door, “come on.”

That night you sleep better than you have in weeks and when the morning comes, you quietly slip out of your bedroom.  Rhett is already up, a mug of coffee in hand. He looks lost in thought, a deep crease between his brows but his expression clears when he sees you. 

“Made coffee,” he says, raising his mug. “Hope that was alright.”

“Of course,” you’re quick to tell him. 

“I won't be able to pick you up after work,” Rhett says, following you into the kitchen and leaning back against the counter. “Gotta be at the rodeo early but my Ma said she’d be there.”

“Okay.” You yawn as you doctor your coffee to make it sweet enough to drink.

“Looks like I kept you out too late,” he observes, watching you over the rim of his mug. 

“No, it was…” you pause searching for the right word but come up short. “I appreciate it,” you finally settle on. 

Rhett nods, looking away. “It’s nothing.”

When he sets his empty mug in the sink, you head back to your room and get ready for work.  Once you’re dressed, you reach for the beat-up tennis shoes you always wear, stopping short when you see your boots from last night. You hesitate for only a second before slipping them on instead. 

Rhett drops you off with a kiss on your cheek and a wave to Sandra, who watches the two of you from the front window display. The day passes uneventfully, without any sign of Jimmy. A little after 6 pm the Abbotts come to collect you. Cecilia is warm and open, asking about work while Royal drives, glancing at you occasionally in the rearview mirror. You’ve only met Rhett’s father in passing and always found him to be an intimidating man. Tonight he’s mostly silent, only chiming in when you tell Cecilia about an issue that happened today with Donald Everrtt’s lumber order.

“That man’s got more cows than sense,” Royal grumbles and you laugh when Cecilia chastises him.

Leaning back and gazing out the window, you think about your own parents. They weren’t so different from Rhett’s and you’d forgotten how nice something as simple as this could feel. Thinking of them hurts like it always does and you swallow around the lump in your throat, distracting yourself by listening to Cecilia and Royal talk about Rhett and the bull he’s meant to ride tonight. 

When you arrive at the rodeo, it’s loud and chaotic. The announcer booms something about the bull riding beinging soon. It doesn’t escape your notice that Royal and Cecilia keep you between them as they guide you through the crowd of people to the metal bleachers where Rhett’s brother and his family are waiting. Their daughter, Amy, is quick to question you once you’re seated. 

“Are you Uncle Rhett’s girlfriend?” she asks, leaning around Cecilia to see you.

You stare at her, unsure how to answer with so many people around. Rhett had shared the plan with his parents but you weren’t sure who else knew the truth. Your silence makes Amy’s  little brows furrow, a look so reminiscent of her uncle that it almost makes you smile. 

Thankfully Cecilia interjects before you have to figure out what to say. “Yes, Amy.”

Before Amy can ask you any more questions, her mother suggests they get some popcorn. Once they disappear, Perry takes a swig from the flask in his boot, and when he sees his mother looking, he makes a face.

“Come on Ma,” he grumbles, but Cecilia pins him with a silent, angry look and he eventually puts the flask away, sighing heavily.

There are several riders before Rhett and you watch each of them get thrown from their bull with increasing anxiety. You search for him among the crowd of riders at the far end of the fence. When you spot him, you’re surprised to find he’s watching you. He grins, tipping his hat. It’s such a simple gesture, but it fills you with a fluttering warmth that lasts long after he looks away to acknowledge his parents. 

When it’s finally Rhett’s turn to ride, you rub your hands on your thighs anxiously. The buzzer goes off and you flinch as the gate is ripped open. The world narrows to Rhett, the bull, and the sound of your own breathing. The seconds tick past agonizingly slow until he’s thrown from the bull. 

Dust flies and the bull stomps. You stand up, searching until you find him stock still in the dirt. You make a small, terrified sound and Royal touches your shoulder drawing your gaze. 

“He’s okay. Just got the breath knocked from him,” he assures you. 

You look at Cecilia who seems just as concerned but then a second later the bull is gone and Rhett stands. His gaze is focused on the scoreboard but you watch him. His expression is serious, lips pressed into a thin line as his chest heaves. Then suddenly he smiles, open joy written across his features and the crowd cheers. When you look up his name is first on the board. 

Beside you, Royal yells and Perry sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. Cecilia shouts his name and Amy jumps with excitement. You expect Rhett to come straight to his parents but he makes a beeline for you, climbing up the bleachers and past people with ease. 

“Rhett,” you start, whatever you were going to say cut short by his lips on yours. The kiss is intense but brief. When he pulls away, he looks as surprised as you feel. You stare at one another before suddenly he’s pulled back by an older man who claps him on the shoulder. More people push forward to offer him congratulations. 

“Let him hear you one more time,” the announcer encourages. “Ladies and gentlemen, your hometown hero, Rhett Abbott!”

You touch your lips, mind working hard to process what just happened. Rhett looks back, eyes glued to yours as he’s pulled back into the ring.

“Come on sweetheart,” Cecilia urges, patting your arm. “Let’s wait for him at the other end. Less people.”

You can’t see her eyes under the brim of your hat but you suddenly realize she and about a hundred other people just witnessed what Rhett did. You have no idea what his parents must think. There’s another feeling under the embarrassment and awkwardness that you don’t investigate too closely. 

“Well that was something,” Royal says and you glance up at him sharply before you realize he’s talking about Rhett’s ride. 

Cecilia smiles. “He’s gonna ride next weekend in the finals for sure.”

“I knew he’d make it,” Royal says proudly and you smile at both of them, nodding your agreement. 

After a few minutes, Perry arrives alone. “It was getting late so I thought it best Amy went home,” he tells the three of you, hands on his hips. “She can celebrate with us tomorrow.”

“Hmmm and I suppose you’re gonna help your brother celebrate tonight?” Cecilia asks, judgment clear in her tone.

“Yeah. Handsome Gambler,” he confirms, clapping Rhett on the back as he arrives. “You’ll be drinking for free, that’s for sure.” 

“Did you consider that your brother might not want to go?” Cecilia asks, looking at you pointedly. 

“Oh, that’s alright. We can go,” you say, feeling even more awkward.

Perry grins and leans in. This close you can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Great, I’ll get us a booth.”

He disappears before Rhett even has a chance to speak. Cecilia sighs and Royal rubs her back. “Nothing wrong with having a little fun,” he reminds her.

“I know,” she concedes. “But be safe,” she adds, looking intently at Rhett.

“I will,” he promises her, nodding seriously.  

Cecilia offers you a tight hug, promising to stop by the store later in the week. Once she and Royal are gone, you’re alone with Rhett. He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat. 

“I’m sorry.” He pauses, looking back at you. “For the kiss. I shoulda asked if you were okay with that. I was out of line.”

“It’s okay. It uh, was good. Lots of people saw. That’s the point right?”

He stares at you for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face. “Yeah, that’s the point," he agrees, finally before his gaze flicks away. “But, we don’t have to go to the Gambler tonight. Perry’s just… Perry,” he finishes with a long suffering sigh. 

You think about how excited he was before and what tonight means for him. He’d done so much for you lately, the least you could do was go with him to the bar. There was no way he’d drop you off and home and go alone. You had fun with him last night after all. Maybe tonight would be just as nice. 

