#hay and stubble

[superbdonutpoetry]

A Better Way of Understanding Edification

2 Corinthians 5:1 ��� Authorised Version For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. The word ‘edification’ relates to the word ‘edifice’ which is a building. 1 Corinthians 3:9 – Authorised Version For we are labourers together with God: ye are God’s husbandry, ye are God’s building. We…

[rafesangelita]

♡ cowboy!rafe always snuck into farmer's!daughter!reader's room to give her a goodnight kiss.. but what happens when their innocent little kiss turns into something much more?

warnings: sweet fluff, flirty banter, brief flashback, daddy kink lol, sneaking around, unprotected sex, dirty talk, rafe covering your mouth, crying, overstimulation

a/n: i’ll be opening req’s soon! lately here i’ve been wanting to get out some of my own prompts since over half of my works are all req’s.. but i’m excited to see what you girlies send me! find more of farmer’s!daughter!reader and cowboy!rafe here <3

wc: 1.2k

“open up, doll face.” you sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as rafe lightly tapped on your window. he made you so giddy, you scrambled up from the warmth of your sheets, unlocking the hatch before helping him climb in. “i thought you weren’t coming..” you whispered, pouting up at him as he snickered. “y’gotta have faith in me, sweetheart. when have i missed a goodnight’s kiss?” rafe cupped your face, both of you smiling against each other’s lips before melting into one another.

you always felt so warm and fuzzy inside when you and rafe got to share your secret little moments together, the simplicity of just being together without having to worry about someone catching you two made both of your hearts swell. rafe knew how to sweep you off your feet with a single kiss, a string of giggles tumbling from your mouth as he not-so-quietly threw you onto your bed. “rafe!” you scolded him, your heart beating in your ears as he slotted himself between your thighs.

“my daddy is next door! what if he hears..” you slapped his chest playfully, the man above you arching a brow. “daddy? i thought i was your daddy.” your cheeks heated in embarrassment when you recalled the quickie you two had in the barn not too long ago. rafe had you bent over a hay bale, his thrusts making you unable to speak until he asked you the golden question.

“hmmph! fuckin’ say it. tell me what i wanna hear, who’s your fuckin’ daddy?”

taking your bottom lip between your teeth, rafe smiled as he shook his head down at you. “you just thought about it, didn’t you?” snapping you out of your flashback daze, you laughed when he leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to the column of your throat. he smelled like soap, the slight stubble on his cheeks tickling your skin. as if your hips had a mind of their own, you grinded your clothed cunt against rafe’s thigh, a whimper leaving your lips at the lack of friction.

“hey,” rafe cupped your tits through your flimsy night top, “you thought i wasn’t coming tonight, right? that’s what you said.” your eyebrows knitted in confusion before a gasp slipped from your mouth. “yes..” rafe trailed a hand underneath the waistband of your sleep shorts. “so why don’t you have any panties on?” you froze, eyes flickering down to where rafe ran a finger between your folds. keening, you couldn’t help the moan from leaving your lips.

rafe stared at you for a moment, his eyes growing dark as he clamped a hand over your mouth. “i’ve been thinking about this pussy all day. ‘think you can stay quiet for me?” of course you couldn’t.. and rafe knew that. you stared at him with wide eyes, butterflies fluttering in your tummy when he took himself out of his pants. “i mean it. we don’t want your old man chasing me down with that shotgun of his, now do we?” you shook your head, your eyes fluttering shut when you felt the head of his cock prod at your entrance.

you shrieked, his hips rolling into yours as he slowly bottomed out inside your cunt. if it wasn’t for rafe’s hand muffling your scream you’re sure both of you would be in deep trouble right now. rafe rested his head on your pillow, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he started thrusting. feeling his weight on top of you like this had easily become your favorite thing, the closeness of it all made your heart sing. “fuck, i could never get used to this.. ‘feels like the first time all the time.” he grunted.

you held onto his wrist, your thighs hugging his waist as he kissed the side of your face. “taking me so fuckin’ good, you were made for me, yeah?” you whined, your eyes watering as rafe continuously hit that soft spot inside of you. your headboard started hitting the wall, a smirk gracing your boyfriend’s features. “rafe!” you whispered, tearing his hand away from your face. “s-slow down!” you attempted to push him away while simultaneously trying to keep your noises to yourself.

rafe picked up his pace, wrapping a hand around your throat. “can’t..” you shook your head, your chest rising and falling as the knocking of your headboard only got louder. rafe cursed under his breath when you cried out, working fast to get you turned over so he could push your head into the pillows. “what did i tell you?!” he scolded, landing a smack to your ass. you didn’t have any time to react to the stinging sensation on your backside, your orgasm washing over you once rafe started stroking your clit.

you fisted the sheets underneath you, biting down on your lip as white hot pleasure blinded your vision. rafe made no attempt to soothe you, instead he wrapped your hair around his fist, pulling you up as he nipped at the sensitive skin in the curve of your neck. “sweetheart?” you gasped when your father’s voice sounded from the other side of your bedroom door. you cleared your throat, frozen in place as your door knob rattled. “answer him.” rafe spoke in your ear, his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

“what?!” you stammered, heavy tears rolling down your cheeks as rafe continued to rub hard circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. “answer him or i’ll make you scream.” you wanted to shoot a sassy ‘you already did’, but you didn’t dare chance it. your chin wobbled, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. “y-yes?!” you called out, glaring at rafe over your shoulder when the sound of his hips slamming into you bounced off of the walls. “you alright in there?” you bit the back of your hand, your head falling weakly.

“is this a girl thing or somethin’, should i call your aunt?” your cheeks heated, a chuckle sounding from the man behind you. “no! i’m o-okay!” rafe pulled your hair again, his lips close to your ear as he whispered the dirtiest things you’ve ever heard. “what would your pops think, huh? catching his perfect little angel getting fucked like this..” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your knees slipping out from under you when rafe pushed you flat on your sheets.

“alright.. goodnight!” you ignored your father’s voice, the only thing your brain allowing you to process was rafe cumming inside of you, his fingers digging harshly into the flesh of your hips. “shittt,” he hissed, “son of a— fuck!” it was his turn to cover his mouth, his muscles constricting as you practically milked him for all he had. you reveled in the feeling of his hot cum filling you up, the thick ropes still connecting you two even after he pulled out.

you sighed, both you and rafe panting in the small space that was your room. “you okay, doll?” rafe kneeled down at your side, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your lips. blinking at him, you nodded before pulling him next to you. “it’s really late..” you yawned, glancing at the little clock on your bedside table. “i know.” rafe grumbled. there was nothing he hated more than having to leave you like this. wrapping his arms around your waist, rafe waited until you fell asleep before slipping out of your window again.

[qtboni]

hai bonni <33 this is my first reqs 4u and im sry in advance if it's kinda of cringe 😭 (i came here from yr simon fic btw nd i luv ur writinggg) wht do u think abt simon being tired as hell coming back home from his mission and literally melts into reader's arms?

HELLO DEAR ANON ! thanks for requesting and no, it's not cringe dw i LOVE it. also ty for loving my writing that literally made my day sm >< enjoy this!

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

OVERVIEW: Simon melting into your arms after a rough day at work <//3

C/W: Entirely fluff + kisses

Simon had a long day at work and was feeling tired and stressed. He started his car and drove home, feeling the tension in his shoulders and back. As he pulled into his driveway, he saw you standing on the porch, waiting for him.

You smiled and walked towards him, your arms outstretched. Simon stumbled out of his car and into your arms, letting out a deep sigh of relief. He felt the tension in his body melt away as you held him close, your warmth and comfort surrounding him.

"Welcome home, Simon," you whispered, resting your head on his chest.

"Thanks." Simon replied, wrapping his arms around you and taking a deep breath.

The warmth of your body against his, your breathing against his ear, all of it was like a balm for his soul. He let go of the tension in his muscles and let himself melt into you. Your warmth and love surrounded him, making him feel safe and protected.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling you hug him tightly.

"I missed you," he breathed, his voice barely audible. "Missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Si'," you replied, your voice full of love.

For a moment, nothing else mattered but your embrace and the love that you shared. The weight of the world seemed to fade away, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment. And in that moment, he knew that everything was going to be alright.

"Hey," you said, leading him towards the house. "Let's go inside, okay?"

You helped him inside, guiding him to the couch, where you could hear him release another deep sigh.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" you asked, sitting beside him. "Food? Um, what about some tea? I think that will help you loosen u-"

Simon reached for your hand and gently squeezed it. "Just you being here is enough, love." he replied.

"I'm always here for you, Simon," you said, giving his hand a squeeze back.

You leaned into his embrace, pressing a soft kiss against his stubble-roughened cheek. The gesture was gentle, yet full of meaning. Simon felt a warmth spreading from his cheek to the rest of his body, your love surrounding him like a blanket.

He closed his eyes and savored the moment, letting himself be fully present in your embrace. He could hear your heartbeat against his chest, and the sensation was soothing and calming.

You reached out and pulled his balaclava up, revealing his mouth. A quick peck and his face lit up with a smile, his eyes sparkling with joy.

You watched as he became more and more beaming, his mouth turning into a grin as you removed the balaclava. "There he is," you said softly, your voice filled with affection. You giggled, teasing him as you added, "My little baby soldier."

Simon's eyes were fixed on you, filled with a sense of pure adoration and love. He was grateful to have someone who accepted him for who he was, especially coming home from a long and difficult mission.

"Baby soldier?" He asked.

"Yeah, well, aren't you one, my love?"

"I am so not a baby soldier."

"Oh, damn you're right." You replied with faux surprise. You leaned into him, cupping his cheeks and squeezing them together.

Then you added, whispering as you do so, "You're my little baby lieutenant, aren't you, Si'?"

You feel Simon inhale and see him averting his gaze. You giggled at him and kissed both of his cheeks.

Simon cannot bring himself to retort any longer as he completely melts into your kisses and embrace. If you said he's a little baby lieutenant, then for god's sake, he is.

It was a moment of pure serenity, of pure love. And Simon knew that he would always cherish it, a beacon of solace in the midst of the chaos of the world.

And then, as if driven by an instinctive need to express the depth of his emotions, he pulled you closer, holding you in his arms, his touch firm and passionate.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. But there was no question about the sincerity of his words, the longing in his eyes as he looked at you. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

"I love you too," you replied, your own voice just as genuine. And with those words, Simon knew that everything was going to be alright.

[bananababblegigglemuffin]

Save a horse, RIDE A COWBOY logan

The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a golden glow across the rolling hills of the ranch. Sweetheart stood by the corral, watching Logan from a distance as he worked with the horses. The man was all muscle and grit, the worn denim jeans clinging to his legs, the sweat-drenched shirt stretching across his back as he moved with ease. He was wild, untamed—just like the land they lived on.

Logan glanced up, catching her watching him. A slow grin spread across his face, and he tipped his hat, the smirk on his lips telling her he knew exactly what she was thinking. She blushed, even though she tried not to. Logan had that effect on her—he always did.

He sauntered over, his boots kicking up dust as he approached, his swagger unmistakable. When he reached her, he didn’t say a word at first. He just looked at her, his gaze lingering on her lips before sliding down her body, taking in every inch of her like he had all the time in the world.

“Been thinkin’ about you all day,” he finally murmured, his voice low and husky as he moved closer, his body towering over hers.

Sweetheart swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. “Is that so?” she asked, trying to sound casual, but failing miserably. Logan’s presence always made her feel off balance, in the best possible way.

He grinned, a hand reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His touch sent a shiver down her spine. “You know it is, sweetheart.”

She could feel the heat between them, a tension that had been building all day. Logan’s eyes darkened, his gaze hungry, full of desire. Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, his lips crashing down on hers. The kiss was hot, demanding, full of everything they’d both been holding back.

Logan’s hands were rough as they slid down her back, pulling her against him, pressing her body to his. Sweetheart’s hands found their way into his hair, tugging lightly, drawing a low groan from his throat. His lips trailed down her neck, his stubble scratching deliciously against her skin, making her gasp.

“I want you,” he growled against her throat, his voice rough with need.

Sweetheart pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “Then take me,” she whispered.

Logan didn’t need any more encouragement. In one swift motion, he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the barn, kicking the door open with his boot. Inside, the hay scattered on the ground cushioned their fall as he gently laid her down, hovering above her.

His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her dress higher as his lips claimed hers again. The world outside disappeared, leaving only the two of them in that moment, their bodies tangled together in the heat of their passion. Logan’s touch was rough, but his movements were tender, every brush of his hand, every kiss, setting her body on fire.

Sweetheart moaned as his lips traveled lower, his hands exploring every inch of her. The barn walls echoed with the sound of their breathless whispers and quiet gasps, the intensity between them growing with every passing second.

When it was over, they lay together in the soft hay, Logan’s arm wrapped possessively around her waist. The stars twinkled through the cracks in the barn’s roof, casting a soft light over them. Sweetheart rested her head on his chest, her body still buzzing with the aftermath of their love.

“You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart,” Logan murmured, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her back.

Sweetheart smiled, feeling completely content in his arms. “And you’re trouble,” she teased, looking up at him with a playful grin.

Logan chuckled, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, would you?”

She laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “No,” she admitted, her voice soft. “I wouldn’t.”

And in that quiet moment, with the stars shining above and Logan holding her close, Sweetheart knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

[anisangeldust]

Reverse cowgirl on Anakin so he can reach around and play with ur clit 😵‍💫😵‍💫 / this… but with hayden

or that one position where your back is flushed against his chest, you’re both on your knees and he’s murmuring sinfully sweet nothings into your ear between pants and grunts and moans and playing with your clit and folds at the same time

Nonnie I’m gonna cream everywhere

“Hay.. ‘ts too much.. can’t.. oh!” You whine against your older boyfriend as his hips buck down, the dull sound of slapping skin and heavy breaths mingling in a sinful symphony.

His deep voice grumbles a small chuckle, the lingering smell of tobacco dusting his hot breath as his fingers find their way to your neglected bud “nuh uh, you can do it sweet girl..” he grunts “always can.. always so good..” his praise is met with gentle kisses to the temple, traces of stubble scratching your furrowed face.

“I.. oh.. hay— mmph..” your back arches, giving him more access to to your greedy hole and puffy clit, you can feel the muscles in Hayden’s abdomen clench as he nears his orgasm “want you.. ‘mrphh.. to.. fuck!- cream around me babydoll..” his deep command pushes you to the edge, your touches curling as your delicious release falls over you.

Hayden ruts into you wildly, riding out his own orgasm as he paints your cunnie with his hot, sticky load.

[eccentricallygothic]

|| The Farmer's Way ||

Description: With the gang gone for good, Arthur had retired and you were his reward. Or so he believed. 

Pairing: Dark!Arthur Morgan | Gender-Neutral Spouse!You. 

Disclaimer: I (sadly) do not own Arthur Morgan or the RDR universe. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact. 

Warning(s): Noncon/Dubcon, gross stuff because that's all I think about while playing the game, age gap, groping, dirty talk, degradation, doggy style, penetration, spanking, biting/marking, sexism, wife kink but it doesn't matter what you identify as because he's gross like that so tw for sure. 

Note: Fair warning, he's a bit of a sicko and I am a mental slut. Also this is kinda my first time with gender neutral smut so I am very sorry if I got something wrong. I am willing to rectify if I did make any such mistake. 

The hot June air blew past you and pricked at your rather pampered skin. You felt a droplet of sweat trickle down your temple as you winced and shielded your face from the sun, the rays now attacking the skin of your arm instead. A grunt escaped you when you willed your feet, which were clad in some glittery pumps, to push on towards the huge barn of your family farm. A string of disgusted curses foxed their way out of your mouth when the smell of dung and hay wafted into your nostrils from the giant red wooden box that was literally radiating stinky heat. 

Your feet halted right outside the heavy double doors and you had to take a long breath to brace yourself before you entered. Your features scrunched in disdain as you tried to hold your breath, clutching the cool jug and glass that you were holding tighter as you slipped inside before the weight of the door caused it to close by itself. Clenching your jaw to focus on the task at hand, you slowly walked forwards and concentrated on your breathing to ensure you didn't inhale any of the barn filth. 

It was a fairly easy piece of work.

Give the lemonade to your husband and leave. 

Simple, right? 

No. 

Not when said husband is Arthur Morgan. 

As his fingers wrapped around your wrists to keep you from leaving after you had placed the jug and glass down, your breath hitched as you felt a bile rise in your throat from pure disgust. The dust and sweat on his fingers was gut wrenching. 

"Fixin' to leave already?" His other hand came up to tangle in one of the two silky ribbons you wore on both sides of your head in half ponytails after he had pulled you against his hard chest, the coarse hairs on his chest scratching the skin of your back. "I was missin' you so much, baby" you uneasily shifted in his hold, goosebumps rising on your skin when you felt his fingers trail up from your wrist to your forearm. "It's almost like you showed up 'cause you read my mind" you could barely suppress your gasp as your body jumped in reaction to his stubbly lips suddenly finding your ear. 

"I…" Your voice was a mere squeak and you had to concentrate to make yourself sound a bit less pathetic. "I left the food on the stove" your eyes fluttered shut before clenching as you suppressed the urge to retch at both the feeling and smell, arm folding to let your elbow press into the side of his torso. The man only hummed as his browned and dirty hands felt you up, basically frisking your barely clad body as his lips pressed rushed kisses against your neck. "A- Arthur!" You flinched when he bit down on a hickey on the junction of your neck, fingers finding your nipples through the sheer fabric of one of the many silk dresses he made you wear. 

The older man did not budge, only grunting when you probed his chest harder, hips trying to wriggle free. "The grub can wait, hush now" your limbs screamed at you to fight. Try and push him away. Hit him with something. Make a run for it. Never look back. "Mmm, baby" your eyes teared up when his other hand slipped from the ribbon to trail down your abdomen and to your nether regions. "If it was up to me, I'd keep ya bare as a jaybird 'round the clock" your jaw clenched at his words but you knew better than to hurl the heavy jug that was in front of you against his head. 

Because you had done stuff like that countless times in the beginning of your forced marriage seven months ago. 

Except, you had no idea how but your husband had somehow trained and kept a number of wolves to guard the property only God knew how. 

No one could come in and you could never leave. 

The punishments that you had been subjected to upon trying to do so were more than enough to keep you on your best behavior. 

"Oh, darlin', you taste mighty fine" you were flipped and easily backed into one of the many stables. "Now, let me try out that pretty little mouth" your eyebrows scrunched as you craned your neck backwards to get away from him. The reverberations of Arthur's chuckle buzzed through your chest as he pressed into you and left you trapped and helpless. "Ain't ya just a foolish little thing? Thinkin' you can get away from your old man?" His rough palms cupped your face as he dipped his head in, chasing your lips with his own and snickering when you tried to move. 

When you had seen this mysterious cowboy turn up to buy your family farm off of your useless brother seven months ago, you had not thought much of it. Sure, you were angry that his gambling had ended him up in so much debt that he had no choice but to sell off your family legacy, but you had bright plans with your scholarship program at a prestigious college, and you had been so ready to leave this life that you had never liked much in the first place behind for one of revolution and modernity. 

Only, when all of your documentation as well as your brother and his family disappeared the night before your final departure, the then stranger and now your husband revealed that you had been part of the deal. 

As Arthur fucked into you on your wedding night -as he had promised your brother that he would not take you before that-, the man had confessed how lovely you had looked resting on a tree branch as you chewed on your lip, completely engrossed in your book. 

You knew alcohol and the colorful powders that your brother loved to use had done his mind in, but handing you off like merchandise to a man with no regard for your orientation or taste was something you had never expected from him. Not after he had been your legal guardian for so long. 

But then again, he never understood your ways and thought revolution was a blasphemy. 

In your brother's world, you either did the hard work on the field or became a field worker's home runner. 

And your open disdain for the farm work had earned you the latter. 

The irony was laughable, because he probably thought he was protecting you by choosing a secure future for his baby sibling. The right thing. 

Your spark had always scared him, and so he suppressed it once and for all under the mundaneness of the farm by locking you up in his own kind of a gilded cage and handing the keys to the man who was all over you at the moment.  

'Excitement is a double edged sword. It is thrilling and promising but it can also be dangerous.' That you couldn't deny.

The thrumming in your nether regions was proof. 

Frightening, shameful, repulsive proof.

"Arthur…" You whimpered as your vision zeroed in on his rough lips that brushed against yours soon before pressing into them. 

The man moaned, rubbing his crotch against yours as he deepened the kiss by tilting his head to the side and forcing his tongue in your mouth, the taste of cigarettes and coffee making you cringe and try to move away but a tight squeeze to your ass with his coarse hand made you gasp and hence open your mouth. Then his tongue was down your throat. 

Everything was rough and dirty about him. 

You hated it.

Sometimes he purposely rubbed his filth against your clean clothes and body to add insult to injury. He would laugh as you would hold your breath and try to get away only to be trapped between his strong body and some surface. Arthur would then watch you squirm and struggle until you ran out of breath and had no choice but to inhale his scent. 

"Dang it, I can't hold back no more" Arthur was panting when he finally broke off to let you both breathe, one of his hands bolting down to his belt while the other one held you steady. "I need ya right now…" The kiss had flushed your lips and you could feel the change in size as you ran your tongue over them to accumulate some moisture. "You gonna be good and take it for me, darlin', won't ya?" And while your brain screamed at you to know better, you squeezed your legs and whined, taking deep breaths as one of your fists bunched some of his sweaty shirt in it. 

"Arthur…" A small smirk made its way on his face while he hurriedly relieved himself of all decency. He recognized that tone. 

"Now ya know better than to call me that, baby" heat spread across your cheeks as you whimpered, biting your lip before you lowered your head and reached for his hand that was pinching one of your nipples through your sheer dress. "Go on now, you know my preference" your eyes fluttered shut as you took a shaky breath, massaging the hand that was toying with your chest and arching your back. 

"... H- Hubby…" Arthur cursed under his breath like he always did whenever he got you to call him that. Then he reached out for your other hand and brought it to his erect cock, the feeling of its thick veins against your soft fingertips causing your hole to clench around air. 

"Aw, shit, darlin'" he guided your hand up and down his twitching cock. "Can ya feel it?" His body pressed against yours. "This here is what ya do to me" the tip of his organ released some hot precum and you couldn't help but shudder at the memories it triggered. 

Memories of how it felt inside you. 

Before you knew it, as always, reason was out the window before you could grab onto it and your mind had decided shame could come later. Who knew when or if you would ever make it out of here and Arthur was way too good at making you feel strange things that kept you giving into him for more.

"Please, hubby" you whispered, unable to hold back anymore as you worked your wrist to please him. "Please…"

"Please, what, baby?" He pecked your lips over and over before moving down to the corner of your mouth and then further along your jaw. "Use your words for me" his lips locked around a patch of your delicate skin as he sucked, causing you to bend your back outwards. "Get, now."

"P- Please take me…" You shuddered as the sound of his lips forming yet another bruise along the expanse of your neck grew louder and louder in the air. "Please… please…" You couldn't get yourself to utter any more obscenity than that. 

"You mean you want me to fuck you?" Your heart dropped at the bluntness of his words, the feeling of his stubbly lips curling against your skin almost making you want to retreat, but only almost. 

Besides, you couldn't leave on your accord even if you wanted to. 

Though you really didn't want to leave this barn anymore. 

Not before the ache between your legs was relieved. 

When you didn't respond verbally, Arthur clicked his tongue as he came back up to face you and reached for his hat before placing it on your head. He loved to take you like that. "Come on, darlin'. You know I ain't gon' do nothin' 'til you say it for me" but then one of his hands creeped between your legs to caress your intimate part and your legs trembled in reaction; body submitting at once. 

Taking in a deep and shaky breath, you braced yourself before mumbling out your words, hoping and praying they were enough for him because you knew as well as you knew it was day that you didn't have any more indecency in you to talk the kind of filth he could with a straight face.

"P- Please fuck me, hubby…" One of his eyebrows raised as he leaned in closer. 

"I'm sorry, what was that there?" You almost choked his cock between your fingers but you knew better than hostility. 

"I- I said…"

"You said?" 

Your jaw clenched in annoyance because you were so needy all thanks to his dirty hands and now he was not helping. 

"I said p- please fuck me, hubby" you said as clearly as you possibly could, tone almost blunt. 

He finally seemed intent. "Your wish is my command, darlin'" the man had you flipped and bent over the stable before you could even register it. 

Your gaze settled on the little pony in front of you as you felt his stiff tip prod your entrance, the foreplay having lubed his cock more than enough. Since you weren't allowed to wear underwear, the lack of it granted him easier access to you and Arthur was sliding in with a grunt a moment later, squeezing both your ass cheeks at the same time as he cursed. 

"Fuck, baby. You're the tightest little thing I've ever laid down with" your fingers gripped the stable as you jumped when he landed a spank to one of your cheeks, slowly moving through you to get you to adjust. "Shit, look at you. Such a pretty little farm wife, baby" your face scrunched up in both discomfort and sensory overload due to how sensitive you felt down there. 

"Please…" Your mouth always betrayed you in moments like these despite your best efforts to stay as quiet as possible. 

But it felt even better when you let it get the best of you and drown you completely, the vile words coming out of your own mouth adding to the pressure between your hips before stars exploded in your vision. 

"Please what, sweet little thing?" You felt his chest drape over your back as he rubbed his stubbly cheek against yours, hips starting to find a rhythm as the speed of his thrusts increased. 

"Please… more" you couldn't help but lean your face against his to withstand the sensitivity, eyes fluttering as you chewed on your bottom lip in concentration, your velvety walls sheathing his veiny cock with every push. 

Arthur's chest reverberated against your back. "Ya act like you're too good for all this, but deep down you're just a horny little hussy, ain't ya darlin'?" You whined loudly as you clenched around him, starting to move your own hips against his now. "Jus' look at you, whinin' and squeezin' 'round me in front of li'l Sally like a silly 'lil jezebel" that was what you had named the pony that stared at you with her curious eyes. "But ya love that deep down, don't ya?" Your eyebrows furrowed when his words started to crack the haze that had formed in your mind, making you lower your head to cancel him out and focus on your relief.

But you could never win with Arthur. 

"You can go on ahead and deny it all you want. But this trashy li'l hole of yours tells me all I need to know everytime, honey" his lips bluntly moved against the shell of your ear as he gathered one of your knees in his hands and pushed it up against the frame of the stable before finding its way to your nipples again, other hand gliding down to the quivering organ between your legs. 

As Arthur's hips sped up and your body started to rock back and forth against the wooden frame with each powerful thrust, the sound of skin clapping against its like filled up the smelly barn. His hat fell over your eyes and you knew you were in for a long day. 

[cherrycranes]

Under His Desk (Judge Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Judge Jonathan Crane x female reader. Summary: Your husband is Judge Crane and you get under his desk while he's working. Word count: 1,159 Contents: +18 (minors DNI), oral sex (male receiving), public (but you're hidden under the desk), death of a made-up character. Autor's notes: As you can tell, I have on obsession with Judge Crane that is not meant to stop. Mandatory "english is not my first language" disclaimer.

Things went in interesting directions after Bane took over Gotham. And your villainous husband Jonathan, seizing the opportunity, decided to get more... Theatrical... Because of it. A side of him you never imagined he had.

It all started with his suits. Seeing the pointlessness of proper presentation in the anarchy, Jonathan got creative. Tearing at the shoulders of his suit so the messed up threads resembled the hay popping out of a scarecrow. He also stopped ironing his shirts, no real scarecrow had wrinkle-free clothes.

Then, he allowed his now grayish stubble to grow. Something inconceivable to the younger, perfectly polished Doctor Crane.

But 'Doctor Crane' was a thing of the past. Your husband had stopped practicing psychiatry a long time ago anyways. You were both full time criminals, going in and out of Arkham or prison semi-regularly until Bane took over and the changes began.

The man you had married and stuck with through thick and thin had metamorphosed into a dramatical representation of his moniker: unpolished, shamelessly torn at the seams and scary.

It's not like he was going to get judged for it. In fact, he was the one doing the judging.

Bane appreciated the Scarecrow. He was a self-declared admirer of his fear toxin. Thus, he pretty much gave him free will over a kangaroo court set to sentence the enemies of the people of Gotham.

This is where you now found yourself at. Jonathan put you in charge of collecting all the information available of the accused parties, specifically anything incriminating. You were his most trusted advisor, and, in a way, you were the one to decide if the person investigated was worthy of a death sentence. If they hadn't done anything that could really anger the people of Gotham or Bane, your word was enough to earn them a lighter sentence. Although, this rarely happened. Every day they always brought scum after scum to the sentencing chair. And your husband always ended the hearing with a sentence of death or exile. Both deadly either way.

Obviously, this only meant that after easily finding their crime and guilt, you had nothing else to do in the courtroom. And Jonathan didn't want you out there in the lawless land. So you lazed around. Sitting on his lap or on one of the many desks that formed his big mountain of judgment. Sometimes you read books or just watched the scene unfold. But some other times, when the hearings went on for long and you were restless, you would kneel under your husband's main desk and hear him struggle to keep his composure.

"NOW. Mister Smith. You have been accused of treason to the people of Gotham! How do you- ..." Jonathan paused, holding back a little sound at the feeling of your hands undoing his zipper and taking his cock out of his pants. He smirked after a quick recovery. You always caught him off guard when you did that but he was always eager.

"How do you plea, Mister Smith?" Jonathan repeated sternly, pretending that his beloved wife wasn't stroking his dick under his desk.

"Innocent! I'm innocent, sir! Please!" Mister Smith begged, completely unaware that his plea didn't matter at all. His fate was pre-decided, and Judge Crane was asking him just to toy with him and be an asshole.

The crowd present protested against Mister Smith's words, screaming insults at him and calling him a traitor. Jonathan slammed his gavel, commanding the room to be quiet, and masking the reaction he had when you licked the tip of his dick.

"ORDER!" He yelled, slamming the gavel one more time as you swirled your hot tongue around the head, your hand pumping the rest.

"Please, Sir. I haven't done anything! Please!" Mister Smith insisted, and Jonathan was glad he had, because it gave him an excuse to keep masking his growing pleasure by slamming the gavel a third time.

"Order, Mister Smith." Something in Jonathan's voice faltered ever so slightly. A 'don't-pay-attention-and-you-miss-it' sort of weakness produced by the feeling of your pretty mouth taking him in inch by inch.

Jonathan exhaled hotly. He pretended to adjust his glasses and read the case files. You, hidden under the desk, continued with your slow torture.

You had to be stealthy, being almost obvious was your husband's job. So in order to not gag around his length, you hummed. A low vibration concentrated in your throat that was always a killer for Jonathan and his sensitive cock.

"Mister... Tobias Smith..." Your head started to move, your humming never stopped. Judge Crane swallowed thickly and his nostrils flared in an expression that poor Mister Smith must have read as irritation towards him.

"You have been declared guilty of charges of high treason..." Just when he thought he had it under control, you started to hollow out your cheeks. The suction made his cock twitch.

"You have the choice here..." Judge Crane lied with a groan. The case files started to get wrinkly in his hands and you only got brutal. Sucking, humming, bobbing your head and moving your tongue as much as you could and as fast as you could get.

"Exile!... Or... Or death!" Jonathan stumbled upon his words and he quickly placed a hand over your hair, a silent sign for you to slow it down, to have mercy on him. But as he didn't have mercy on the man in front of him, you didn't have mercy on him.

The crowd, thankfully, yelled again. Clamoring for death or exile in a big entanglement of voices. If it were for Jonathan, he would leave them to quarrel so he could cum.

Your warm mouth felt so good around him, your humming sent him straight to heaven. The fact that you, his love, his wife, were always there to please him, to love him and make him feel worshiped, made his heart burst out of his chest and his balls tighten. You were always so good to him, he had a hard time not grabbing you, pushing you ass up over his desk and fucking you right there, for everyone to see and envy.

But he couldn't. Against his most primal desires, he had a Bane-given duty to fulfill... And a sentence to announce.

Nearing his orgasm and with his senses overwhelmed, Judge Crane slammed the gavel a final time.