“We can go,” you tell him but he frowns, clearly unconvinced. It’s late and you’re tired but it isn’t hard to manage a genuine smile for him. “Afterall, I brought my dancing boots,” you add, pulling up your jeans to reveal them. 

“Alright,” he agrees, his expression lightening. 

The bar is more crowded than last night and Rhett keeps you close. Everyone wants to talk to him, including Maria. You can’t help but feel jealous at the way she lays a hand on Rhett’s arm and leans in close to speak to him. She’s even more beautiful than she was in high school when half the town knew he’d been in love with her.

Watching them together and seeing the easy way he smiled at her, you wonder if he still is. That makes your chest ache, which is silly. You and Rhett weren’t actually together. Nothing, from the dance last night to his kiss earlier, was real. It was an act because you caught the wrong kind of attention. Suddenly, you want to be anywhere but here. You take a step away but Rhett’s quick to face you, his hand shooting out to grasp your elbow.

You lean in to be heard over the din of the bar. “I need to use the restroom but Perry said he can come with me,” you lie, looking over your shoulder at his brother. 

“I can come,” Rhett tells you, setting his beer down. 

You wave him off. “Catch up with your friends.”

When you realize Rhett doesn’t turn around immediately you’re forced to actually ask Perry. He agrees and finishes off his beer, following after you a little unsteady. You take your time in the bathroom, splashing water on your face and staring at your reflection. It’s quiet here but your mind is buzzing. You close your eyes and sigh. You’re not sure how long you stay like that, lost in thought but eventually a toilet flushes and you stand straight. You were being selfish, Rhett deserved to celebrate tonight without worrying over you. 

With a deep breath you head back into the bar, searching for Perry. When you left he was leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone. Now he’s nowhere to be found. You only make it a few steps before someone’s hand closes around your wrist and tugs you back. You spin around, half expecting to find Rhett but it’s not him. 

Green eyes meet yours. 

“Hi baby,” Jimmy says, smiling. 

[whisperofsong]

Summary: Rhett contemplates whether he’ll ever have lasting love.

Word Count: 1,017

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex, and mentions of religion

Note: This writing piece is inspired by Taylor Swift’s song, “The Prophecy.” I feel this song would resonate with Rhett as he is misunderstood and vulnerable despite his rough exterior. Thank you for reading and supporting my work🫶🏼

____________________________________________

Rhett gazed out his bedroom window, watching his parents assist each other with chores on their ranch. Celia and Royal were working beside one another and engaged in what appeared to be amicable conversation. Although Rhett was unable to read their lips, Celia said something and the stern look on her face was replaced by a wry smile. Royal, a man of few words, a man who scowled more than he smiled, stopped what he was doing. Rhett noted his father’s jerky shoulder movements, only to realize they were moving like that because he was laughing. His father’s head fell backwards and deep laughter filled the air, its sound faint through the glass of Rhett’s window.

Once Royal was finally able to regain his composure, he stood up and wiped the dirt clinging to his weathered jeans. He towered over his wife, saying something that made her shake her head and grin simultaneously, before Celia pulled herself off the ground. They shared a kiss and walked in the opposite direction from the house, their hands intertwined.

While his parents had their fair share of problems, their steadfast commitment to their marriage and supporting one another was a constant in Rhett’s life. He certainly had his own ideas of what he would do differently in his own marriage, if marriage was even in his future, but he admired Celia’s and Royal’s devotion to one another.

Rhett cast his eyes downward, that familiar ache he preferred to suppress stirring once again in the center of his chest. He placed his hand there, kneading the area, but the discomfort prevailed. He was classified as many things by the residents of Wabang, Wyoming: a cad, player, ladies’ man, manwhore, etc. It’s not as if those terms weren’t fitting. Rhett got around and he didn’t harbor any shame about his abilities to attract and charm women. He wasn’t embarrassed that those in town gossiped about his one-night stands, whispered about rumors they’d been told, and sometimes embellished when regaling others with his latest salacious escapades. No, he held his head with pride and appeared to be nonchalant because he truly wasn’t bothered by these things. He was bothered by one thing, though, and it was that the individuals in town believed flings and lust-filled evenings were enough for him. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

He desired a partner as much as anyone else. Someone to come home to at the end of the day, someone in whom he could confide. Someone to tell his fears and dreams to without judgment. Someone to make him laugh when the weight of his burdens became heavy. Someone who would love him just as he is.

Years ago, he thought he had found someone who could fulfill this role. Maria Olivares expressed an interest in him and he felt pulled towards her, too. Like him, she envisioned more for herself that extended beyond the confines of Wabang, and he mused that they might be able to do more together someday. Their conversations sowed seeds of hope and gave Rhett something to look forward to in the midst of challenges and daily drudgery. They also made his physical relationship with Maria more meaningful because it was the first time that sex wasn’t just a mechanism for releasing tension; it was a way to convey his intense love.

Their relationship continued when she began college, but as time progressed, their dynamic shifted. Maria was outgrowing Rhett and although she didn’t explicitly tell him this herself, he knew it anyway.

Eventually, their relationship devolved into an on again/off again one that reopened the former void in his life. For a while, Rhett settled for having part of her as opposed to none of her, but this arrangement grew stale in time, and he could no longer accept it. He planned to confront her about it when she returned after her first semester of graduate school because he wasn’t counting on Maria having news of her own: she met someone and it was rapidly becoming serious. Maria’s revelation tore his insides apart, but he had too much pride to display his true emotions. Instead, he swallowed the words he practiced in front of his mirror numerous times, mustered what he hoped resembled a genuine smile, and uttered the words, “I’m happy for you.”

Maria was the last and only woman that made him believe he was close to finally having a lifelong partner. Ever since the demise of their relationship, he sought women who would provide instant gratification, who would use him as they pleased and allow him to do the same. It certainly passed the time and temporarily filled his hollow heart, but as soon as dawn arrived and their indentations disappeared from his bed, that emptiness gnawed at him once again.

Rhett wondered whether he was doomed; perhaps his fate was to be alone. He didn’t want to accept that fate, though, so he turned to a higher power. Although he wouldn’t classify himself as religious, he occasionally offered up prayers when things in his life seemed dire and were causing him deep distress. He felt the lack of love in his life justified praying, so that’s what he did, but his desire had yet to be granted. He determined it must be punishment. After all, he wasn’t virtuous by any means, but there were times when he tried to be a good person, like doing additional chores on the ranch, even when the darkness of the night engulfed him, running errands for Celia, and putting some money in the collection box at the local church. But that must not have been enough.

He finally turned away from his bedroom window and laid down on his bed. He peered up at the ceiling, visions of someone made just for him flashing in his mind, but his eyes grew heavy and could no longer remain open. As he drifted off to sleep, he continued imagining a life with the promise of love, one in which a woman wouldn’t abandon him in the morning, but would stay forever.

@lewmagoo @luminousnotmatter @floydsmuse @rhettabbotts @sunblchdfly @sebsxphia

[sunlightmurdock]

Can you do a cozy blurb with rhett abbott

-ˏˋ. actions / scenarios ˊˎ-

⋆ going to a carnival / fair

the fair | Rhett Abbott

warnings: none!