"DEATH!" He growled, not even listening to the sentenced man's choice after all. His jaw trembled and his knuckles went pale from his iron grip on the handle. The commotion of the crowd that so eagerly obeyed his command, and the screams of Mister Smith served as the smoke screen he needed. The carnage took up all the attention. Nobody in that room even noticed Judge Crane leaning back on his chair with his head thrown back and his eyes shut. Thick hot ropes of cum went down your throat so easily, the only thing that made you flinch was the sound of a gunshot that ended Mister Smith's wails.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

this is so farmer!könig & off the grid!könig 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

https://www.tumblr.com/gauloiseblue/746443017434595328/this-is-price-you-cant-change-my-mind

Link to the original post

yes, farmer!König will impregnate his farmhand girl through a huge peephole if he can, promises to pull out but never does... begs for forgiveness on his knees afterwards, apologizing profusely at your door, saying he'll never do it again! he just got carried away, he hasn't been with a woman in ages (if ever), you must understand... please, let him hold you for a while and maybe put it in again? you tell him he's too desperate, he wouldn't last a minute out there in the real world, but he just bullies his cock back inside you with a pathetic whine. he's the loneliest man in the universe here at this godforsaken farm so good luck with getting rid of him now that you allowed him to climb into your bed...

and off the grid!König is no better, sneaks up on you when you're tending to your silly little garden, picking up a cute cabbage completely unawares. it falls from your hands when he picks you off your feet, big arms fast around you and a stubbled, sweaty face buried in your hair. he was supposed to haul some wood into the shed but here he is, telling you he's in the mood if you are... hands sneaking up your shirt, plucking and pinching your nipples, he knows you wear no bra :( you can't say no to him even if the cabbage is now dirty and soiled and you're annoyed—König just tells you he'll help you with your veggies and flowers if you give him this one little treat... soon he's spreading your legs under the sun, inspecting you in full daylight while the ducks quack in the distance and sweet crickets chirp in the hay. this is what he brought you here for, to be bred and loved like the silly woman that you are ❤️🌿!

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Vesuvia Weekly: What it's like to hold the M6

~ my submission for this week's prompt - have some sappy headcanon drabble ^.^ ~

Julian

The sounds of leather folding and bending and creaking, of a pent up sigh, of a noble, anxious, too-big-for-its-own-good heartbeat fluttering against those thin, bird-like ribs

The smell of - yes, more leather - with a slight hint of sweat and the faded scent of the crushed herbs used to stuff doctor's masks

The feel of a well-worn, weather tested, oversized coat falling around both your frames, a cold set of bony fingers tangling into your hair through protective gloves

The sight of folded black cloth and slightly dulled metal buttons, a pale neck cradling your forehead, auburn stubble shivering over a bobbing adam's apple

The bitter taste of sea-salty lips, self-sacrifice, and coffee

Asra

The sound of an airy chuckle, a curious whisper, a deep, relaxed sigh, a heartbeat that touches your own with every gentle thump

The smell of smoking incense, sparkling spices, and syrupy vanilla, lurking beneath the petrichor of sunny spring rains on the dust of a far-off highway

The feel of a soft shawl on your cheek, sturdy linen body-warmed and slightly rough under your arms, heavy, heated hands running soothing pathways along your spine, cloud soft curls on your ears, a deceptively slight frame

The sight of golden metal and silvery blue stone on smooth skin, the barely-there rise and fall of a body slowly relaxing into yours

The taste of smoky tea, home, and desperate dedication

Nadia

The sound of rustling silks, the quiet clink of bracelets and rings, the hush of long, thick hair falling over chiffon-clad shoulders, a contented, throaty hum, a lofty heartbeat

The smell of jasmine, rose, pepper, and amber, of warm silk and chilled white wine, of flower gardens and powdery cosmetics

The feel of a heavy curtain of hair against your face, body warmth passing quickly through thin, gauzy sleeves wrinkling under your movements, of strong fingers tilting your chin into her collarbone

The sight of glinting gemstones and finely crafted metal, intricate embroidery stitches swirling across lustrous fabric, scalloped hemlines along sculpted shoulders

The taste of spiced fish, wine, and plush, commanding adoration

Muriel

The sound of heavy, rough cloth slowly dragging across itself, breaths hitching deep and slow, a grumble quiet and low enough to shake the earth, a nervous, powerful heartbeat

The smell of myrrh hanging around you like a cloud, of warm fur and chilly forest air, of falling leaves and running water and smoke

The feel of muscle and scruff, of radiating body heat, of massive, calloused palms alternating between gently splaying over your shoulders like blanketing weights and hovering cautiously around your waist in fluttering, feather like touches

The sight of thick, dark hair falling in choppy lengths over stubble and scar tissue, of thick green cloth over sinew

The taste of grilled forage and mead, of healing and steadfastness

Portia

The sound of an excited giggle, springing footsteps and jingling keys, a happy gasp and unstoppable heartbeat, a mischievous secret getting laughed into your ear

The smell of air-drying laundry and soap, hair oil and cocoa butter, fresh bread and sizzling butter and caramelizing berries

The feel of strong forearms, small, calloused hands, the push of energetic bouncing against your shoulder, of hair flying around your face, the plush squish of a no-holds-barred bear hug

The sight of fiery curls spilling over clean, pressed cotton, freckles speckling creamy skin, the occasional grey and white cat hair clinging to black ribbon, the dusk of a happy blush

The taste of yeasty bread, and the comforts of adventure

Lucio

The sounds of nearby dogs panting, a cutlass clanking in its sheath, the mechanical whir and musical hum of an alchemical arm, a confident, snorting chuckle and a devoted heartbeat

The smell of fresh sweat, warm metal, cinnamon alcohol in a journeyman's flask, hair gel and worn cologne

The feel of a padded, quilted vest, the quick rise and fall of an active chest, the slight tilt of a shoulder forever sloped in favor of a heavy arm, the sinewed grip of a warrior's touchstarved fingers and the cool, metallic touch of a careful clawed hand

The sight of sharp collarbones and glinting curved gold, fine flaxen hair at the nape of a snowy neck, crimson cloth and leather straps

The taste of grilled meat, traveler's wine, and new beginnings

[delopsia]

if heaven's a moment | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 16,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, alpha! Rhett, omega! Reader. Size kink, forbidden love (ft. a weak excuse for the forbidden part. we're here for ✨vibes✨, not logic), food, running away, biting, mating cycles/heat, ruts, mentions of breeding (but no implication of children/anything of that nature), first times together, knotting, the worst epilogue known to man. Brief Summary: At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known. 

There are too many cars in this damn driveway. 

Scratch that, too many fucking alphas. With their bright, gaudy outfits and stupid, overapplied pheromone colognes that do nothing but give you a chemical-induced migraine. If those claims about luring in potential mates are true, then you must be an outlier because you've yet to find yourself head over heels for a man based on his scent alone. 

A warmth greets your nose; something tied between leather and the embers of a roaring campfire, a hint of smokiness lurking underneath it all. Just a hint of it at first, swirling around your head like a daydream and weakening your knees, growing stronger with every step toward this old barn. 

...on second thought.

The barn door opens with a groan, cutting through the silence and echoing up toward the house. Your eyes dart toward the back porch, still flocked full of mingling bodies in their finest courting attire, chatting it up like they haven't had an intriguing conversation in years. Whether or not someone heard that is anyone's guess, but nobody is interested enough to look in your direction.

Thank god because you don't have a single explanation for why you're slipping into the storage barn at ten o'clock at night. 

It's too dark to see where you're going, but you've walked this path so many times that you can do it with your eyes closed. Drifting around the corner. Past the four-wheeler that hasn't run since last autumn. Through the clearing that will soon be cluttered with seasonal equipment once the hands finish tearing out the brush that has taken over the south pasture. They'll promise it's gone for good, but it'll be sprouting again come spring, and the cycle will repeat, just as it always has. 

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

The room spins. A weight appears on your back, forcing you face down into a bale of hay. The straw prickles your cheek, but it's nothing compared to the sandpaper texture that scratches the back of your neck. The coarse stubble of someone's recently shaven face.  

A cold nose brushes against your nape. 

"Hey!" You squeal, foot blindly kicking at a jean-clad leg, but he just does it again, blissfully unaware of the goose bumps rushing across your skin.

Arms curl around your waist. "What's the matter, sweet thing?" Muttered into your ear, as if there's a risk of someone overhearing.

"Your nose is cold!" And you've got just enough leverage to turn your head to the side, nipping at his jaw. Softly tugging at his skin with your teeth, ticklish little motions that have Rhett laughing, shifting to stand up straight, as if that has ever helped him escape your reign of terror. 

"'m sorry," that nose bumps into your forehead, clumsy, "I only finished up a little bit ago."

Even in the dark, you can tell that he's still clad in those leather chaps, dirty from a long day in the fields and on the back of his horse. This close, they'll surely leave behind a noticeable grime on your white clothes, but you can't bring yourself to care. This is worth the stress of getting your clothes into the washer before anyone can see the stains.

It only takes the slightest nudge for him to reel back, allowing you to stand straight and twist in his embrace. Pale moonlight peeks through the holes in the roof, bathing the right side of his face. Unveiling the smile that upturns the corners of his eyes and the fading cut in his bottom lip, split open in a bar fight this past Sunday.

"They're working you that hard?" Tilting your head to the side, curious. Peak season isn't for another three weeks. What gives? 

"Only on party nights," Rhett chuckles, and he's just close enough for you to feel it rumbling in his chest like thunder. "How else are your folks supposed to tell them rich fellas that y' come from a good ranchin' family?"

Your brows furrow. "I didn't know that I came with a dowry."

It's easy. Laughing with him and falling into his big, warm chest, wrapped up in those arms that ought to have been chiseled from stone for you and you alone. The scruff of his cheek scratches your skin as he snuggles you impossibly closer. Your nose bumping into his neck, just below the scent gland lurking there.

The voice in the back of your head wonders if you'll ever get to enjoy the privilege of him scenting you. Dipping his head down to rub the barely visible glands against you, not stopping until you smell just like him. The closest one can get to saying 'mine' without tattooing it in red across someone's forehead.

"So which of them alphas ya pickin'?" There's that solemn tone again, low and heavy as if the words are too much for his tongue to lift.

And you know that you shouldn't say this; it's only going to make this harder than it needs to be, but it slips out of you, anyway. "The one that's standing in front of me."

There's a sourness in the air. Barely there, but you're so close that it's impossible not to catch the switch, chased by the falter of a smile. 

Oh, why does he have to look at you that way? Deep-set frown and lowered eyes, can hardly bring himself to meet your gaze, as if this will all fall apart the moment that he does. But you're still here, even if it's for a fixed amount of time. You can't have him forever, but you can until your heat decides to set in, whenever that may be. 

"We'd have to flee the state even for a chance of that workin'," he's talking under his breath like it's a thought he didn't intend to make it past his mouth. But you hear it loud and clear. 

 "Maybe..." Feigning playfulness, if only to ignore the sour twist of your belly. "But if you ever decide that you'd like to start running, you know where to find me." 

If only it worked like that. You'd love to live a life so simple that he could run up to your window and steal you away on a random midnight. Off to live your own happily ever after, never to be seen again. 

Rhett tilts his head forward, then off to the side, those pretty blue eyes never quite leaving yours. 

It's like knowing that you're allergic to something and biting into it anyway, but you just can't help it. There are only so many times that you'll get to do this, and the number is shrinking by the minute. Nuzzling the side of your head against his neck and lower jaw, dancing painfully close to the glands on his neck, a faint sheen the only thing to indicate their presence. Rhett's so big that you could spend all day rubbing yourself against him like a cat, always able to find a spot on him that isn't drowning in the warm scent that you call your own. 

Out of nowhere, a sharp puff of air bursts out of him. Some little animalistic noise that you only ever hear when you're doing this, his nose nuzzling your temple as he makes that noise again. The arms around you pull a little tighter as if there was any space left between your bodies to begin with. 

A truck engine roars to life. Obnoxious. 

Rhett jolts, his head spinning toward the door you came through, stiff like some kind of well-trained guard dog. In a sense, you suppose that's exactly what he is, considering all of those bar fights with unruly alphas who could only see you as an easy piece of meat. 

"Sounds like some of 'em are gettin' ready to leave," he concludes after a moment, and he doesn't need to speak for you to know what he intends to say next. He's got to take you back to the house before someone notices you're missing. 

You can't help the whine that rolls out of you, pitchy and drawn out. This whole situation is so unfair; you just got here a few minutes ago! Why do you have to go back inside and parade yourself to men and women that you couldn't give a damn about? All because you were unfortunate enough to be born as some dumb omega. 

"Naw, don't get all sad on me," Rhett mutters, and you're not entirely sure when he moved, but one of his hands has risen to curl around your cheek, coarse thumb stroking the skin there. "I'll come to your window, a'ight?"

"Rhett!" Your leg twitches, kicking against his side. Pulling hard on his hair, thighs involuntarily fluttering around his head. It's the most you can do with this pillow wedged beneath the small of your back. Open and on display for him and his hungry mouth.

"Shhh," but he can hardly deny himself the simple pleasure of pausing to drag his tongue in a loose circle just to feel you squirm. "Don't want us gettin' caught, do ya darlin'?"

Whining, your head thrashes back and forth. There's a 'no' on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't get it out—two little letters trapped in your wide open mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's forcing your legs up over his shoulders, oversized hands spanning out against the outside of your thighs, keeping you put.

"Won't be able to eat this sweet little pussy if your folks find out," Rhett just can't quit talking. Babbling as if he's completely and utterly lost himself in this, in you. "Fuck, can y' imagine the look on their faces?"

You're not sure if it's the words themselves or the vibration of his voice against your clit, but something about it has a bolt of lightning jumping up your spine. Rattling a whine out of your throat, hardly stifled by the teeth that sink into your bottom lip, your futile attempt at keeping yourself quiet. 

"Comin' in and seein' a ranch hand between your legs, runnin' my tongue up your pussy jus' like..." and he draws just far back enough for you to see the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth as he begins to lick a fat stripe up your cunt. "This."

And your back is rising up off the bed, greedily chasing the burning heat of his mouth, as if even a second of no contact might break you into two. The beat of your heart spurred on by the sloppy, wet noises that punctuate his every movement. Half of it isn't even from you; no, it's from him drooling into you like a goddamn dog. 

There's so much of it, running down your thighs and into your sheets, sure to leave a spot that you'll struggle to make an excuse for. It's a problem that you should fuss at him over, chide him for making such a mess, but he's guiding a hand between your legs, two thick fingers nudging at your entrance, and you just can't bring yourself to say anything. 

It's impossible to be upset when he's got you so wet that you don't need to pause for lube, gliding into you with dazzling ease. So, so much bigger than your own touch, such a sudden stretch that you catch the hint of an ache as they bottom out. More. You haven't even gotten used to this yet, and yet you want more. 

Abrupt, Rhett's pointed tongue dances around your clit, fingers crooking upward, seeking a special little spot. "Can't market ya as an innocent little omega if they know a man like me 's been eatin' your pussy for years."

If only he knew how often you think about that. 

The memories that flood your mind every time you've been put in a fancy restaurant to be wined and dined by some well-dressed know-it-all, intrigued by the false purity he saw in your eyes. How it's not the small talk that has you fiddling with your fork, but instead caused by the crystal clear image of a cowboy who had gotten on his knees for you earlier that morning, eating you alive, much like how he is now. 

And the perpetual, hopeless fantasy of that same cowboy barging in and taking you for his own, fed up with this sick game you've been forced to play together. All because you were born an omega, so rare that the wealthy have begun to see you as a status symbol. 

Sparkles dance in your vision, glittering like fireworks. Course fingertips spiral into a little cluster of nerves, in perfect sync with the tongue still working around your clit. The invisible flames of a wildfire ignite, heat coiling between your parted thighs and flushing up your chest. Fuck, fuck, and the room is spinning around you, hands tightening in Rhett's hair as if there's a risk of being blown away. 

"Rhett, I'm—"

"God, y' taste so fuckin' good," mindlessly babbling, but those eyes are peeling open, the corners of them wrinkling with a cocky grin. "Y' gonna cum?"

"Uhuh," frantically nodding, the best that you can without looking away from him and this. The sight of him between your shivering thighs, legs propped over his broad shoulders, fits so perfectly that your heart skips a beat. That coil is winding tighter and tighter in your lower belly, body stiffening as his tongue keeps working you over, loud and sloppy and out of sync with the fingers working inside of you. 