Rhett is actually the one to first suggest a trip to the county fair. It’s half to do with the slight guilt he feels about not being able to take you out more — money’s tight sometimes, and he’s often just so exhausted from work. But, the other half of his desire to take you out comes from the nostalgia of those places.

He’s holding back a grin like a little kid, his fingers laced through yours as he leads the way across the green-grass field. Ahead of you are stretches of neon string lights and whirling fairground rides, sounds of cheering and laughing.

Maybe it’s the noise that he likes best. It’s always so quiet out at the ranch, silence for miles and miles. It makes you learn to listen, learn to jump and get tense at the slightest sound.

There’s no chance of that way out here. The sounds all blend together, a happy kind of hum that makes him feel just a little more peaceful.

All of that combined with you, who seems to live to get under his skin in the best way, and still somehow manages to make him feel more settled than anyone in the world ever has.

Crisp leaves under your feet, the chill of the Wyoming winter creeping in through the end of autumn catching at your knuckles. One of Rhett’s old Carhartt jackets sits around your shoulders, a proud proclamation to the entirety of Wabang of exactly who you’re here with.

He’s leading the way confidently, brunette curls tucked under one of his trucker caps, boots crunching across the grass and brush. Wabang County Fair hosts an array of vendors every year, a lot of them local.

Homemade hard ciders from the Marsh family farm. Chilli from the pastor and his wife. Fresh, buttered popcorn sold by the elementary school teacher who had expelled Rhett as a kid.

She greets him with wide, cautious eyes and a stern hello. He grins as you giggle into his side.

He tells you their stories with an arm around your shoulder and his lips brushing at your earlobe. The chill in the air has you cuddling closer, but you’re far from looking for an excuse to do that.

You’ve got one eye on the spinning ferris wheel, too, watching the little pods glowing like stars in the darkening sky. Each one filled with smiling families or budding couples, whispering friends.

You bet that Rhett knows their stories too, and you know that he likes being the one not on the receiving end of the gossip for once.

After a scenic tour of each of the booths on the ground, Rhett catches sight of that spark in your eye as you look up at the moving ride. Squeezing you closer to him, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek as he turns and heads for it, with you in tow.

He’s got every intention of behaving on that ferris wheel, too. Sitting on the bench opposite you and taking in the view. You can see for miles up there, right across the stretching mountain ranges to the north. Grass and greenery for miles, the last of it before the season gets real grey and cold.

The ground below looks even more technicolour from way up here, glowing below you, abuzz with excited patrons.

Rhett’s got every intention of being a perfect gentleman on this date. Hell, he’s even planning on walking you to your door later and bidding you goodbye with a kiss on the cheek.

It’s just that right as your carriage reaches the very peak of the wheel, the whole thing comes to an abrupt stop. He can see the cold nipping at your skin, the slight shiver that wracks your body — the air’s just a little bit colder up here.

“It’s warmer over here, you know.” He tells you with a tip of his chin, his knees spreading just an inch further apart as his back settles against the bench behind him.

[gonehuman99]

Sideline Heat

Yandere Rhett Abbott x reader (1900 words)

TW: Dubcon

Warning: Dark Rhett Abbott, dubcon, manipulation, semi public sex, language, sexual content though no actual sex, toxic relationship

Summary: You didn't want to go to the rodeo; you didn't want to see Rhett, but a kiss near his truck changed your mind.

You're on the sidelines, away from the action. You didn't want to be here at the beginning, but you figured you should go anyway. Why fight?

So here you were. Your boots are firmly in the mud. You lean on each foot, trying to relax, but you can't. All the seats in front of you are filled up. You cross your arms. Tilting your head up, you look at the stands. It's completely filled up. Yelling erupts, and you whip your head back to the rodeo grounds.

A man gets up, looks at the scoreboard, and grins. Waving his hat around. You're huffing and ready for the next contestant. That's when his name is called out. Rhett Abbott.

You don't want to look; you want to turn your head around and head back home. Seeing him like this makes your chest ache. You know he's an expert of some sort, but you can't help it. You don't want to see him hurt.

You grab your neck, rolling the muscle and skin in your hand. You try to keep your eyes focused on the arena. You knew that bull riding didn't take long, but watching someone you cared about riding felt like an eternity.

The sound of clanging metal, a loud buzz, and Rhett is off. You hold your breath with a pounding heart.

And then it was over.

Like the man before, he raises his hat. Rhett scans the seats until his eyes meet yours. His lips curve as he offers a small smile and nods your way.

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you give a nod back. He approaches the metal fence.

You approach the gate. Rhett looks at you, and you can’t think.

Rhett wipes a line of sweat from under his nose and rests his hands on the gate between you. "So. What’d you think?" he asks, a smile on his face.

You shrug your shoulders and give a blank stare. Rhett purses his lips to the side of his face, his smile fading.

"I don't like you seeing you get hurt, is all," you say.

He nods slowly, "Well, the least you can do is give a clap."

You huff a bit and kick some dirt. You look around, "Look, how about we talk about this somewhere else… somewhere with fewer people?" This was a town with few things to do, but one of the few things that people could do was gossip, and you didn't want to be the one to feed them.

Rhett glances around, nodding. "Yeah, seems like a good idea," he says, rubbing his neck. "How about my truck?"

You nod. Rhett pushes through the metal gates. He offers his hand to you, but you gesture for him to go ahead. Rhett pauses, then obliges, leading you through the crowd. His pace is slow as you follow along.

When you reach the car, you stop. You lean against his truck and look down at the ground. "I'm sorry that…," you sigh. "I'm sorry about not going with you at first, just that I don't like this sport."

Rhett nods and leans on the truck next to you. His arm brushes yours.

"That's fine," he says, furrowing his brows as he examines the ground. "Why didn't you say something?"

Silence. You feel him grab your arm. "Look at me," he says softly. You don't, though.

"Look at me," he repeats. He grabs your arm tighter; it's not painful, but it is tighter.

You finally lift your head and look up at him. He kisses you—it's a peck. It's light and soft. "Let's not do this," you say.

Rhett's eyes flicker between your eyes and mouth. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Do what," he says.

"I'm trying to talk seriously, Rhett, and all it seems is that you want one thing." You push him and try to leave. You feel an arm spinning you back.

"No, no-" his eyes searching your face. "That's not true."

He sighs. "Look, I know you don't like it, but it’s all I know. It’s in my blood," he says.

"So what'd you think?" he asked, smiling, trying to lighten the mood.

You don't say anything; instead, you look back at where the crowd was. When you look back at him, his lips are straight, and his jaw is tight.

Sweat on his hairline. His breathing tight, he leans into you.

"I didn't come for this," you say.

"Then why'd you come at all?"

You wanted to talk about what happened, but there was something you took from the way he looked at you. The adrenaline rush he felt while riding washed away from his face, and that softness Rhett gave you when you two were alone pushed up.

Rhett grabs your chin and kisses you against the door.

The sound of your lips smacking together makes you shudder internally. No matter how often you've done this with him, you always liked the sound. You knew, though, that wasn't the outcome you wanted. Being out this far and away from the people. You wanted to get serious and tell him you didn't want the rodeo life, but here you were getting kissed instead.

You push at his chest. He doesn't budge. One of his legs is between yours, moving it farther away. Leaning on the truck, you're grateful that you're wearing jeans.

His hands go down, trying to unbutton your jeans. You grab his hand, trying to stop him from continuing. You slide your face away from him. His face is going to your neck.

"Rhett," you say, out of breath. “You're not listening.”

"Mhhm," his mouth is on your neck. “Later. You can say all you want later”.

Despite your best efforts, he's hard to resist. It's hard to think, and his hand goes to your waist.

"Let me make it up to you," he says.

You love kissing him, but something still holds you back—the sound.

The sound of the people in the back. The crowd will inevitably return to their cars and witness you in this moment.

He continues his hands wandering over your body. You feel his need.

"Rhett, we can't do this here," you say in a low and firm voice.

He doesn't say anything; he just keeps kissing your neck.

Rhett's hand moves to your jeans, sliding them off.

"Come on," his voice near your ear, "no one will find us here," he says.

Your mind is muddled.

You clench your jaw. You don't want to do this here, but you also don't want to be the cause of a problem. Sometimes, you feel like you're the main reason this relationship has rocky moments.

You nod but add, "But wait, let's make this quick." you hated that a part of you wanted this.

Rhett grins. "Don't worry, darling," a glint in his eyes, "I know how to make this worth your while."

Rhett brings his fingers down to your slit rubbing at the bud in between your legs. It's slow and deliberate. You move your hips to the rhythm.

"You like that, huh?" he says.

Rhett quickly moves to take his pants down. The clang of his belt brings you out of the moment.

His cock is out. He strokes it, the sound of his hands mixing with the crowd.

He rubs the tip at your slit. You hiss as the head slides up and down. He slides an inch.

"Wait," you gasp.

"What?" he growls. He didn't pull out; he stayed there.

"We can't do this here," you say. You look around, "What if someone comes?" you say

"You know what your problem is," he moves slightly closer. “You overthink everything." He doesn't push away.

He plants his mouth next to your ear. "You scared someone's gonna come over and catch me balls deep in you." His voice is low, and you can imagine a smile forming. You're disgusted at his choice of words, but you also get wetter.

You shudder at the feeling. "How about," you bite your lip, thinking it over in your head, "how about we compromise?"

He tilts his head. "I'm listening," he says, leaning back slightly. He's still hard in you. "What's the compromise?"

"Well," you say, "how about you only slide?"

God, this sounded better in your head than out loud.

"You know." You add, "You can get off, but we don't have to do anything." You were already regretting your words. Heat came to your cheeks. You figured it'd be much better than doing the deed publicly.

"You want me to fuck you between your legs but not inside you," a grin on his face. He shifts slightly the head of his cock, rubbing your clit.

You bob your head and move your hips.

"Shit darling," he wastes no time positing himself properly. He starts to move slowly, sliding between your folds, dragging the head over your clit each time he rocks his hips.

You arch your back. He picks up speed. The thick head rubs your clit with each thrust. You know this is dumb; you guys weren't teenagers anymore, but here you were, humping like you were one.

"Damn," he whispers. Even though he's not entering you, the friction is intense. The building feeling is close.

"Are you close?" he asks, and all you can do is moan.

He grips your hips tightly. You can tell he's close, too. A look on his face, one that you've seen before. It's a strangely innocent look. His eyebrows scrunched. A slight whine escaped his lips. You like it. It looks like he's begging. You feel yourself pulsing. Your eyes roll back as a gasp leaves you.

"I'm gonna come," he whines, his voice cracking. His movements are erratic. He buries his face in your neck.

"Rhett, don't I-" But he comes. He comes on your underwear.

"Shit," he groans, and his cock spurts on your underwear. He shudders as he continues to grab onto your hips. He’ll probably leave marks for you to see in the morning.

He rests his forehead on yours. He's panting.

All of a sudden, you hear something. People.

Both your eyes widen. He looks down and back at you; there's a glint in his eyes, a look of amusement. “Well" he says.

Rhett pulls his pants back on, and you put your panties on again with reluctance. You're slow, and when the sound of people comes closer, Rhett moves to shove the cum-soaked panties on you. You wince at the wetness, the sticky feeling of your cotton undies on your sensitive pussy. He adjusts himself as you pull the rest of your bunched-up jeans up from your knees.

No one comes. The voices disappear. He exhales, and you stand there still with his dried release.

Your lips tremble. You can't believe you are wearing this. You don't want to walk around like this.

"Hey," he says softly. He reaches to grab your chin. He looks like he's trying not to laugh, a smirk forming. "I'm the one who made the mess."

You shove his chest, and he stumbles back a bit.

"Whoa. I'm just saying that I was the one who should be embarrassed," he says.

"Just take me home," you say tensely.

"Yes, ma'am," his voice is mocking, and you clench your fist.

"You really mad over a little mess?" he murmurs under his breath. He starts the car, and you resist the urge to hit him, to scream, but you just look out the window, your fingers digging into your palm.

[attapullman]

I know this is Rhett, but but but hear me out. Neighbor! Bob helping someone with their car. And one of queens of gossip stops by and flirts with him.

Linds! You are right on the head and it's taken me 24 hours of 😵‍💫 to have a coherent thought.

It's deffo headcanon that Bob on leave has Rhett vibes - the grown out hair, the ball caps. I wouldn't be surprised at a hidden little tattoo under those khakis.

So it wouldn't be completely left field for Bob to be in the driveway, middle of summer, nearing the end of a particularly long leave, fixing up his truck because the alternator has been screeching bad on his commute.

Hair grown out, too lazy for a haircut, ball cap pulled over to keep it out of his eyes while he's tucked under the truck's hood. San Diego is at a record high and he ditched his faded Naval Academy tshirt half an hour ago. And half an hour ago every female neighbor within a three house radius is glued to her window.

He couldn't be more oblivious, trying not to snap his fingers with all the metal in his truck. Fully aware he could have taken it to the mechanic, but they aren't open until Monday and he promised he'd take you to the beach tonight.

It's not until he hears a, "Yoohoo!" that he's aware there's an audience. Missus Jacobs, Connelly, and Branaugh are walking across the street dressed for the hot weather - if you count that little of fabric clothing. Robert is instantly scrambling to see if he can escape the situation, but it's too late.

For the next twenty minutes the women dote over him, making notes on his handiness. If he was hot before, he's positively boiling with embarrassment. Keeping his head ducked as he attempts to focus on the mechanics, but the women are constantly chucking him another question while ogling his sweaty chest. How could they not when there's thin trails of perspiration making their way down his pecs and straight toward his happy trail?

"Robert!" Your voice is like a splash of cool water as you make your way up his drive, fanning yourself. He makes a solid effort to focus on your face despite the low cut tank top sticking to your skin possibly being the hottest thing he's seen you in.

You smile apologetically to the women. "I hate to interrupt. I think my air conditioner broke. Would you mind taking a look?"

Before the women can even question your motives, he's slamming the hood of his truck down and slipping into the garage for his tool belt. Fully aware that your air conditioner is functioning after he checked it last week, but your plumbing is definitely in need of a little fixing.

Something him and his tool belt fix immediately as he folds you in half in front of the air conditioner and thanks you with long, hard strokes...