His chuckle has your foot kicking against his back, a barely muffled whimper slipping out of your throat. "Come on then," a third finger abruptly joins, mouth sucking harshly on your clit. Lightning jumps up your spine, arching up off the pillow. "Give it to me, sweet thing."

And that's all it takes to have you clamping a trembling hand over your mouth, cumming without further warning. Crying out into your palm as your vision goes white, heart racing in your chest, spinning out of control. Feels as if you've been thrust into the clouds, soaring among them for a few fleeting moments.

The hand remaining on your thigh is what draws you back down into reality. 

Or maybe it's the sudden discomfort of emptiness as Rhett draws his drenched fingers out of your cunt, sitting up on his haunches, obscenely shiny chin catching in the light. The pillow pulls out from beneath your hips, and it's not until you feel the rush of relief that you realize there was a strain in your lower back.

The corner of Rhett's mouth lifts, the mattress dipping as he climbs up next to you. "Reckon I wore ya out." Those jeans still unfairly cling to his hips, a little too dirty to be allowed in your bed, but you don't have the luxury or the will to complain.

Certainly not when he's settling down, an arm draping across your belly, very nearly distracting you from the scent in the air. His usual leathery scent, mixed with something a little bit sweet, a little bit warm, and entirely you. 

"For now," you croak after a moment. The simple motion of shifting to lay on your side has the room rolling again, like some kind of fucked up hamster ball. 

On its own selfish volition, your hand begins to wander. Gliding up Rhett's naked chest, feeling the groove of muscle and roaming over the old tattoo lurking just below his right collarbone. It's almost strange to think of how it was brand new when you first met him, so fresh that he'd yelped when you ran straight into each other.

You shouldn't allow it, but you can't resist wandering down his belly, exploring the soft muscles of his belly, only stopped by the elastic waistband peeking out from below his pants. It's impossible to miss the bulge tenting his jeans, such a sight that it almost makes his obnoxiously large belt buckle look averagely sized.

You wish you were as familiar with his body as he is yours.

"It ain't that I don't want ya too," Rhett must be able to read minds because he's already jumping onto your train of thought, "'m still worried I might..."

Lose control. You know. This conversation seems to arise every time you have a little fun together. The dangers of an alpha who gets too carried away and leaves behind too much evidence of your private rendezvous. 

"What if that's what I want?" You say it so firmly. Confident. 

You want him and everything that comes with him. The Abbott name, the not-so-glamourous life of being mated or even married to a man like him. Hell, you want the dirt that tracks in on his boots, the stench of sweat that clings to him after a long day at work, and the horse he's dragged to three different ranches so far. No other mare will do. Only his. 

"'s what I want, too," his hand curls around yours, delicately guiding it up to his chest, where he can crane his head down and kiss your knuckles. "Shame everyone would be able to smell me on ya. Think I'd kill to be there when they realize their special little omega got mounted by some grimy ol' cowboy."

"You're not grimy," it's only after you say it that the memories come flooding in. Dirt clinging to his jaw and neck, all the times he hasn't been able to finger you due to some crude, black substance clinging to his nails. That one time, when he came back covered in a thin layer of mud, muttering something about heifers and tagging a damn calf. "...most of the time." 

If it's not the moaning that's going to get you caught, surely it'll be the fit of giggles that squeeze out of the cracks in the door frame.

The roar of a rodeo crowd never fails to remind you of why Rhett does this. Feet stomping on the metal flooring of the bleachers. Hands clapping in a thundering applause. Unafraid to shout and jeer as the numbers on the scoreboard count up.

Four seconds. The bull's head twists to the left. Back legs kicking high into the air. A plume of dirt kicks up.

Five seconds. Rhett's right hand bobs in the air. Torn between the sheer will to keep up for the judges and the overwhelming instinct to use it to steady himself. 

Six. Your breath fogs in front of your face. Shouting Rhett's name. As if doing so could possibly help him hold on. 

Seven. The scream of the crowd is rising now. Booming voices and cowbells so loud that you can no longer hear the beat of your heart in your ears. 

Eight. The buzzer sounds. Artificial flames burst from above the chutes. 

You blink, and he's off the bull. The bullfighters are scurrying like ants. Rhett's scooping his hat up off the ground. Spinning around to face the scoreboard just as the rankings make their switch. You think the crowd may have preemptively exploded into celebration because they're cheering and hollering before you've even realized what the screen says.

1. Rhett Abbott 89.5

You've got to read it twice before you finally understand what that means. He's moving on to the finals next week.

And lord, does he know it. 

Fist pounding against his vest so hard that his hair shakes with every strike, jolted by his own strength. Mouth open. Shouting something that doesn't make it past the arena fences, his wide eyes scanning the bleachers, slowly drifting until they seem to lock with yours.

It's impossible; he's so far away that you can hardly see his features. But he's looking at you, and he's grinning, waving a big hand toward a building lurking just behind the chutes. You've only been to these particular rodeo grounds once, but you've seen that gesture enough times to know what he's asking and that you don't have to head over there right now. 

You won't see him until after he's had his five-minute shower. When he's had time to scrub the adrenaline out of his system and doesn't run the risk of knocking you off your feet by scent alone. 

Do you still regret letting him know that he almost sent you into heat once? Yes. 

A lot.

Though it can't be all that bad. Not when you and your newly acquired chili cheese fries have the pleasure of stumbling across a hell of a scene. Wet, unruly curls and a thin white t-shirt that's ever so slightly too small, clinging to every muscle and curve of his chest, biceps bulging from beneath the restrictive fabric. You can see his tattoo right through it, that bucking bull as prominent as ever.

A pair of green eyes squint back at you, attached to wavy blonde curls and glimmering lip gloss. She's not the only one batting her long lashes at Rhett and twisting her hair between her delicately manicured fingertips; there's a brunette giggling along next to her. A barrel racer done up in purple plaid to your left, another girl in glasses wearing a rodeo hoodie, and those are just the ones that you've noticed. 

All of you are so different in nature, and yet, you have the same end goal: Rhett Abbott.

He'll come when he realizes you're here; you know he will, but hell if this influx of attention doesn't make your stomach twist. Technically, Rhett isn't yours. He can pick any one of these starry-eyed onlookers and never be happier. At least they'll never hold him to the constant strain of being with an omega.

 Something plops atop your head, so big that it falls into your eyes. 

"Whatcha starin' at?" There's that familiar voice that you've become so accustomed to, rumbling from somewhere behind your right shoulder. A familiar scent greets your senses: warm, twisted with the woodsy aroma of body wash, and...something else. A faint musk that makes your nose feel funny.

With the back of your hand, you push his hat up, peering at him from beneath the rim, "I was thinking."

Rhett's head tilts to the side. "'bout?" 

Something tells you that you weren't supposed to see the swift flicker of his gaze. Down to the forgotten snack in your hands, then back up to your face as if nothing ever happened. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip. 

"How I'm gonna explain where I've been all night," it's the weakest lie told this century, but you're covering up for it by lifting your container of fries. "Want some?" 

If he catches on to the waver in your voice, then he doesn't mention it, too busy fighting off the little grin working its way onto his handsome face, still clinging to that stoic alpha demeanor that you both know he doesn't have. 

One of these days, he'll figure out that his fluttering eyelashes are giving away his true emotions, almost excited to reach and take two of your fries. Cheese drips as he lifts them, so artificial that it hardly even counts as dairy, the perfect match to those greasy gas station snacks that he's been serenading you with. 

"Y' weren't out here waitin' too long, were ya?" Talking in between bites, sauce clinging to his lips like an absurd gloss. 

Your head shakes, cowboy hat jostling back and forth with the motion. "Only about a minute or two." 

A pair of sour faces twist your way, surveying the competition. If there even is one. Rhett doesn't so much as spare them a glance. Preoccupied with you lifting his beloved hat off your head and pressing his cheesy lips to your temple like this is some kind of normal thing between you two. 

"Hey!" You squeal, but Rhett's already on the move, dodging your light-hearted swat and shoving a stolen fry into his mouth. 

He'd ought to consider himself lucky that he's got those big, blue eyes to get himself out of trouble. With that big laugh that bounces around your head for far longer than it should, enough to make you a little bit dizzy.

"I thought you were worried about..." pausing to swipe at the residue with the back of your hand, wiping away his sloppy kiss, "you know, people seeing?"

Your people seeing. Or hearing. Or even catching the slightest whiff that you're entertaining the very idea of someone who wasn't at last night's party.

But Rhett just shakes his head, that stupid smile prominent as ever. "Ain't no-one to recognize us out here." 

...huh.

"So you're not worried if I..." Taking one step forward. Then another, until you're nose to nose, so close that you can almost taste the mint of his toothpaste. "Do this?"

His forehead thunks against yours. "Not one bit." 

Kissing Rhett Abbott has always been a dream, but kissing him in public is another whirlwind entirely. The rose-tinted novelty of cementing who he belongs to, whose arms you're meant to fit into, and all of those shallow things that onlookers really couldn't give a damn about. They don't care about the strong arms that wind around your waist, the palm that flattens against the curve of your spine. How difficult it is to blindly hold your fries off to the side, trying your best not to crush them between your bodies. 

As quickly as he'd leaned in, Rhett draws away, nose wrinkled. 

"What?" Is there something on your breath? Melted cheese somewhere on your face?

But he just shakes his head, leaning in for another kiss. "Nothin'."

It must have been something in the wind because he doesn't make another mention of it again. His nose doesn't even twitch when you drift past the food trucks, all lined up in the front section of the parking lot, with their fried snacks, greasy meals, and sugar-filled treats that ought to make anyone drool. 

You've only just finished your fries, but you've already caught sight of another truck, white in color, selling something that you don't know the name of but smells like heaven itself. There's no reason for your stomach to be growling, but it sings its little tune regardless of all the things you've snacked on this afternoon. Shame that you left your wallet in the truck and spent the last of your cash on those fries. 

Why are you so hungry today?

"See somethin' ya want?" Rhett's voice is damn near the only thing that can pull you out of your stupor.

"I don't need it," really, you don't. You've already had three things from here; if anything, another greasy snack is the last thing that you need. There's food at home. 

But Rhett's already taking you by the hand, drawing his wallet from his back pocket, and it's just so hard to deny his firm offer to get you anything you want. The food tastes exactly how it smells: warm and easy on the tongue. Your spare glance at the folks selling fried dessert has him bringing over two plates of it. Maybe it's something he wanted, or maybe he's eating it just to make you feel better, you're not sure, but it's gone in minutes.

In the time it takes to walk to the truck, you've acquired a bag of handmade candy, sweet and wonderful, aside from the bizarrely tart green ones that Rhett insists he likes. White lie or not, you're just happy that you won't be accidentally popping one into your mouth again.

"You're sure ya don't want anythin' else?" The squeal of the passenger door almost covers up his question. One of these days, he'll figure out a solution that'll last for longer than a week.

"I'm sure," though if he gives you an hour, you've got a feeling that the answer will be different. For now, your stomach is so full that you almost wonder how you manage to climb into the truck, the slightest bit dizzy from all that sugar and grease.

Or maybe it's from something else because it doesn't seem to be fading. If anything, it seems to be getting worse, the cars in the parking lot spinning around your head like you're in a cartoon. Even the subtle sway of the truck as Rhett gets in the driver's seat is enough to worsen it. 

You can't see it, but you can feel his eyes on you. "I don't think..." That's your voice...but you never planned on talking? What are you trying to say?

Somehow, you've gotten yourself into the middle seat. Close enough for Rhett to loop his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. He's so warm that you melt like ice on a summer day, head falling against his chest, the thump of his heartbeat loud in your ear. 

"Sweetheart..." his lips brush against your temple, some little thing that sends a shiver down your spine. "You feelin' okay?" 

"Dizzy." Concluding before you've even realized what he's asked. "Why?" 

A hand curls around your cheek, urging you to nuzzle closer as if you could possibly need any more encouragement. You're already starting to wedge yourself into the crook of his neck, right where his scent is the strongest. The little gland hidden there has a thicker sheen to it than usual, glistening even in the barely there light.

"Rhett?" You try again, and this time, you might have a little more control over what your body is doing. 

His jaw scratches the top of your head, sucking in a long, audible breath. "Your heats startin'." 

No, that doesn't make sense. Why would...why would your heat be starting? This isn't your first rodeo; you would have recognized the signs if it was coming on. The mood swings, the sudden onset of clinginess, the sudden bouts of lightheadedness that leave you stumbling, the insatiable hunger right at the cusp of—

"Oh."

You don't even feel your face fall. Or maybe you do, and you're just too distracted with the sting of wateriness building in your eyes, distorting your vision, and already trying to spill over. No. No, no, no, no. This can't be your heat. You've always had them toward the middle of spring, never late autumn. That doesn't—that doesn't make sense. Why would it start now?

"Hey, hey," it's not until Rhett starts talking that you realize you've been muttering your thoughts out loud. 

Problem is, you don't care that he's heard you. How are you supposed to when there's the looming possibility that you're never going to see him again? Doesn't he remember? You've got to choose someone before your heat starts, or else your parents will choose for you! 

"I ain't goin' anywhere yet," he's pulling you in, both arms wrapped tight around you, and even the awkward angle cannot distract you from the shiver that's settling into your bones. 

"I don't want you to go anywhere at all!" You don't mean to cry out like a child, but it happens anyway, pitchy and breaking in the middle.

Rhett doesn't open his mouth again. He can't. The Abbotts may have a reputation for being able to repair anything they get their hands on, but there's nothing Rhett can say or do to fix this. All he can do is keep pulling you close until he's leaning back against the door, and you're settled up on top of him, with not an inch of space left between. 

Maybe if you don't move, time won't tick by so quickly. 

The one bad thing about time is that it does pass, regardless of what you have to say on the matter. Because eventually, that time does come when Rhett has no choice but to start his truck; there's an hour's drive ahead of you, and red flags will begin waving if you come home in a full-blown heat. 

For the first time in a while, you see Rhett's speedometer five miles below the speed limit, uncaring of the impatient vehicles blaring the horns. Doesn't get riled up when some asshole drives by flipping him off, hardly even fusses when the guy merges too early and nearly clips the front of his truck. 

All he's worried about is taking as much time as he can, keeping that arm around you for as long as he can manage. Only draws away to handle sharp turns but quickly returns soon after, and frankly, you don't even care about chiding him for his risky driving. 

There's some dumb, sad song droning on the radio when he finally puts the truck into park, and it may be dark in this truck, but you can still see the wateriness brimming his eyes. You know it because you have that same glassiness, too. 

You've got a million and one things you could say, and yet, you can't bring yourself to say a single one of them. There's no point in it; this is probably the last time you'll ever see him. Unmated, at the very least. 

The front door opens before you can utter a single word. Don't know who it is, nor do you care. 

Rhett's forehead presses against yours, mouth opening, then clamping shut just as quickly. Can't say anything either. But then he leans his head down, temple rubbing against yours, and it's the closest thing to a goodbye that either of you can manage. This short, unspoken thing; rubbing his scent on you for both the first and the last time.

Either something about him was warding off the vicious beginnings of your heat, or the very smell of him threw you off the deep end because you hardly make it into your bedroom before the dizziness takes hold again. Feet dragging across the floor, forced to guide yourself with a hand against the wall while someone else shouts their recognition to the whole goddamn world. 

By the time you get your door closed, they're already muttering about which Tillerson to choose for you. Luke or Trevor? Who is the most worthy of selling you off to, like a piece of meat? 

The dizziness takes over before you've even made it to the bed. 

If heaven can be a moment, then this must be hell.

Waking up is always the worst. A dull, incessant throbbing deep in your bones, the edges of your vision blurry enough to give you the worst tunnel vision you've ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Sleeping on the floor has done you no favors, leaving a stiffness in the left side of your body that definitely was not there before. 

It's almost enough to distract from the obscene wetness between your legs. A clear fluid that stains the crotch of your pants and has left a big spot on the floor itself. 

"Maybe sleeping on the floor was worth it..." you mutter as you push yourself to your feet. Cleaning slick out of a mattress is much harder than those YouTube tutorials cropped it out to be; you'll be able to clean that before another wave of dumbness washes over.