[lewinblue]

The Bookkeeper and The Cowboy || Pt 1

WC: 1.6k

Summary: A new bookstore is making its way into Wabang and has everyone gossiping. Some are excited, the kids are happy, some are grumpy and Rhett, well he’s just a little bit curious.

A/N: This was originally going to be one part. I have no self control, though, so it’ll probably 2 or 3

Wabang, Wyoming is a small town with people who knew each other, and parents and grandparents who likely knew each other. If you lived there you likely never thought of leaving. If you grew up in the dusty old town it likely never occurred to you to leave.

Everyone knew each other, every building was known and every person who ran it was known by name. Everyone knew that Maren at ‘Maren’s Marvelous Hair Salon’ was a gossip and that Joe who worked at the butcher's was vulgar but still kind and would likely give you an extra slice of your favorite place of meat. Everyone knew the teachers. Ms. Kay, who was secretly seeing Luke Tillerson, and was teaching second grade. Everyone adored her. She was kind, sweet, and gentle with her students. She waved and smiled at the parents of her students. Unlike the high school teacher Mr. Daughtery. The older man never smiled and was always found with a cup of coffee in his hand. When someone addressed him he only grunted and turned away. Some wondered why he hadn’t retired yet or found another job but most of the time, people just ignored him.

It was no wonder that Rhett Abbott didn’t notice that new building being put up right away. No one had bothered to mention it to him. His dad was working him to the bone and when Maren caught him running errands for his dad for the ranch she never mentioned it.

Rhett only became aware of the new building when he went into the tractor supply store to pick up feed for the animals on the ranch. Old man Waters (no one knew his first name anymore, he could have been the first one in the town for all anyone knows) mentioned a new bookstore that was in the works down the street. He didn’t say it in a grumble or in a way he detested a new business. No, he seemed rather…happy about it? Supposedly his granddaughter loved spending time over there after school even though it wasn’t completely finished. Every time he saw her she chatted nonstop about the new owner and the books and even how the building was coming along.

Rhett nodded and tipped his hat, making sure to say thank you because if there was one thing Cecilia Abbott did right it was to raise her sons with manners. After he stocked the bed of his truck full of feed for the animals and some other things for the ranch, Rhett sat in the truck for a minute longer than usual. He could see the budding store from here and he couldn’t deny that the curiosity got the better of him.

If he took a bit longer to get home than usual it definitely wasn’t to see the new bookstore. It was cream and green and on a hanging green wooden poster it read ‘Cover to Cover’. It was clever and left a small smile on his face for no one to see but himself.

When Rhett finally arrived home it was dark and his mom was just about to finish cooking dinner. Mashed potatoes and pork chops it looked like again. He knew better than to complain, it was Perry and his dad’s favorite meal.

As the plates were being served Rhett reached over to playfully mess with Amy’s hair which made the young girl giggle and her father grumble which only added to the satisfaction Rhett felt. He and Perry could argue from sun up to sun down, never agreeing on anything. Mostly on Rhett’s life choices but he couldn’t deny that Perry did one thing right at that was to make Amy. He adored his niece, her laugh, her adventurous spirit, and her no-nonsense attitude that developed before she could talk.

“Did you pick up the feed for the horse?” His dad grumbled in a question.

Rhett knew not to take it personally. It was just how his dad spoke. He was all hard edges and no soft-spoken words. Those were saved for his wife his his granddaughter. Sometimes, when he was younger, Rhett, wondered if Royal even saw him and Perry as sons and just as extra hands to help around the ranch.

“Yeah,” he said, just as gruffly after swallowing a dry pork chop. “It’s all in the bed of my truck.”

“It took you so long. Thought you might be visiting one of your little bunnies.” Perry smirked and Rhett bit his tongue.

“I was catching with Old Man Waters, while I was there,” Rhett said, despite not owing his brother a reply. His mom was still at the table and didn’t want the conversation to turn into something inappropriate.

“I wanna see a bunny,” Amy said innocently.

Rhett looked at Perry and raised an eyebrow. Once he saw his brother's cheeks turn pink he knew he won.

“It’s not those kind of bunnies, darling.” His mom said and pointedly looked at Rhett for the next bit, “I wouldn’t want you catching anything from those bunnies. Who knows where they’ve been.”

Clear to change the subject Royal jumped in, “What did you and Old Man Waters talk about?”

“Not much,” Rhett tried for nonchalance. He didn’t want his dad to see how much this particular subject interested him. “He said that someone is building a bookstore, it’s not fully done, but he said that his granddaughter loves it already.”

Royal hurmphed at the idea. He stabbed his food before saying in a grumpier tone than usual. “What happened to kids reading at school or their parents reading to them? If you ask me it sounds like some yuppie bullshit.”

“I think it’s nice that there’s a place for people to get books and hang out when they're not working.” His mom said placatingly.

“That’s until more people move to Wabang and new houses and apartments are built and we’ll even have a Starbucks.”

“I only said Old Man Waters said it, doesn’t mean it’s true. It could go under in a month.”

Nothing else was said for the rest of the meal. Everyone could tell that the tonal shift had changed and even young Amy didn’t look up from her plate.

When all the plates were in the sink Rhett offered to help his mom clean them. As if his dad and brother ever would, Cecelia shooed Jim off knowing that he would have to be awake before the sun came up to help his dad with the ranch.

He kissed his mom good night, skipped his after-dinner beer, and took the stairs two at a time. It was quiet except for the quiet noises coming from the bedrooms. His dad was talking nonsense, nothing unusual there, Perry was already snoring. From what? Rhett had no idea he wasn’t the one running around town and as far as he knew their dad had been taking it easy on Perry when it came to the Ranch.

When he passed by Amy’s room it was dead silent. Amy was never silent. Before he could think about it he gently tapped on her bedroom door and moments later Amy stood looking up at him.

“Hi. Uncle Rhett,” she smiled.

The end of his lip quirked and he asked. “How did you know it wasn't your dad or grandpa?”

She rolled her eyes and he realized fast then he liked that Mentions that Amy might like that his sweet little niece Amy was growing up.

“Grandpa pounds on the door like I can’t hear him. Dad just barges in. You and Grandma are the only ones who knock like normal people.”

Rhett nodded at that. It seemed about right the two of them had been doing it his whole life. Maybe for her birthday he’ll get her a lock and install it for her.

“You were quiet at dinner. I wanted to know what was up.”

The girl was quiet for a moment. Long enough for Rhett to start to worry. Amy was never quiet for too long around her uncle.

“I wanna see the bookstore.” She mumbles, nearly whispers. As though she’s afraid Royal will hear her from down the hall.

Rhett made an inquisitive noise, leaned on the doorframe, and crossed his arms. He waited for Amy to continue and after a moment she did.

“A few of my friends have been over to see it and all of grandma and grandpa’s books are boring. The school library’s books are falling apart.” She said this all in one gust of air. “I want to see what it’s all about but Grandpa knows everyone in town and they’ll tell him.”

“Your grandpa doesn’t know everything,” Rhett said with a smirk, thinking back to his childhood and teenage days when he managed to get with a lot more than his parents realized.