The wipes in your bathroom are enough to take care of it, taking it off the hardwood with ease. Leaves you with more time to figure out what to do about these pants, if you're committing to trying another heat while fully dressed, or if a nightgown, while uncomfortably exposing, will be easier to handle. 

Your instincts are itching at you to build a nest, but is it even worth it, all things considered? If everyone has their way, you'll be shipped off to some alpha's house by the end of the night. First with a weekend bag, then the rest of your things once the heat fades. 

And what's that sitting on your windowsill? 

It's an amalgamation of color: dark red, beige, navy blue, balled up inside of something gray. Hell, even when you're looking at it through the glass, you haven't the slightest clue what it is. Leaves you with no choice but to peel open the window and—

A familiar scent strikes your nose. 

Rhett.

These are his shirts. Wrinkled and warm from the sun, and oh, they smell exactly like him. You can't help but squeeze the whole bundle to your chest, shamelessly burying your face into them. He must have spent the whole night rubbing on these like one of those overly friendly cats.

It's about that time of the morning when he puts his horse up in the pen while he helps with the usual barn maintenance, but you don't see her anywhere. The other horses are there: two palominos, a paint, and a handful of chestnuts, but that sturdy little black mare is nowhere to be found. 

Must have put her around the other side. 

Something crinkles inside of these clothes, deep down in the center of them. You know what it is before you've even unraveled the mess of fabric. Snacks. Your favorite chips, a candy bar, and the hard candies that you didn't realize you left in his truck. A torn piece of paper has been tucked into the candy bar wrapper.

Don't forget to eat :) 

Such a simple message shouldn't have tears stinging at the corners of your eyes, but it does, and as much as you'd like to blame it on your heat, you know that's not the case. Funny how even the bare minimum can look like the greatest act of kindness when your heart is torn in two.

Between the impending doom that is the rest of your life and the next wave of your heat coming along, you've got no appetite. That was the whole point of your inability to feel full last night, your body's futile attempt at stocking up on calories before it devolved into a weeklong period of craving nothing but sex, and knots, and alphas, and skin contact, and everything else under that umbrella.

Still, you eat it.

It's not so bad when you manage to convince your heat brain that Rhett's little note was growled into your ear, an order that you cannot possibly disobey. Snacking on the candy bar when you climb out of the shower, taking bites in between your routine, finishing it off when you settle into bed with one of those flannels. Storm clouds are rolling in, and they're doing nothing to ward off the sleepiness your heat is bringing on.

Your impromptu nap is interrupted by the impromptu barging in of someone letting you know that Trevor Tillerson has been chosen as your alpha. He'll be here sometime around nine to pick you up and take you to some fancy resort that he's rented just for the two of you. Somewhere far, far away from Wabang and the dark clouds looming overhead. 

If you had a choice in the matter, maybe it would be romantic.

The chips get you through a bout of doom scrolling on your cellphone until your face begins to feel hot, and you're rudely reminded that you've got to pack while you still can. A righteous pain in the ass that does nothing but frustrate you to no end. 

How are you meant to shove a week's worth of clothes into so few bags? On your heat, no less, the one time when you'll be soaking through most of your garments! And your laptop, where the hell do you shove that? Between the shirts? Do you even bother with these shorts? 

"Why am I doing this?" You mutter it as if you've got a choice in the matter, idly pawing at your spinning head. 

At one point, you suppose that you did. Marrying rich sounded like a wonderful idea when the subject was brought up ten years ago. A life with everything you could ever want. Endless vacations and money to spend on anything you want because you were born an omega, and such a rare thing deserves only the best. You'd had it in your head that you'd find the person of your dreams dressed up in a suit worth more than your entire family ranch. 

But you just had to run right into the Abbott family's youngest son, the one who had nothing but a black horse, a couple of flannels, and a championship rodeo buckle to his name. A new ranch hand, with his scruffy smile and the kindest hands you've ever known. 

Now, here you are. 

Your parents have invested hundreds of hours and an insurmountable amount of money into luring in alphas. They've made friendships with the families of your suitors and formed expectations for the outcome of your life that no longer align with your desires. You're in so deep that a simple 'no' will not suffice. Especially not when Rhett comes into the deal. 

A sourness blossoms in your chest, spreading into your lower belly like a plague, gut-twisting and churning as if you're about to be sick. There's an invisible hand squeezing around your heart, so tight that it just might burst, but you don't feel nauseous. Not one bit, and maybe that's got something to do with the blurring of your vision.

"Rhett," whining. Rhett. You want Rhett. Here. Right now.

That dizziness is growing worse. A foreign heat spreads deep in your inner thighs, flushing to superheat the rest of your body, but your face feels cold, and something wet is spilling across your cheeks. Tears fall quicker than the rain pattering against your window. A never-ending stream that has you hiccuping, frantically sucking in breaths of air that never quench the ache in your throat.

It is the whim of your own frantic hand that leads you to grab your phone. Scrolling through your contacts until you land on the fuzzy shape of a name that you've seen enough times for it to be familiar. 

It rings.

And it rings.

...and it rings.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system," that robotic voice drones through the speaker, already beginning to ramble off the digits of Rhett's phone number. 

Maybe he didn't get to the phone in time. Yeah, that's got to be it. You'll try again. He'll pick up this time. 

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system."

Thunder rumbles outside, heavy enough to shake the house, rattling the knick-knacks on the shelves and sending slick rushing down your thighs. Sticky and burning, and oh god, your head is spinning like you're on a fucking merry-go-round. 

Someone's knocking at your door, the distorted sound of your name dancing through the room. Whether or not you respond, you've got no idea, but they're responding as if you did.

"Trevor is here," her voice is oddly familiar, but a face isn't coming to mind. 

"I need..." shaking your head, rattling a coherent thought into place. "I need...a little bit longer to pack."

Silence. And then, quietly, "Okay." Footsteps echo through the hallway and then dissolve into nothing.

You can't see. The colors of your room merge together into a sea of splotches, a fire burning up in your chest, the embers reaching all the way up into your skull. White and black, and gray and a spot of green that you just know is the call button. Your thumb darts across the screen. Tapping once. Nothing. Then a little lower.

The screen color changes. 

"Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system." Whether or not you manage to press 'end call,' you have no idea. All you know is that the screen color has changed. 

He turned off his phone. It didn't even ring before sending you to voicemail this time; he doesn't want to talk to you. 

Maybe he's already found company in one of those girls from last night's rodeo. Or maybe he's entirely decided that it isn't worth entertaining you anymore, not even in the slightest. But that doesn't explain why he's left you some of his flannels, like the one that you're pulling off the bed. 

His scent has already begun to fade, but as you bury your nose into the fabric, it smells as if he's really here. A little bit of focus is all it takes for you to convince yourself that he's right next to you. A big shield, curled around you, right here on the floor. How his jaw would tickle your neck as he rests his head on your shoulder, waiting until you're ready to get up and run off into the sunset with him.

Hell, if only it were that easy. 

If you were to take off on your own, right here and right now, you wouldn't make it out of Wabang. You can't smell them, but every alpha in town will pick up on the pheromones wafting off of you, and you're in no state to defend yourself. 

Even without the heat, you wouldn't be safe. So long as your neck remains bare, you run the risk of being seen as a piece of meat to others, both alpha and beta. One little nip is all it would take for someone to bond you to them forever; so simple that someone can run up from behind and do it within a second. 

When you open your eyes again, the world around you is a little clearer. 

...strange. 

Waves of your heat should last at least an hour or more, not a few minutes. Standing, even with the uneasy sway of your body, shouldn't be this easy. Yet you've got the strength to walk yourself over to the window, still open from when you took the shirts off the ledge. The wind has carried rain into the room, scattering across the floor and nearly causing you to slip. Your only saving grace is the windowsill itself, your clammy hands gripping it tight as they can. 

Evidently, house shoes aren't meant to traverse the elements. Not even a little bit of water. 

As if to reveal its schemes to you, the wind blows once more. Cool air kisses your burning cheeks, the only indication of how much you've already adjusted to your heat. Now, if only your eyes could do something similar and adjust to the shift in lighting. 

It can't be anything past eight o'clock, but night has already fallen in its entirety, a thick blanket of black covering everything beyond the horizon. Even so, you can vaguely make out the shape of something sitting in your driveway. Blocky, but there are four bits of round metal catching in the dull light hanging outside of the barn. 

Something behind it moves. Noticeably lighter than the dirt and whatever that object is. 

Your eyes narrow. Fighting the urge to lean further out the window as the thing creeps across the drive. A growl rumbles out of your throat. Goosebumps prickle across your skin. It's growing closer. 

Clink.

Clink. 

Clink.

Wait a damn minute.

"Rhett?" 

A laugh twists through the air with all the grace and beauty of a ballerina. "Did I hear you growlin' at me?" 

"You shut off your phone when I tried calling you!" Is all your dumb, cloudy mind can come up with, pitchy and whiny like a child. 

"Shh, shh, I know," there he is. The dull porch light is the only thing illuminating his handsome face. 

His mouth opens like he's got something else to say, but it closes just as quickly, still searching for the right words. Then, trying again. "Ya remember what y' said in the barn 'bout runnin' away?"

"Yes, but..." pausing to look over your shoulder at the closed door before looking back at him. "What about your horse? And, and, your job and your things at the bunkhouse?"

"I got it all taken care of," he's a little closer now, enough for you to see the longer scruff clinging to his jaw. Soft. Not quite as wirey as when it's freshly shaved. "'m startin' on a ranch in Nebraska next Monday mornin'. Owner says he knows a guy with a house I can rent for us. It ain't all that much, but I—"

"Okay." You can't help yourself. He doesn't need to say another word. 

His eyes flutter. "Okay." Parroting you, as if to make sure the word is what he thinks it is. 

For a moment or three, it's quiet. Nothing but the crunch of dirt beneath his boots and the jingle of spurs that he's too lazy to take off. And now he's standing right in front of you, nothing but this window and a small shrub separating you. His nostrils flare, and you're certain that if it were brighter out, you'd be able to see the darkening of his pupils.

There's that smile. Sprawling across his face, wrinkling the corners of his eyes, pearly white teeth glistening like he's the star of a toothpaste commercial. Can hardly close his mouth as you lean in, lips brushing against his. 

Voices echo from down the hallway, squeezing in through the cracks. 

Shit.

Your feet are moving before you can even process what's happening. Scrambling across the piles of clothes that sit on your floor. Grabbing whatever you can. Shoving it into the still-open bags. T-shirts. Shoes. Loungewear. You don't know what else. What you have and what you're missing can all be sorted out later. All you know is that those voices are getting closer, and you can't get back to the window fast enough.

You're not even sure if Rhett hears them talking, but he's not wasting time by asking questions. Already pulling the duffel bag from your arms and turning back towards his truck. Lightning flickers as you run back to your bags. Heart hammering so loud that you hardly even notice the thunder that follows.

One of the voices says your name. A laugh rattles after it. 

A zipper fumbles between your fingers. Climbs halfway down the track. Then catches on the hem of something sticking out. You can't see what it is. 

"Fucking—" swearing under your breath. You pull it again. No give. 

It'll have to do. You're already scrambling to shove the bag into Rhett's open arms. Twisting back for the last one. Phone. Where is your phone? But the room is spiraling with your movement, and your eyes feel as if they're rolling around in your skull. Vision darting every direction except for where you want it to go.

There it is. On the floor, next to his shirt. Which part of the bag are you shoving them into? You don't know. 

The voices are closer. Three. Four. Five of them. Talking, laughing together as they edge near your room and your unlocked door. 

"Baby." Rhett's voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife. 

You don't think any time has passed, and yet, turning back to the window feels like the first time you've moved in minutes. The edges of your vision swim, merging into a haze of black as you scramble to him. 

You've gotten over this window before. He's seen you do it. But as you draw a leg up and over, his hands dart out and settle on your waist. Holding you steady, like you might fall to your death if he doesn't.

Rain pelts your face like tiny bullets, freezing on your superheated skin, and the voice in your head wonders if this is what freedom feels like. The rush buzzing through your veins. The big hand that squeezes yours, the mud that kicks up under your heels as you tear down the driveway. 

Wind squeals in your ears so loud that you nearly miss the clatter ring through the window. But it's too late for them to kick in the door. You're too far gone for them to catch. Because your feet are flying beneath you. And Rhett's right alongside you. And even the storm cannot conceal the glisten in his eye. The way he laughs, loud and triumphant and excited. 

It's the scene that's played through your head ever since you met. 

A voice calls out. Rhett splits off to slam his truck bed cover closed. You keep going.

Another one echoes through the storm. Deeper. Shouting your name.

"Stop!" 

But there's no leash to hold you back. No magical lasso that they can throw out and reel you back in with. Nothing stops you from pulling on the handle of the passenger door and leaping up into the seat, scrambling to slam it shut before someone can magically appear to wedge it open. 

Rhett's door squeals open. Vehicle swaying as he all but launches himself inside, fumbling for the gear shift. 

The truck jerks forward, engine roaring as the tires spin. The tail end jerks to the left, then the right, then back to the left again, gunning it down the driveway.  

Light pours through the front door, vaguely human blotches rushing out onto the porch. Even as you twist to look out the rear window, they're nothing more than tiny spots of color, growing smaller and smaller. The headlights of a truck flick on, but it's no use. Rhett's tires are already kissing the pavement of the main road.

You blink, and the house is gone; you might as well be a million and one mile away.

Rhett's head turns, just as yours does, eyes locking for the briefest of seconds. A little rumble of something escapes him, and it must be contagious because something a giggle is bubbling out of you, boiling into laughter.  

"That was," his mouth fumbles through his smile, "not how I planned it."

"What, were you hoping to get shot at, too?" Slow, you turn to settle back into the seat, wedged between him and the duffel bag crammed against the passenger door. 

Something sharp stabs in your lower belly. So sudden that it has your knees knocking together, eyes squeezing shut. As quickly as it happened, a wave of heat curls into its place, an uncomfortable wetness appearing between your legs.

A hand appears on your thigh. Hot. Clammy. "You okay?" 

"Heat." Is all you can say. 

That's all it is, really. Cramps. The one thing that manages to be worse than your heat itself. You can handle the overwhelming craving for an alpha between your legs, stretching you to your limit as he knots you over and over and over.

Ugh. You can't be thinking of this right now. 

Just like how you shouldn't be slouching to your left, cheek squishing Rhett's shoulder, big and warm, and right where he tends to spray his cologne. Faint from a day of wear, but there's still a peppery note lingering on him, overwhelmed by...something you can't describe. 

Something that makes the tip of your nose feel numb. 

Odd. It was there last night, too, but you don't recall it appearing any other time before that. There was certainly no trace of it in the barn or when he snuck into your bedroom afterward. Maybe your heat has warped your sense of smell again; it wouldn't be the first time. 

Rhett's foot shifts from the gas, gently pressing against the brakes for an upcoming red light, fingers audibly drumming against the steering wheel. 

Something white rolls across the floorboard, tiny somethings rattling around inside. Tumbling toward the front of the truck, then falling back to thunk against the toe of your muddy hose shoe. 

"'s just some vitamins," Rhett mutters, kicking them with his foot, sending the bottle thunking against the passenger door, cap popping open. A myriad of long, round blue pills spill out, decorating the floor. 

Huh. 

You've never seen blue vitamins before, their pastel color seeming to glow in the lights hanging overhead, Wabang's feeble attempt at keeping the darkness of night at bay. Curious, you lean down and reach out for the container. Your fingertips brush against the plastic on your first try, depth perception warped by the haze of your heat, but you get it on the second attempt.

Suppressants for Alphas only 250MG Rut Suppressants.

Your head turns to Rhett. His eyes dart from the label. To yours. Then, back to the road. 

The pieces click together so perfectly that you can hear them falling into place. Resonating through your empty skull until every fiber of your psyche echoes the same thing. 

"You started your rut," it slips out of your mouth like it's a scientific breakthrough. A discovery that will be written in the history books for millennia. 

His Adam's apple bobs, swallowing hard. A pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Didn't want ya thinkin' that was my reason for all this."

"I wouldn't have thought that Rhett," reaching for the hand that still rests on your thigh, fingers slotting between his, lightly squeezing it in your grasp. 

But his head just shakes, foot twitching against the gas pedal. The truck lurches, finally beginning to pull through that traffic light. "'s my fault your heat started." 