At her still-present frown that tugged on his heartstrings, Rhett said without thinking, “I’ll take you there. I drove past it on the way back home and maybe I could pick you up after school and bring you to the s bookstore.”

“Really?” Amy exclaimed and shy he’d herself so as not to wake anyone. She looked around to check that no one else moved around and then looked up at her uncle. “You would do that?

“If you get some sleep tonight and are good in school tomorrow, I’ll be right outside waiting for you.” He swore.

Of course, he wanted Amy to be happy and his father's disdain for any new business from outsiders was irksome. However, when he drove by the cream and green cozy-looking shop he couldn’t help but feel his curiosity peek. His niece wasn’t the only one who wanted to go, he wanted to go into the bookstore too.

[manyfandomocs]

OC HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE 2024 ; day eight - multiverse

My many faces of Gregg Sulkin

Gabriel Legume ; Descendants

Derek Wallis ; Riverdale

Darcy Hearst ; Gossip Girl

Wyatt Hayden ; Gilmore Girls

Red, White, and Royal Blue ; Rhett Sheppard

Cooper Sullivan ; Supernatural

Maximillian Sterling ; The Vampire Diaries

Graham Donovan ; Harry Potter

Taglist: @daughter-of-melpomene

[sebsxphia]

ptolemaea. | the verses. | preacher abbott lore.

￫ c/w: murder, death, sex, cannibalism, blood, dark themes, heavy religious themes and preacher rhett abbott.

￫ a/n: this is the lore for preacher abbott and is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ i’d recommend reading the full series before this! my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

Preacher Rhett Abbott was born and raised in Wyoming, but when he was nine years old, he moved to Florida. He is the son of a Preacher and his wife.

His relationship with his father is good, and his father made him fall in love with America and the idea of becoming a Preacher.

His relationship with his mother was strained and never healthy. His mother only worsened his time in his town and made everyone turn against him with gossip.

He held a gun to his head at seventeen, into a mirror, in the hallway of his home. That’s when he knew he had to leave his town and see the world.

He always knew that there was something different about him. He believed that ever since his Preacher father could bless him, that he was born for something great.

At eighteen he left his town to trail over Florida. Rhett Abbott killed three people in Florida.

The first person he killed was a girl called, Bonnie. Within a year he was working in a Church in a quiet Florida town. He was to learn from the Preacher that was yet to retire, expecting to take over.

Bonnie was nineteen and so was Rhett at this time. She slipped in a Motel shower and hit her head.

She could have survived, he could have taken her to ER, but Rhett felt an enormous amount of power as he stood over her and watched the life drain from her eyes in minutes.

She’s still deemed as a missing persons case.

When Rhett was twenty two, he was officially the towns Preacher in the Florida town.

There was a girl who was lost and confused with their path in life. He took her under his wing to guide her.

She wasn’t special to Rhett, but he had a moral and religious obligation to cure her (and at her parents request).

Her name was Lana and he slit her throat on the Church alter. She was twenty one. This was when he first got a taste for blood.

“It would be better if she was gone, so I can find someone who’s really worth my time.” Is what he told himself.

She’s still deemed as a missing persons case.

By twenty five, Rhett moved to another quieter Florida town. On occasions he still went back to the town where he killed his first two, but a fresh start with some fresh blood for him to consume was better for him.

Ethel was twenty three and a mishap within the town. She wouldn’t listen to Rhett and he got tired.

“Enough!” Rhett boomed through the woods in the back of his pick up truck. He slit her throat with his hunting knife.

She’s still deemed as a missing persons case.

Rhett’s mother died when he was twenty six. He went home to find his father in ruins.

After his prior actions of three murders, he was stood over his Ma’s casket and thinking he was next. Or, he was scared that he’d end up like his father.

He moved to little lamb’s town Church within six months.

He knew you were his. He knew you were destined for something good. Something to make him whole. To make him into the man that he was born to be. Something great.

On the flip side, Rhett saw that you were unguided and unsure about what you were doing with your life, and how you believed in your faith.

He knew you were easily corruptible from how you worked at the Church with him.

He clocked it immediately when he heard you in the Church toilets, moaning his name.

Rhett always knew. He just loved scratching it out of you. Scratching you to the surface. Your were compliant and listened to him. You were his perfect Angel in the Garden of Eden. A true Daughter of Abbott.

He is a Preacher. He has killed three people. His own deprivation/murder of three girls has warped his perspective of love.

You will end up a victim, but you’re different from the three girls that he’s killed.

In Rhett’s eyes, he does have a friend in Jesus being the Devil. He’s never sinned either. He was only doing what he thought was right to save his victims. Is what he tells himself, to convince himself that he’s right.

He loves and cherishes little lamb so much. Up until now, his killing has had no real meaning. Little lamb would be the first he’s eaten.

He wants to eat them as quick as he can so they aren’t all alone and scared down in his basement. It turns his stomach to think about that.

Rhett keeps little lamb fresh in his basement downstairs so no one can find them, and because you’re still in the walls of the home you made up together. You’re safe there.

Even safer in Rhett’s stomach.

That to Rhett, is the safest place that he can keep his little lamb from ever being scared again.

Rhett could be imprisoned for his crimes. Therefore he must eat the flesh of his Daughter of Abbott, little lamb.

He must also eat little lamb to protect them from his crimes and to protect them from ever being taken away from him. To protect them from never feeling lonely ever again. To protect them from hurt. From pain.

Rhett knew from the beginning that little lamb was special and not like the others he’s been with. Rhett planed on saving little lamb from the beginning.

tagging those who may be interested/liked the post: @sunblchdfly @unmistakablyunknown @sugarcoated-lame @becks-things @lewmagoo @lovinglyeternal @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @attapullman @just-in-case-iloveyou @sorchathered @floydsglasses @withahappyrefrain @roosterbruiser

[pucktoxicity]

I saw this on Twitter first & wanted to confirm it before sending it in, and it’s not gossip, but Travis Konecny had a massive fire at his home last night. I live near him and heard there was a fire around town but didn’t know it was his home. Travis, his wife Karly, their kids and dogs weren’t there and are perfectly safe, luckily, but the house is pretty damaged. They’re not even in New Jersey currently, either, but I wanted to share. Poor guy. 🥺😢

Here’s the link to the article: https://patch.com/new-jersey/haddon/fire-heavily-damages-haddonfield-home

i’d heard about this… so so sad for him, and what shame he’s not even in jersey to handle it. even worse for them, i bet they were probably going to be coming back soon to prep for the season and get rhett and beau ready for school / everything else. poor tk 💔 sending him positive thoughts and i hope their home is repaired soon 🤍

[themonotonysyndrome]

Hello!

I saw a recent Anon ask a question about if Rhett and Isolde had a daughter. I had a few aswell.

1. would the parents be overprotective?

2. what would her relationship wwith them be like?

3. would she have bodyguards aswell?

And for something that isnt really a question, I kind of thought she would be the kind of person who was super sweet and extroverted, yet looked just like her father. Thoughts?

Thank you very much!

Hello, Anon!

Rhett would! He and Castin would discuss, not gossip, about how rumbunctious their daughters are 😂

I think the same as the Prince - affectionate and healthy.

Yes, she will! And so would the Prince. Think the Kingsguard in Game of Thrones but for the Prince/Princess.