"I know." You already put that together. It explains everything: the odd timing and the sudden onset of it at the rodeo. That funny scent he's been wearing...it was from the pills. 

He looks at you again, teeth worrying his bottom lip, already swollen from the abuse. First, the licking, now the chewing. If you give it a minute, he'll start rubbing at them with his fingertips. For now, those heavy eyes dart back to the road. Guilty. "'n you're not upset 'bout that?" 

You're not entirely sure what to say to him. That the timing may be inconvenient, but you're happy to be here with him, running after a fever dream that might or might not work out? Do you admit that you wish this would have happened sooner? 

So many thoughts, and yet, not a word drifts down to your tongue. Instead, all you can think to do is this. Leaning over, left arm crammed between your bodies, as your right squirms across his belly, squeezing him. A poor attempt at a hug, but he softens under your touch all the same.

"It's not your fault," you murmur after a moment. The world around you is beginning to twist again, warping into a familiar blur, makes it hard to move your mouth. "You wouldn't hold it against me if my heat triggered your rut. Why would it be any different the other way around?"

You don't feel him move, but his lips find their way to your temple, lingering for a fleeting second. They would likely stay longer if driving didn't demand so much of his attention, hand idly working the steering wheel as you rumble through Wabang. If anyone has followed you this far, then surely they'll lose you here; too many winding streets for them to maintain a trail.

There's a part of you that wonders if you fell asleep because the next time your eyes open, the road is different. One moment, you're in town, and the next, you're on a dark, four-lane highway merely illuminated by the vivid beams of his headlights. 

Or maybe...maybe it's just two lanes because the lights on the dash seem to have doubled. Blurry and out of focus, no matter how much you try to blink your vision back into clarity. Shifting in the seat, you lift your head. 

And immediately let it thunk back onto Rhett's shoulder, vision twisting as if you've spent the past thirty minutes spinning in circles. "Ugh."

"There you are," Rhett hums. His hand drops down to squeeze your knee, giving it a little shake. "Did you know that ya snore?" 

"I do not!" Your squeal comes out as a hoarse croak. So foreign in your mouth that you hardly recognize it. 

An invisible bolt of lightning fires up your belly. 

Slick pools between your legs, staining your underwear and seeping down to your thighs. There's a shiver in your bones that wasn't there before, wavering like a leaf in high wind, without rhyme or reason. And there's this deep set ache in your lower stomach, reaching all the way to your weeping cunt, almost sore from lack of use, demanding attention that your fingers can't satisfy. 

"What's wrong?" Rhett's voice meets your ears like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day. 

Shame that it can't ward off the wave of cramps thundering through your lower belly. "Hurts," 

"Jus' a few more miles, 'kay?" His arm lifts, draping across your weary shoulders like a blanket. It's a fleeting touch that'll be forced to end at the next curve in the road, but it's nice to slouch into, head coming to rest against the side of his chest. Thin muscle flexes under your cheek, stretched so tightly that you can feel the bone lurking underneath. 

You wonder if he's just naturally built so wirey or if he'll be one of those alpha's that grow bulkier with a mating bond. It's hard to figure it out without being familiar with his family; if you knew the Abbotts personally, then maybe you'd have heard the stories of it happening with his father or brother. Maybe even a grandparent.

On its own, your hand shifts, crawling to rest on his knee. It's just as bony as the rest of him, and yet, conceals just enough muscle to cling onto the backs of those bulls. They're invisible at first glance, but if you squeeze, you can feel the softness of them, wrapped around hard bone. 

"Are you feelin' me up?" He chuckles, wiggling his leg back and forth as if to try and shake you off. 

Well, you weren't yet, but now that he's put the idea in your head...

Rhett sucks in a breath. His hips jerk, the truck lurching as his foot spontaneously presses against the pedal. You've felt him in your palm before, but fuck you don't remember him being this thick, twitching under the slightest bit of pressure. 

"Wait," he grunts. That arm is already slipping out from behind your shoulder, big hand encircling your wrist.

Maybe you should have asked first. "Did I—"

"No. God no," talking so fast that he stumbles over his words, "just...hurts." 

And yet, he makes no move to draw your hand away, letting it remain there as he focuses on keeping the truck on the road, grip so firm that you're almost certain he won't let you pull back. It's all you can do to ignore the way he throbs through his jeans, pulsing against your soft palm, testing the will of the zipper confining him.

It must take a year for him to begin turning off onto an exit, dark and poorly lit by a scattered array of frail lamp posts. The road thins, and all of a sudden, neon flickers to life—a hotel sign. Logo written in such gaudy cursive that you can hardly read its name. 

A whine rattles out of you, squirming impossibly closer. 

There's a blip in your memory. 

You don't remember when he pulled into the parking lot or when you got out of the truck. But the air is cool around your ankles, and his arm is tight around your waist, forcing you to remain upright. You can't feel your feet moving, but you're stumbling along next to him anyway, head hanging low, too heavy for the rest of your body. 

"Where...?" 

"Almost there." His voice is on your left. Damn this stupid heat, why was that such a surprise to you? 

A shrill beep sounds. Green flashes. 

A bed.

It's as if a switch has flipped. The door falls shut behind you, but your feet are glued to the floor; the edges of your vision still twist, but the world around you has become noticeably...still. Surreal, even. Any moment now, you're waiting to blink away the sight of this drab little hotel and find yourself standing in the four familiar walls of your bedroom.

But as you lift your head, gaze crawling up Rhett's chest like a hungry animal, that doesn't happen. The sight of him doesn't begin to fade, his body remaining firm against yours, even as your eyes dare to meet. 

According to the romance novels and the films you've spent so much time watching, you're supposed to be the disheveled one here. Hell, maybe you are. But those films never depicted how pretty an alpha can be when their rut has set in. Freshly bitten lips, messy hair, and rosy cheeks, gazing at you with those glistening eyes. It's as if you hold his entire world in the palm of your hand.  

Slow, you twist, careful to mind where your numb feet fall, greedy hands roaming up the thick expanse of his chest, sculpted from a lifetime of back-breaking labor. Then, wandering up his neck, slowing to feel the vein bulging there, chasing it up into the soft hair clinging to his jaw. Your thumb swipes across his bottom lip, watching how it squishes under the pressure.

His eyelashes flutter; you wonder if he was a butterfly in his past life, still clinging to old habits. It's a question you'll have to ask him later when you're not halfway into leaning in and catching those thin lips in yours. 

There goes your head again, swirling 'round and 'round, set into motion by the hum that rattles out of him. One little peck. Your hands drop back down to feel the swell of his chest. A second. His arms begin to wind around you. A third, and the heel of his palm is pressing into the small of your back, and you're crumpling.

It's like a freshly knocked-over candle. The smokey leather of his scent, haunted by the fading chemical that temporarily overrode the pheromones radiating off of him. Invisible to the nose at first, but the fire is already beginning to spread until it's roaring so bright that you reckon flames might come out of your ears. 

Your arms coil around his thin waist, cinching him in with a strength you thought you'd lost. A stray foot slots between yours, his chest pushing into you, and the room is spinning. Caught by a mattress that squeals and bounces with your combined weight, unprepared for such a landing. 

"You 'megas sure get strong when ya want somethin'," Rhett's hair tickles your forehead as he settles on top of you. Perfectly slotted between your parted legs, jeans deliciously rough against your exposed thighs, pajama shorts hardly doing anything to conceal you. 

A little too curious, your hips roll, eager to find out if you can feel the bulge of his cock. 

You can.

Worse. He felt it too, already beginning to swivel forward, a foreign pressure appearing against your weeping cunt. Something jolts up your spine. Doesn't necessarily hurt; more of a reminder of what you don't have.

"Like you're so innocent in all this," your words come out rushed, riding the coattails of a shaky breath. 

He doesn't have anything to say to that, maybe a little shy as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek. A stark contrast to the bold hips that press into you, so eager and desperate to feel you. It's like the first time you crossed that boundary, ground down on each other until neither could take it anymore. 

Except, this time, you've no reason to stop there. 

No family. No concern about high-dollar alphas or uncomfortable, fashionable outfits. These peeling walls couldn't care less about who you coil your legs around. This bed isn't going to fuss at you for spreading your legs to a scruffy ranch hand without a pedigree. 

You're the only one who cares about the way he guides himself with his nose, blindly wandering back to meet your mouth. Kisses you with all the fervor of a man who's just found everything he's ever wanted. 

His hands are everywhere, cradling your face, skirting down your sides, and wandering up under your shirt, callouses catching on the soft skin of your belly as he roams beneath. Then he's above your shirt again, dragging up the swell of your breasts, on his way to grip your jaw.

It's so hard to stay still. Your fingers find their way to his flannel, already trying to work it open. It's so much harder with your eyes closed, shivering hands struggling to remain still. Fuck, this button just doesn't want to move. Stubbornly caught in the hole, refusing to slip through, even as you pull—

It snaps off. Lands atop your heaving chest. Rhett draws back, already looking down at it. 

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't be." The corner of his lip lifts, flashing a sharp canine. Cocky, as he reaches for the shirt, buttons flying as he yanks it open. "'s kinda hot."

And just like that, he's leaning back onto his haunches, hands skimming down your sides until his fingers can comfortably hook under your shorts. Obedient, your hips lift, knees cinching up to help get them past your ankles. They're gone in an instant, underwear and all.

Is he trying to take his time? Probably.

Does that stop you from impatiently pinching his belt buckle open and yanking on the zipper? No. No, it does not. 

"Alright, alright," only Rhett Abbott can laugh this prettily, cherry red cheeks and all. "'n here I am tryin' to be a gentleman." 

You and your swirling head know that he has to pull away to get those jeans off. They need to come off, but you're already whining for him to come back. Some primal, involuntary noise that you don't recall making before, pathetic as a wounded animal.

Rhett's head jerks up. "It's okay, it's okay," he's already coming back. You knew he would, but the dumb part of your brain argues that he wouldn't have unless you made that pitiful little noise. 

But regardless of the reason, his big, warm body is slotting between your legs, his big chest flexing as he crawls up to meet your mouth. It hardly even counts as a kiss, more of a pressure that serves to remind you he's there. He's here. With you, and he's not going anywhere else. 

"I ain't goin' anywhere," he murmurs as if he's heard every silent worry racing through your dumb little mind. Can't seem to think about anything except for him and his scent and the feel of him against you and what he might be doing next.

His head dips, nuzzling you with his temple. It's the simplest damn thing, but hell, if it doesn't suck the air right out of your lungs. The innately primal drag of his scent glands against your skin, marking you like a prize he's fought tooth and nail to keep. Perfect in every sense of the term, everything you've imagined and more. 

You don't know what made your eyes drift down, but one way or another, they do, and—

"Jesus, Rhett." You've been anticipating this going a number of ways, but good lord, you didn't have this on your laundry list of ideas, what-ifs, and daydreams. 

Even when you were greedily decorating your imaginary version of him, you never quite pictured his cock to be this fucking thick. So damn heavy that it hangs between his legs, hovering just above your belly, the faintest swell of his knot already beginning to show. 

His chuckle almost sounds devilish; knows damn well what he's got and what it could do to you. "Don't think much of me is gonna fit." Understatement of the fucking century. 

No wonder he never let you touch him; he probably thought it would scare you away. In your right mind, maybe it would, but you can almost feel the hearts blossoming in your eyes, already beginning to reach for him. Your hand freezes midway—maybe you should ask first. He still might not...

He's gently taking you by the wrist, guiding you the rest of the way. This is your first ride in this particular rodeo, but your fingers wrap around his base as if you've been doing it for decades. Oh, he's so much bigger than he looked, makes your hand appear tiny as it glides up the length of him. It's enough to have your heart jumping in your chest, pitter-pattering with a newfound vigor. 

Wetness pools between your legs. So much of it that you can feel the way it runs down your thighs, and you just can't help but angle him down, dragging his fat cock head through your weeping folds. 

He groans. 

Your vision blurs. 

The world might fall apart.

A sudden shiver takes hold of you. Quaking like you're being rattled from the inside out, another wave of slick drooling out of your poor, unused cunt, delirium settling at the forefront of your mind. Saliva drips from the corner of your mouth, the edges of your vision blurring to the point of disappearing entirely.

"Shit..." One of you says it. You're not sure who.

It's as if you're the gasoline and Rhett is the lighter, setting you ablaze with the slightest hint of a flame. You don't realize you're still wearing a shirt until after it's peeled over your head, and even then, the loss of it does nothing to soothe the invisible wildfire claiming every inch of your skin.

Oh, and you think he might have it as bad as you do. Noses and chests crashing together, pinning your arm between your bellies, his cock rutting against your cunt like it's always belonged there. He whines into your mouth, jerking forward, the underside of his length massaging against your swollen clit. 

"Fuckin'..." he loses track of his words, panting against your mouth like a dog in the sun, "hell, 'm tryna go slow, but—"

Your body jerks up off the bed. Desperate. Needy. Aching for more than just a brush of him against you. The slow glide of him isn't enough. More. You need so much more. But it's hard to speak when your mouths clash, tongues tangling so sloppily that calling it a kiss would be an insult to the word. 

"Go." Panting against his lips. "Slow." One more word. One more word. "Later." 

Rhett draws back, spit-slick lips glistening in the light. The corner of his eye twitches. As if set off by it, you involuntarily clamp down around nothing, needily seeking something that isn't there yet. The emptiness is nauseating. 

"Rhett," you plea, because why in God's name is he not in you yet?

Dumb, stupid, well-meaning alpha. Always has to be taking his time and treating you like you're made of glass, ready to shatter at any given moment. But you're made of the same material as he is, fully capable of rolling over and—

Teeth sink into the scruff of your neck. Every bone, muscle, and fiber in your body goes still. You're stuck like this. Face down, trapped beneath his body, ass high in the air for him. Big arms cage your waist, his chest resting against your back like you're a pair of wild animals—no grace or sophistication about it. 

"'m tryin' to be careful with you, darlin'," his growl is muffled by your own flesh, still caught between his sharp teeth, "y' don't want me bruisin' this little pussy of yours, now do ya?" 

And as if to punctuate his sentence, his hips twitch toward, cock slipping between your slick-soaked thighs. Draws back, angle shifting just enough to have his blunt tip pressing against your weeping entrance, opening you the slightest fraction, then slipping out to slide through the folds of your cunt instead. 

The voice in your head suggests it's a threat. A reminder of what he's capable of. But your body says otherwise, already pressing back into him despite the teeth holding you pliant. Thick waves of want pulsing through your veins, thoughts aligning to echo the same damn thing. You need more. 

A cramp takes hold of your lower belly, a stabbing sort of sensation that makes you wince. Whatever primal instinct lingering in your genetics is livid.

"It hurts." You cry in a pitchy tone you've never heard yourself use before. 

"'m gonna fix it," his mouth reels away from your neck, licking over the irritated skin. "I promise."

Again, you push back. Hands digging into the bed, moving with your whole body. Sharp teeth sink back into your neck, his arms coiling around you, pulling tight until you can no longer move. 

That pressure appears again, and this time, it doesn't disappear. The unmistakable sensation of his fat cock head pressing into your pussy. He feels so much different than the silicone of your toys, warm and pulsing and so much fucking thicker; you're quite literally made to take a cock like his, loose and slick with your heat, and yet there's still an ache blooming. 

It feels impossible. There's no way...there's no way that's going to fit. 

Oh, but the feel of his tip alone has you gushing around him, an obscene amount of slick waterfalling down your thighs and onto the mattress below. He groans, low and heavy, his heated breath tickling the back of your ear.

"Rhett..." 

"I'm here," he's murmuring, and again, he's soothing the bite with his tongue. You wonder if this is what it would feel like for him to mate you. For him to sink his teeth into the scent gland on the side of your neck and let instinct take over, lick the wound clean, smother you in his scent, and then bear his pretty, pale neck for you to take for yourself. 

You can't think about it for long. Not with his cock sinking into your aching heat, filling every centimeter of you, so big that he presses against each and every little nerve without needing to try. It's as if you're being split wide open, forced to do nothing but relax and take it like a good little omega. 

A whimper escapes you, pitchy and involuntary. Set off by the drag of his tip against a particularly sensitive spot. 