I like your headcanons on their personality, Anon! Personally, I would say the Princess has the same demeanour as the Prince.

[natteryaktoad]

Weiss, Day 2, Part 2

Woody: Hey, whats up? You sounded weird on the phone.

Scot: Something happened with Tank yesterday...

Woody: So, what happened?

Scot: You musn't tell anyone, especially not Penny. I don't want to be the gossip of the town.

Woody: Don't worry, I know when to keep my mouth shut around my sister! Go on, talk to me.

Scot: We... well, I thought we had a moment. So I kissed him-

Woody: Wait, you like Tank?

Scot: ... Yeah. I... I think I'm bi... anyway, he clearly doesn't feel the same way. He shoved me away, called me a... well, a gay slur, anyway... and then he stormed off.

Woody: Even if he doesn't feel the same way, he shouldn't call you... whatever he called you. I don't imagine the General would embrace having a gay son... don't you think his reaction is a bit strong for someone who just straight up isn't into you?

Scot: What are you getting at?

Woody: Maybe he's in the closet and in denial? It reminds me of this book I read-

Scot: Another mushy romance novel?

Woody: Hey, I know you like them too! I'll lend it to you. There's these two guys, and one of them's out and the other one's not, and the closeted one keeps picking on the out one and calling him names and stuff...

Woody: ...and they have this big moment and he pushes him away and he starts behaving even worse toward him but it's only because he can't deal with the fact that he's gay too!

Scot: And then eventually they fall in love and the closeted one accepts his sexuality?

Woody: Of course! I told you it's a romance novel!

Rhett: Sounds like it would make a good film - a dirty one.

Woody: Who asked you? Aren't you supposed to be at work, anyway? That's where your sister said you were when my sister called your place.

Rhett: I've just finished. I'll call Penny back later. Not that it's any of your business!

[theealluringstoryteller]

Against The World Around Us

Chapter 2

The rewrite

The sound of heels clicking against the freshly polished wooden floors alerted the maids and butlers of the approaching Queen and her dear friend The Baroness. Breaths were held as the pair passed each who stopped to greet the Queen with a bow each waiting to see the imperial act the way they were told imperials acted: cold and entitled but,all they received was a warm smile and a short greeting made in a soft voice that didn't intimidate them at all. Smiles of relief made it’s way on to the palace workers faces instead of dirty hostile looks she was once sure she would receive.

"See! You were nervous for no reason." Aurelia hummed looping her arm with the Baroness's.

"You can't blame me for being a little nervous.” Omorose huffs gluing a smile on as they passed by a few more.

Rolling her eyes Aurelia let out a laugh "look at you and look at them! Behaving like nervous School children!"

Omorose smiled grew with what her friend was saying realizing how funny the situation was.

“I’m considered an enemy in foreign land! I have a right to be nervous.” Omorose stated in a slight whine leaning into Aurelia's warmth.

"An enemy in foreign land... " Aurelia repeated her silly mood dropping and replaced with concern. "I hope you know you're safe here Rosie " Aurelia said squeezing Omorose's upper arm. Their Journey through the halls towards the Queen's drawing room that held a surprise halted as Aurelia assured her close friend.

Omorose didn't want to offend or worry Aurelia with her thoughts of concern that she forced herself to swallow when she decided to travel into Intacia. She counted the risks, she went over each scenario then she put on a brave face and never looked back.

“Thanks for the reassurance, Lia. It’s just the war is over and everyone is trying to pick up the pieces and I don’t know where it’s going to leave me in the end.” Omorose’s admitted “And I know that sounds selfish but being in my position right now is so stressful,”

“Marriage proposals, pleads to fund imperial campaigns, and people demanding to know which side you are on since a rise of resistance have surged so soon?” Aurelia listed already having some knowledge of what's going on through gossip.

A groan left Omorose’s lips at the mention of all the things she left in the imperial Capitol.

“Please!” She began to beg “let’s not go over those things! I’ve left those things in the coastal empire.”

“Alright …” Aurelia shrugged her shoulders “on a better note I … have a surprise for you in my drawing room!”

Curiosity peeking Omorose’s couldn’t help but to ask “A surprise?”

Nodding Aurelia practically dragged Omorose down the hall and stairs towards said room. Excitement radiating off of her, shining through her smile. Struggling to keep up in her delicate taller heels the Baroness made a few comments and requests for Aurelia to slow down especially as they descended the stairs but all her words fell on deaf ears leading to the Baroness tripping and nearly falling on her face. “Woah!” A voice said catching the Baroness by the waist “You have to be more careful, Beautiful.” They said in a more flirty tone. Before Omorose could show her appreciation to whoever stopped her from falling Aurelia pulled her arm.

“Aurelia can you please slow down!” Omorose’s pleaded turning to glance over her shoulder to see who saved her only to see king Rhett blocking her view

“Castin! It’s good you’re here” Rhett said as he pulled the other man into a hug.

“In your letter you said you needed me,” Castin stated mindlessly returning the hug “Brother.” He added solidifying why he was there despite giving his attention to the woman he saved from falling.

“Ah, I see you’ve met the Baroness,” Rhett playfully nudged Castin’s shoulder.

In disbelief Castin couldn’t help but ask “That’s the Baroness?”

His eyes started on her figure until she finally disappeared around a corner.

“That’s not what I pictured,”

Resisting an eyebrow Rhett gave Castin a questioning look “What? Didn’t expect her to be so pretty?”

A snort left Castin as he rolled his eyes. “So pretty?” Questioned Castin shaking his head not seeing that word correlate with the woman he briefly saw. ‘She’s gorgeous’ he thought allowing Rhett to lead him into the ‘war’ room.

“Ta dah! Aurelia cheered opening the door to reveal a beautifully decorated cake, a bottle of champagne and a banner that read “Yay! The two headed dragon has been slayed by the sea!” Omorose’s read before turning to a proudly grinning Aurelia with a look that said ‘Really?’

“Oh don’t look at me like that! Your parents were evil.” Aurelia stated as of Omorose’s was unaware. “And you deserve to celebrate being free of them.” She added ushering Omorose into the room.

Eyeing the white cream and fresh berry covered three layered cake The Baroness couldn’t help but to crave a slice of the Berry Chantilly cake

“My favorite! Aw Lia, you remembered!” Cheesing Omorose took a seat as Aurelia threw confetti she pulled out what seemed like no where, the colorful pieces fell and scattered over the floor, table and all over Omorose.

“This is so sweet! I love it Lia, thank you.” Omorose went on, dusting the confetti off her cleavage and the top of her lilac dress.

“Oh no need to thank me. Your whole time here is going to be a good time! I know the sudden responsibility and getting hounded has your head spinning. If I can I’m going to try to my best to keep you at ease here.”

“YOU WANT ME TO GET MARRIED TO SOMEONE I DON’T KNOW!” Screamed the Baroness.

2 weeks had passed since Aurelia made the promise of trying to keep her friend at ease but as problems progressed between the rising Intacia and the fallimg Empire Aurelia had to put her friendship aside and her duties as Queen to the forefront.

Rhett her husband sprung the idea to her four days before she got the courage to bring it up to the Baroness.