"'s that where you like it?" He coos, rumbling into your ear. It's all you can do to tilt your head back, your cheek bumping into his nose. So close, not another word spoken.

It's like being broken apart and then built back up again. Fuck you can feel him up in your throat. The stretch of him is so much that it aches. Your mouth falls open at the feel of him inching deeper and deeper, pushing the air from your lungs, winding your muscles tight. Head spinning with a gentleness that wasn't there before as if your own body knows that it no longer needs to fuss about an alphas cock. 

The solid bone of his hips presses into the swell of your ass. Fully in you now. His heated breath fans out over your shoulder, heavy and carrying the faintest noises along with it. 

You'd thought that you'd let go of the breath caught in your throat, but...but...

"Fuck, look at you," the soft scruff of his jaw tickles your naked shoulder, such a foreign sensation to feel him there. So unfair. You should have known this feeling years ago. "So fuckin' pretty." 

His hands roam up your sides, callouses catching on the smooth skin, dragging just right. A shiver ripples up your spine, body involuntarily falling forward, only to sway back into him. 

Stars sparkle. Your legs nearly come out from under you. "Shit, Rhett..." 

So much. There's so much of him. In you and around you and on top of you and crowding every single one of your senses. There's no hotel.  No concern about how terrible everyone at home may feel. No earth around you. Not a single star in the galaxy. Just Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. 

"Move," you whisper as kisses press to the length of your spine. One after the other, like he's trying to love on each and every bone there. 

You squirm forward, then back again, hardly enough to even count as a movement, but the underside of his cock drags right against a nerve that damn near takes your voice away. His hand flattens against your belly, but he doesn't hear you. 

"Move," you try again, craning your head to look at him. Dark blue eyes lift, looking back at you, still peppering your back with love. "Please, Rhett—"

His hips snap into you. Pressing hard.

Your elbows crumple, falling face first into the pillow, but he just keeps fucking pressing into you, as if you could possibly take any more. A whine sparks out of you, twisting to expose your neck to him. He chuckles at that, low and dark, tongue poking past his lips to run over the delicate scent gland hiding there. 

 Then, slowly, he begins to move. Drawing back at a snail's pace, his forearms caging your waist as if to keep you from running away when he pushes back into you. Shivers run through your thighs, already beginning to clench from the feeling of him inside you alone. 

You've dreamed of this too many times for the newness to remain for long, squirming beneath him, fighting to keep your eyes on his face. Flushed and red in the cheeks, has yet to say anything, but it's easy to tell that he's feeling it, too. 

Those careful back and forths are already beginning to find their confidence, like he's slowly realizing that his cock isn't going to break you into two, no matter how much it feels like it will. Hips hitting your ass hard enough to send you jolting, a surprised little 'uh' breaking past your lips. 

"Only goddamn omega in the state of Wyomin'," he muses aloud, nails dragging over the side of your ass, making you squirm against him, "n here ya are, gettin' mounted by a cowboy." 

Impatient, he snaps into you. Heavy balls smacking into your clit. Electricity jumps up your belly. You hardly recognize what's happening. But you're fluttering around him. Heart lurching in your chest. Slick gushing down your thighs. Crying out as you suddenly cum on his cock. Eyes rolling back into your head and all. 

"Fuck, that's...fuck,"  Rhett hisses through grit teeth, but he's not stopping. No, no, he's not even slowing down. 

Shocks fire through your nerves with every motion. The kiss of his fat head against your nerves. The drag of his length along your trembling walls. The slight swell of a knot catching on your swollen entrance. But it feels so good that you can't do anything but hold still, clenching around him like a goddamn vice.

"Can't believe I never—mmh," his head falls forward, thunking against your shoulder, hips rolling into you in languid motions. "Can't believe I went this long without breedin' this pretty lil pussy of yours." 

Air catches in your throat. Cunt sent into a spasm from his words alone. "If you keep talking, I'm...I'm..." You haven't got an ending for that sentence, left open-ended and hanging. 

Kisses lead up the side of your neck, working their way to your jaw. You tilt your head, trying your best to meet him. The angle puts a strain on your neck, unable to bend any further. Even as you push your hands into the mattress and try to force yourself backward, you can't...quite...

The room shifts. Falling forward into the pillow. Rhett's heavyweight collapses on top of you. Cool air greets your swollen cunt, suddenly empty. 

"Well, that didn't..." Rhett's laugh is a melody in your ear, his smile so big that you can feel it against your cheek, "that didn't work too well." 

Between the emptiness in your skull and the sudden change in position, figuring out where you start and where he ends is a...challenge. He starts moving at the same time that you do. His knee awkwardly slots behind your thighs. Your knuckles accidentally smack into his jaw. And he's moving toward you, but you're twisting against the mattress, and your noses are smacking into each other—

"There's your pretty face," he grins, a little too cheerful. You've barely got time for your back to settle against the cheap mattress before he leans in.

The kiss is a little too innocent for what's going on below. Soft, chaste pecks. A sharp contrast to the way he settles between your parted legs, heavy cock bumping into you. Your hand darts between your bellies, blindly guiding him toward your sex. 

It's easier the second time. The gentle glide of him, chasing away that infuriating emptiness as he sinks back into you, balls bumping into your ass. So much better. This is so much better. You're already wandering, hands roaming across the broad expanse of his shoulders, seeking the perfect spot to cling on to him.

"Look at that..." he breathes, and you don't need to guess to know what he's referring to, "gonna have y' limpin' before the nights over." 

It's the kind of thing that has you shivering. The obscene sight of his thick cock disappearing between your legs stretched to your absolute limit. Impossible to look away from, even when he draws back by an inch or two, testing the angle as he sinks back in. Almost effortless, he nudges against a bundle of nerves. Sets it ablaze like a match on gasoline.

"Fuck. I can feel ya clenchin' round me, sweetheart," his eyelashes flutter, hair falling into his red face, swinging in synchrony with the lazy rocking of his body, easing in and out of you. "'s it feel that good?"

Greedy, you reach for his biceps, squishing the girth of them, muscle flexing beneath your fingertips. "Uhuh," speaking dumbly. Not another thought crosses your mind. 

There can't possibly be a bad position with Rhett, but this is something else entirely. Feels so nice to wrap your legs around his hips, heels digging into his ass, clinging to his big, warm body. Chest to chest, so close that his scruffy jaw tickles your cheek, big blue eyes threatening to drown you if he gets any closer.

Your mouths fall open, meeting for another one of those kisses that insult the romantics attached to such a word. Nothing but lewd tongue and saliva running down your chins, panting into each other, breath so hot that it ought to fog up the room. And you just can't help it, not with the press of his cock against your nerves, so damn big that missing them is impossible.

He's too quiet. Stiffling little noises in the back of his throat, extinguishing them before they can make it past the tip of his tongue. One of your hands is slithering up his arm. Wandering across the expanse of his shoulders, fingers tangling into the loose curls at his nape and pulling. 

A whine cuts through the air. Muffled at the end, but it's there nonetheless.

Words collide in your head. Tumbling down onto your drooling tongue. "Wanna hear you." 

It should take more convincing than that, but for some reason, that's all that it takes for him to give you what you want. A little noise soars out of him with all the perfection and catchiness of the new biggest hit playing on the radio. 

You think you can cum from that sound alone. 

This is so surreal. 

The nuzzle of his nose against yours, panting against your lips. The flex of muscle in his belly, as he draws himself back and forth, rutting into you, slow, yet meeting your body hard enough to have your back jostling against the mattress. You think you catch the sound of your name, twisted into the symphony of noises rattling around the room.

"I love you," it slips out of you with crippling ease; has been sitting on your tongue for so, so long that you forgot it was there at all. 

His lips wobble up into a smile. There's a glassiness in his eye that wasn't there before. "And I love you." 

He melts. 

Falls into you, even. 

Nothing but sweaty skin and wandering hands and peppered kisses everywhere that they'll fit. Up the side of your clammy neck, atop his burning forehead. The base of his knot is starting to swell, catching on your entrance with every stroke, tugging just enough for it to rip a gasp out of you. 

"'m close," he whispers, just a little secret to be shared between you and him. Not another soul is allowed to know of this little slice of heaven situated atop this old hotel mattress. "You gotta...baby, if y' don't let me go, 'm gonna..."

"Knot." Blurting. Your eyes flutter. "Please, I want—"

He hums. Doesn't need to open his mouth for you to understand that he gets it. No fuss about the crippling lack of a condom or how you really, truly can't go back from this, instead blindly following your request with crippling loyalty. Yours. Your alpha. The one who would follow you to the ends of the earth without a word. 

Even if you wanted to, it's too late to change your mind because his knot is too swollen to slip out of you. Weary, unstable thrusts are forced into an unfamiliar shallowness, but it's forcing an angle that has him rolling directly into every little nerve. You can't stop the hand that dives between your bodies, fingertips pressing to your clit in a familiar fashion.

Just a little more. Just a little more.

An involuntary clench is all it takes to have him spilling over the edge. Face falling into the crook of your neck, cumming with a choked cry that rings through your head. Fuck nobody ever told you that you'd be able to feel his knot swelling inside of you. Stretching you beyond your limit, hot cum spilling into your pussy, not a drop of it spilling out. 

Without warning, your back twitches up off the bed, cumming without warning. Head thrown back. Heart pounding against your chest. Clenching like a vice around Rhett's twitching cock. You might be muttering his name because you can feel your mouth moving, but you're too far away to hear what's leaving your lips. Entirely lost in the thundering clouds looming in the skies. 

However long you're up there, you have no idea, but at some point, Rhett finds the strength to settle onto his forearms. Pressing kisses to your lower jaw and trailing up to your temple, shiny with your scent. No two descriptions of it have been the same, but you like to believe his description is closest to reality. A fresh strawberry pie, sitting on the windowsill after the rain has ended. 

You can't help yourself, his neck is right there. The gland exposed to you like he's trying to show it off, so sensitive that he gasps at the nip of your teeth. 

He hums, leaning back just far enough to get a look at your face. Whatever he finds looming behind your sparkling eyes is enough to have a smile contorting his lips. Then, he tilts his head to the side, properly bearing his neck to you.

You know what he's offering. Asking. The quietest proposal you've ever heard. 

Logic suggests that you wait. Give yourselves time to grow together. Adjust to the discomfort of a collar in exchange for the opportunity to take things slow. The world won't end if you step off onto the well-worn path of tradition; if it's worked for everyone else, then it should work for you.

But you've done enough waiting. Your heart made its decision a long time ago. 

The movies made this seem like some blinding moment of passion. The moment your teeth sink into the delicate scent gland, the world should explode into colors that you've never seen before. The answers to the universe ought to dance around your fingertips, hearts springing from your eyes. 

But all Rhett does is giggle. 

Gidy, like a little kid on the playground, as he cranes his head to find the matching spot on your neck. Soothing it with his tongue before his canines break the skin. 

Blood rushes to your face so quickly that you can hear it in your ears. Your heart jumps, and maybe it grows the slightest bit warmer, but...nothing changes. It's still you, Rhett, and his big, strong body shielding yours from the world. These hands that cradle your cheeks are still the ones that you've known all these years. He still nuzzles your noses together, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

Voices rattle in the hallway. Something—no, someone, bumps against the door, her giggles intertwining with the laughter of a much deeper voice. 

"Mine." 

You don't recognize...

was that you?

 "'re you growlin' again?" Rhett asks, in that playfully accusatory tone, shoulders already shaking with a laugh.

You don't realize your chest is rumbling until it stops. "No." Blinking. No, that wasn't...

"Didn't know y' were this possessive of me," there's no arguing with him; he knows what he's heard. Already beginning to cover your cheek in kisses, his body shifting between your legs. That knot is still snug, tying your bodies together for the next half-hour at minimum. 

"I'm not possessive," you try, but it's hard to be convincing when he's looking at you with those pretty blue eyes like you're his whole world and then some. Maybe that's your hopeful heart talking, or maybe it's truly what you saw. 

"Yes, you are," amusement lacing his tone, "'s cute." 

If heaven's a moment, then you must be dead. 

There are too many things in this damn kitchen.

Scratch that, too many fucking cookies. Some still rising in the oven, and others are scattered on plates across the counter, with their stupid, sweet aroma that does nothing but give you a mild migraine. This idea was better in theory than in execution. You'll be damned if you get ambitious and decide to bake treats for everyone on the ranch again. 

A warmth greets your nose. Leather and something smokey sweet, like a marshmallow roasting over an open campfire. Just a hint of it at first, carrying in through the back door and swirling around the room like a loose tornado, growing in tune with the boots thunking toward you.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

"Are you ever taking those spurs off?" You chirp, too focused on setting this tray on top of the stove to look in his direction. If you drop these, your life might end on the spot.

Arms coil around your waist, the thick muscle rippling as he draws you back by an inch, your back coming to rest against a sturdy chest. Lips press to your cheek. One. Two. Three kisses. Leading down to his favorite grand finale: the scar on your neck. 

A shiver ripples up your spine. 

"Gon' have to leave soon," He doesn't answer your question. Probably because you already know the answer; he was going to, but he forgot. "'s a long drive, 'member?"

"Hang on, hang on." Placing the oven mitt off to the side, you reach for a cookie. Still warm, but no longer a burn hazard. Blindly, you lift it to your shoulder until he leans forward to take it with his mouth. "You go pro, and all of a sudden, you're insufferable again."

A chuckle rumbles out of him at that, but he's temporarily muzzled, the short hair on his chin tickling your skin when he nears the end of the cookie. His lips wrap around the tips of your fingers, stealing away the final piece. 

"Like you ain't got a thing for showin' me off after a good ride," his arms tighten as he speaks, fully securing you against him now. 

...and drawing your ass right into a familiar pressure. Don't need to look to know that you're pressing yourself back into the bulge in his jeans, heavy and looking for fun that you, unfortunately, don't have time for. "Are we still talking about bull riding?" 

Twisting in his arms is easy. You've done it so many times that you ought to know that you should draw your head back, but your noses collide anyway. Breaking the habit isn't worth it. 

"Dunno," he's got chocolate on the corner of his lip, and even his smile cannot distract you from it, "you tell me." 

This is a routine you've danced a hundred times. The pre-rodeo adrenaline that has him crawling all over you like some kind of love bug, desperate to relieve the tension building in his muscles. 

Relieving it is only temporary; you should know. You rode him within an inch of his life last month, and he still jumped the fence to get to you, the camera chasing him and touting you to the world as Rhett Abbott's mate—his omega, at that. So much for organically reaching out and introducing your family to the man you left everything for. 

You still need to answer the bombardment of texts that have been rotting in your phone. 

Careful to avoid the hot pan, your hand darts back toward the counter, feeling around until you find something warm and round. Making extra of these has been your best idea yet.

"Then we're talking about both," you pull him in for a kiss. Swift. Chaste. And before he can lean in and seek out any more, you shove the cookie into his mouth. 

Your shirt is gone before you can leave the kitchen. 

By the time your back hits the bedroom door, his hands are disappearing below your waistband, and sickly sweet chocolate is the only thing you can taste on his lips. There are things to do. Places to be. Bags to load into the car and a map to figure out.

But you fear you've grown addicted to these grumbling kisses of his, crave the warmth of his body against yours and all of the other things that come with him. It's a hunger you've never been able to satisfy, and not another alpha will do. Not one with money. Or someone that your family hand-picked. Or someone with a fancy cologne crafted by a brand you can't pronounce the name of.

Just this one. 

[darthdaddi]

Kissing Santa

Warnings: MDNI, fluffy, smutty thigh riding, sweet kisses, slight food play (if you squint), Hayden is dressed as Santa Claus, short lil drabble :)

A/n: Eeee, I was thinking about writing a fic for Christmas and I came up with the idea with @bimbo-baggins17 🌚 I hope you enjoy the sweet and smutty story. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and happy holidays to all (*´∀｀*)

This is your third year as a little family with Hayden and your daughter. The two of you had the idea of dressing him up as Santa and record him being "caught" for your kid, Christmas magic of course.

Hayden came out with a displeased look on his face, fake gut under the suit comprised of pillows. "This feels ridiculous, damn beard is itchy.." he grumbled, pulling away the elastic beard away from his face to stratch the stubble underneath.