"yes." Aurelia stated firmly drinking the remainder of the wine she brought to break the ice.

“You know how I feel about marriage-”

“I do! And I feel that you need to grow up!”

Taken aback Omorose hands found their ways to her hips as she hissed out “Excuse me?”

Aurelia bit her bottom lip mentally cursing herself out for adding fuel to the fire but, she couldn’t take back her words and she wouldn’t even think about doing so.

“Omorose you never give the chance to anyone to give you the relationship you keep telling me you long for! And I think I know why-”

“Why?” The Baroness demanded moving her arms to cross them over her chest. Her body buzzing with so much emotion it nearly felt like a wild fire swept across her.

“You’re scared you’re going to end up like your parents!”

A noise left the Baroness’s lips as she fell onto the soft cushions of the sofa. She knew she couldn’t deny that fact but there was another reason.

“Despite that Aurelia everyone that has approached me has shown me their true intentions-”

“So let me and Rhett pick for you! You can met them and if you don’t like them we can arrange for you to meet other suitors.”

“Do you think this would work? Marrying me off to an Intacian while the Empire rebels against you and Rhett?”

Aurelia repeated the lines that Rhett told her when he was convincing her why Omorose was the perfect candidate for the arrangement.

“You’re apart of a very influential and powerful family! You getting married to an Intacian who is equally influential could bring our people together. Show them that we can be one kingdom.”

“I have my doubts but for you and the potential peace I’ll do it.”

Relieved Aurelia pulled her friend into a hug.

“Wonderful! I’ll let you finish your night routine now. I’m going to tell Rhett.”

By morning Rhett had made his way to his number one pairing choice. Walking into the Barracks Rhett greeted his soldiers until he found his Commander.

“Heeeyyy Rhett? Whatcha doing here?” Castin asked walking back to his room from the communal bathroom. A towel hanging loosely around his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth.

“I’ve come to ask you to do something that could help us bring Intacia and the Empire together.”

That sentence made Castin’s eyebrow raise.

“Maybe we should speak in your room-”

Quickly Castin blocked Rhett from his door not wanting to to see who was on the other side. Familiar with this behavior Rhett disappointingly asked “who is she this time,Castin.”

A nervous laugh passed through Castin as he looked down at Rhett’s shoes to avoid his eyes.

“More like them-”

“Them! Castin your supposed to be a leader and a role model to those you lead and you have multiple women in your room-”

“I’m not on the battlefield I need to release this lent up energy somehow-”

“I think this proposition would be good for you.” Rhett claims shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“A proposition?”

“An arranged marriage-”

“No!” Castin cut Rhett off shutting down the proposal. If he was going to be one half of a marriage he was going to be the one to pick the other half of said marriage.

“An arranged marriage to the Imperial Baroness Omorose Fentress.” Rhett went on to say waiting for Castin to shut him down again.

“Aurelia’s friend? That woman I stopped from falling?” Questioned Castin suddenly interested.

“Yes.”

Castin turned his eyes to the ceiling in thought. His toothbrush out of his mouth and his hands securing his towel.

He didn’t see much of her that day but he could tell she was a beauty. He weighed out the pros and cons of the marriage and couldn’t get passed the biggest con of them all.

“She’s an Imperial.”

“We are taking the Empire Castin it doesn’t matter.”

Doesn’t matter.” Castin scoffed.

“It doesn’t! Besides she’s nothing like the Imperials we’ve come across, trust me Brother.”

It went silent for a moment Castin still thinking it over before giving in.

“We’ll look at you getting me settled down like you.” He joked subtly agreeing to the arrangement.

“So you’ll do it?”

“Anything for you,Brother.”

“Good it’s settled then! I’ll make the arrangements for the engagement ceremony! You bring a gift to offer your bride.”

Just as Rhett finished his sentence Castin’s door opened and the stench of last night’s activities followed the three women who dressed scantily out of the room. Each giving Castin a kiss on the lips as a farewell. Stupidly grinning castin said “Goodbye ladies-”

“Castin!” Rhett scowled watching on in disappointment. The stupid grin fell from Castin’s face as he caught his ‘big brother’ figure peer down at him with a look that reminded him of his mother.

“Be sure to get checked out by the physician! Last thing you need to do is give the Baroness something incurable, and maybe try celibacy until you are wed.” Rhett suggested pushing Castin into his room before turn in on the heels of his feet to leave.

[lasudio]

VeronaHills, Round Six: Beech

Sandy grew up by the seaside; a waterbaby from day dot. She lamented the lack of shores in Riverblossom Hills during her showers.

What did the village have instead? Pollen to cut people down in their prime? Gossip hanging on lips like grapes on the vine? Sandy wished she had buried her toes in the sand and refused the offer of Hamilton's mother. Daytona wasn't a council cronie for nothing, though. She made her pokey cottage basement sound like paradise.

Besides, would Hamilton ever say no to his dear mother?

The faucet squeaked shut, and Sandy left that question unanswered.

The children were adapting well. Virginia was already talking as if she were a freshman at Mission University ("My major? Undecided - I'd love to do a double though!"). Rocky made fast friends at the village school. Extroversion seemed hereditary, thank goodness. It seemed only Sandy missed sun and salt spray - but just when she felt the precipice of bitterness, Hamilton drew her into his arms and made an announcement.

"I'm stepping down," he said, "as Daytona's campaign manager."

Sandy openly wore her surprise. "Really?"

"She's got eyes on new blood for the election, and I want to make the most of being here, with you."

Champagne was popped and poured and Sandy wondered if she was dreaming. As she took a sip, she recalled her night with Rhett Hart, and silently thanked the morning after pill.

Throwing an affair in Hamilton's face would have been a surefire way to ruin this new, less-Daytona era.

[widespot]

Junior tries to get a bunch together to go out to celebrate, but only Rhett and Sandy can make it. Which is fine. Rhett's probably his best friend after all this time, and Candy…Candy is who he always wants to see. But this isn't a date.

"Y'all are gonna get malnutrition, going straight to dessert like that." "Shut up, it's a celebration."

"They want to dramatize it, which should be great." "Of course it's great! Why wouldn't it be?" "Because JJ Simbrams wants to do the treatment and he wouldn't know a story if it bit him on the nose." "That's dumb. Obviously you should do the treatment." "Different skill set from novels." "So? You're smart - you could learn to do it."

They go next door to try out the new coffee shop. "It's kind of - I dunno." "Bland? Middle class? Does it even have a mic?" "If they have coffee that's all that's promised unto us."

Not just coffee - a dessert cart! And the atmosphere is very relaxed.

It's not exactly people from all walks of life, but it's a reasonable variety anyhow.

Rhett, as usual, has all the hot gossip about everybody. And who is that at the other table?

"Arden! I thought you had band." "Let out hours ago." "Well, come join us. If you're not too embarrassed to hang around your folks."

"Naw, as folks go, you and Mom are pretty cool." "Especially Mom." "Well. I wasn't going to say it."

"Okay, dancing to the Muzak is -" "Who cares as long as there's dancing?"

"Hi, Candy. How are you doing?" "Wonderfully. How about you?" "Can't complain." "Since when? I heard your little sister beat up that blonde skank. Tell her good for her from me." "I will."