You giggled and leaned against the armrest of the couch, "You agreed to this Santa, plus it's only for a few minutes. Just take a bite of the cookie and drink some of the milk, put some of her presents under the tree and I'll have it recorded. It's not that bad."

Hayden rolled his eyes and smirked subtly, plopping down on his recliner across from you, "Yeah, yeah..." He muttered, eyeing the cookies and milk on the side table. They did look damn good, his wife was always a good baker.

He had this glint in his eye, watching you in that damn silk nightie you wore for bed, already feeling that familiar strain in the cheap crushed velvet fabric. "And what would you like for Christmas, little girl?" Hayden asked, putting on a hearty fake voice with a small chuckle of amusement.

"Really, Hay?" You murmured and giggled with a head shake, walking over to him and perched yourself in his thigh.

"Really." Hayden confirmed and nodded with mock seriousness, pulling down the white beard. "Because I could think of one thing I'd like for Christmas..." He muttered and pulled you down by the chin, capturing your lips in a soft kiss.

Happily obliging, you returned the kiss, but not without snapping a picture on your phone. After the pull back, you laughed softly, "I guess mommy really did kiss Santa Claus."

Your husband rolled his eyes at that one. Yeah he was usually corny, but that was just bad. "Well... Mommy can do a lot more than that..." Hayden trailed off, grabbing you by the hips as he began grinding your cunt against his thigh.

With a gasp, you were pawing at him with a slight whine in your tone "Hayden, no! We are supposed to be catching Santa Claus!" You'd protest in a hushed voice, but to no avail, Hayden had a smug grin and goal to meet.

"C'mon, it's just a lil break..." Hayden insisted, his grip unmoving. He could already feel the warmth emitting from your core, he wasn't dumb.

You feigned surrender, but let's be honest, you wanted some alone time just as much as he did, even with the Santa get-up. After a moment of reluctance, you began to shift your hips to the rhythm Hayden had already set.

"There ya go... Just let me guide you, that's it." He murmured, bringing his lips to your neck and leaving soft kisses in their wake. "Definitely on the naughty list.." he joked in a whisper, taking breaks in between kisses.

That earned a giggle from you, hands rested on his broad shoulders. It wasn't until when Hayden started bouncing his knee that you'd bite your bottom lip down to mask any noises you may let out.

The man smirked, looking over to his left to see the plate of cookies left out for the man in red. He grabbed one and brought it to your lips with a slight chuckle, "Open." He simply stated, nudging the delicious baked good at your lips.

You furrowed your eyebrows together in confusion, but opened your mouth anyway, just to have the cookie shoved into your mouth. "There, that'll keep you quiet..." Hayden snickered, making sure you were really ground down onto his thighs in slow, deep motions.

"Hay... I-.." was honestly the only thing you could conjur up as your tummy knotted up, fingers gripping at the red fabric of the costume. Hayden just sat back and watched you begin to unfold in front of him, keeping the rhythm he set for you.

Through the muffle sound of the cookie gag, you came undone quickly, moaning and groaning in satisfaction. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart." Hayden murmured and chuckled as he looked at the clock, 12:01, Christmas day. And he was just getting started.

[superbdonutpoetry]

You Will Be Judged According to Your Knowledge

God cannot judge you on your salvation as a believer, but he can and will judge you on your service at the Judgement Seat of Christ. Philippians 1:10 – Authorised Version That ye may approve things that are excellent; that ye may be sincere and without offence till the day of Christ; What are the good works which have been ordained by God which we are to walk in? Ephesians 2:10 – Authorised…

[alexanderwales]

Castle Solutions was the only time travel company in the world. They had a giant corporate headquarters in downtown Chicago, which was the only place in the entire world with a time machine, at least as far as anyone knew. They were worth hundreds of billions, and the only reason they weren't worth more seemed to be that they didn't care all that much about money. The time machines were used for everything: reporting, media, market corrections, the surveillance state, and industry. Castle Solutions was the lynchpin of the modern world.

Daniel had thought the waiting room would be nicer.

He sat in a blue-gray chair that would have been at home in any waiting room anywhere else in Chicago. Slightly tinny music played over speakers from the ceiling. A fake potted plant sat in one corner, failing to look lively. There were no windows, because the waiting room was deep in the heart of the building, close to the machine itself.

Daniel was the only one in the waiting room. He'd come half an hour early, lugging all his gear, and now the only thing left was for the clock to run down. A bored-looking woman had come in to tell him that it might be awhile, that they were running behind schedule — the time travel company, running behind schedule. So there had been more waiting than expected.

A man in a charcoal gray suit with a simple blue backpack came in. He slung the backpack down onto the ground with a sigh and rubbed his face. He had stubble there, but an artful amount of it, like he'd spent some time in the mirror making sure that it was the right amount of scruff to offset his expensive suit.

Daniel looked straight ahead, trying not to look, keeping his face blank, like he was passing by a homeless person who might ask him for money he didn't have.

"Wow, you've got a lot of stuff," said the man. "Is that a sword?"

"It's a katana," said Daniel. He didn't match the eye contact the man was giving him.

"Oh, cool," said the man. "You're going to ... katana times?"

"Edo Japan, yeah," said Daniel.

Daniel was trying his best not to engage, to get this conversation over as quickly as possible. He wasn't making eye contact.

The man picked up his backpack and moved across the waiting room to be closer to Daniel.

"You speak Japanese?" the man asked.

"Hai, watashi wa nihongo o hanashimasu," replied Daniel. He wished that he were more fluent, that the words had come out less rote.

"Cool," said the man. He had apparently also come closer to get a look at all of Daniel's stuff. His eyes moved over the duffel bags. There wasn't much to see, everything had been carefully packed away. "Wow, you sure are prepared, huh?"

"It's a different time and place," said Daniel with a shrug. It represented five years of planning, five years of training, learning, honing himself.

"Personally, I'm going to 1946," said the man, though Daniel hadn't asked. He held out his hand. "Archie Vedder."

Daniel reluctantly took the hand. "Daniel Strom." He had never really gotten the hang of shaking hands. He worried that his hands were too clammy, a worry that proved founded when Archie wiped his hand on that expensive charcoal suit.

"I went with the kit," said Archie, pointing to his backpack. "I've got papers, I've got a computer with a backup, I've got a projector, a media library, a science library, the whole works, plus some forged bonds and a stack of cash. I got a sweet deal on it, they're overstocked now."

Retreating into the past had seen its heyday. Now most of the people who had been most enthusiastic were gone, and there were only the dissenters left. Everyone agreed with using the machine for the mundane stuff, but simply leaving, never to return, rubbed people the wrong way.

"I guess they don't sell kits for Edo," Archie ventured.

"They do," said Daniel. "They're trash."

"Ah," said Archie.

"This is all custom," said Daniel. "Higher quality, field tested, everything I'll need to set myself up there." Only some of it was stock. He had two computers, three smartphones, chargers and plugs, solar panels, replacement batteries, and redundant media libraries and science libraries.

Archie raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean, field tested? Because people don't come back. You're there for good, right?"

What it actually meant was that Daniel had gone out into a field and tested it, made sure that it worked under various conditions, set himself up like he might be explaining all this to a carefully chosen daimyo. There was only so much that camping in the woods and taking dry run vacations could tell him though.

"Some of it is theory," said Daniel. "Research."

"Yeah, see, that's why I went with 1946," said Archie. "It's really well-trod. You know, I was reading an article the other day that maybe the Baby Boom was a little overstated? Like, we're obviously living in the wake of time travelers, but that's the prime time to come back, anywhere from 1946 to 1960. The economy is doing well, tech is advancing, it's familiar enough. The culture is so close you can sell some stuff from a media library, it's brilliant. You're five steps away from becoming a multimillionaire in a time when that meant something."

"Sure," said Daniel.

"Any reason you're doing hard mode?" asked Archie. "I mean, samurai and ninjas are cool, sure, but —"

"It's not about that," said Daniel.

"Alright, sure," shrugged Archie.

Daniel looked over at the waiting room's lone clock. You would think that a waiting room for a time travel company would have better clocks, but it was a cheap utilitarian design, thin plastic and wobbly hands.

"What's it about then?" asked Archie.

"I was going to go with a friend," said Daniel. "We had practiced together, trained together. Then he got cancer."

"Ah, shit," said Archie.

"He lived," said Daniel. "He's fine. But he's on medications now, and will be for the rest of his life, and he can't go anymore."

"Huh," said Archie. "So there's a friend who you're leaving behind?"

"No," said Daniel. "I mean ... this was what we did together. We talked about it a lot. We read history books and practiced crafts and skills. At the start, I didn't really take it that seriously, it was just a hobby, but I got invested, and I guess I kept seeing it as — I don't know."

"I mean for me, it's a way out," said Archie. "Most people feel that way, yeah? My wife filed for divorce, I got fired from my job, so hey, time to start over in 1946, pretend I'm part of the Greatest Generation, ride the waves I know are coming. Exploit it."

Daniel grimaced. The Vietnam War, segregation, the Red Scare? People had a rosy view of that time. He'd never felt particularly aligned with people like Archie who were just looking to make a quick buck.

"Oh come on," said Archie. "You think you're better than me? You're a, you know, what's the word. Colonizer."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "No."

"What, just 'no', it's not, you know, what we did to the Native Americans?" asked Archie. "The whole 'conquer the past' thing?"

"I'm a single person," said Daniel. "I'm bringing back things that will change their culture forever, but I'm not an agent of my country, and even if I were, I think those people who want to be a god king are morons. And sorry, I'm not spending my last minutes in the present on badly rehashing a debate I've had a thousand times already."

"Why not?" asked Archie. "See, I think having arguments right before you go is great. You can leave on a high note. I've spent the last few days saying whatever the hell I wanted to people. It's great. I went to my dad and said 'hey, you were a terrible father, I never liked you, and it's sad that you thought I needed your approval'. And then you know what's hilarious? I get to just walk away and never be seen again. How's that for a power move? How's that for a mic drop?"

"Seems immature," said Daniel.

"Well, see, I'm actually fine being immature," said Archie with a little laugh. "And when this conversation is done, one or both of us is going into the past, never to be seen nor heard from again, and isn't that great? You don't like me, I don't like you, and then we're strangers again."

Daniel had been looking straight ahead, but he turned to Archie after that. "You don't like me?" he asked. "You don't know me."

"I know your type," said Archie. He leaned back. "You spent what, three years cooking up a plan, making this trip back in time your entire personality, and now you think you're better than me, better than everyone, like you've got it all figured out. You talked yourself into throwing away everything you've got going on here. You got dreams of a future in the past. It's quitter talk, is what it is."

"Fuck off," said Daniel. In his normal life he'd have never said it, but he was on the precipice.

"You think going into the past is going to transform you?" asked Archie. "That another world, a second chance, you'll somehow become the man you think you were supposed to be? Well let me tell you, if you were a loser here, you'll be a loser there."

Daniel stood up and drew his sword. He'd practiced the draw a thousand times. The sword gleamed, even under the ugly fluorescent lighting of the waiting room. "Fuck off, or you'll be going back to the 50s missing a hand."

"Bah," said Archie. "Fine." He stood up and took a seat further away, the same one he'd taken when he first came in. He was bouncing his leg and reading something on his phone.

Daniel was putting his sword back in its sheath when the receptionist came into the room.

"Daniel?" she asked, glancing only briefly at the sword. "They're ready for you."

"Finally," Daniel thought but didn't say, because even though he wasn't going to be around anymore, he believed in basic politeness.

He gathered his things and left the waiting room, ready to leave.

~~~~

Archie sat outside Castle Solutions, in their little courtyard, vaping.

It wasn't long before the receptionist, Lydia, came to sit next to him.

"It didn't really seem like you wanted to convince that one," she said.

"Yeah," he said. "Sorry."

She shrugged and pulled out a vape pen of her own. "Sometimes you just want to yell at someone. I get that. But you're risking us getting caught. And if we get caught in the future, we probably get caught in the present."

"Yup," he said. "Won't happen again."

"Give it a few days before you come back," she said. "Three, let's say. He didn't file a complaint, so there's nothing in the system."

"Mmm," said Archie. He made a long, slow drag of the pen. They sat there vaping together for a while. It had often occurred to him that vaping was impossibly lame, but it felt less lame when done with someone else. He watched as the vapor left her mouth in a thin, concentrated stream. "You wanna go out sometime?"

"On a date?" she asked. She gave the tip of her vape pen a casual look. "No, not really."

"Alright," said Archie.

"I don't really know what your deal is," she said. "Why this is important to you. Why you want to talk people back from the brink, or yell at them."

"Mmm," said Archie. "You want to tragic backstory?"

"Meh," Lydia replied. "I'm not going on a date with someone who has a tragic backstory. That's all. Sorry. I've got my own tragic backstory, thanks very much."

"Fair," said Archie. "It was my kid brother, that's the short version. He up and left one day, left us a note that read like ... well, you know." He drew a finger across his neck.

"Where'd he go?" asked Lydia.

"England, 16th century," said Archie. "He thought he was going to take Shakespeare's place." He shook his head. "Only eighteen, you know? Unconscionable that they let kids that young through. He had his whole life ahead of him and he just ... disappeared."

Lydia sighed. "Yeah."

She turned off her vape pen, then mimed stubbing it out on the bench like a cigarette before slipping it into her purse. He felt a surge of attraction for her.

"Alright, I'll go on the date," said Lydia. "But if we're going to be dating, you've gotta stop this."

"Vaping?" asked Archie.

"You know what I mean," said Lydia. "You going in there trying to convince them to back out, that's one thing. It's noble, almost. But if it's going to be fighting, if it's you trying to work through some shit, then I'm not sticking my neck out for you. Doubly so if you want to get together. You process your trauma some other way, or repress it like the rest of us, alright?"

Archie thought about that for a moment. "Alright. Sure."

"I've got to get back to work," said Lydia as she rose from the bench. "You have my number."

Archie nodded, and after she had left, he stayed, looking out at the courtyard.

He wondered how Daniel was doing out there, in that other timeline, but he supposed that he would never know.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Seed [Pero Tovar x f!reader]

Read on AO3

Now with a sequel: Sprout

Fandom: The Great Wall

Ships: Pero Tovar x f!reader

Tags/warnings: breeding kink from here to high heaven, fear of infertility, lots of piv sex and creampies, multiple orgasms, fingering, pero eats it from the back, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names.

Words: 4,022

Summary: Your husband Pero comes home to put a baby in you. Don't look at me.

The smell of fresh-caught fish mixes with the salty breeze from the sea, and the sweet scent of oranges. You carry your basket through the marketplace, grocery shopping done, when you hear a call from the crowd: "They're back!"

Your heart skips a beat as you swing around, your skirt dancing around your ankles as you see the trade caravan coming down the main street to the marketplace. Your eyes scan the faces, quickly finding the one you are hoping to see.

Your husband, Pero.

Since marrying you and settling in this quiet small town by the sea, he no longer sells his sword to warlords and kings. Instead, he provides protection for caravans. He is mostly away for a week or two at a time, but this time he has been away for months. You have carried your worry and longing stoically, never showing your neighbours your fear, but now you do not care if everybody sees the relief and happiness on your face. You are not the only one with a husband in the caravan, but you are the only one whose husband wields a weapon for a living.

Pero spots you from afar, and he urges his horse into a trot. The clip-clop of the shoed hooves against the cobblestones is the sweetest music you have heard in a long time. You stand still, a smile on your lips, and put the basket down when Pero swings down from horseback, pulls you to him, and wraps his strong arms around you.

"Wife," he murmurs into your hair. "My precious wife."

Your arms reach around his armoured middle as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of the road: dust, sweat, and grime, but you do not care. Underneath all that, you can smell him: horse, hay, earth, metal, spices. You cannot wait to drown in him.

Slowly, Pero strokes your head, making you look at him. You cup his cheek, feeling the stubble that renders his face darker than usual, and unevens the moustache.

"Are you unharmed?" you want to know. He nods slowly.

"Mad from missing you, but not a scratch on me."

He touches his lips to yours, just a gentle little return kiss from an absent husband to his beloved wife, but you know that as soon as you are behind closed doors, he is going to devour you.

"Let's go home," you suggest, enjoying the way your husband's beautiful brown eyes melt into dark liquid.

He helps you up on the horse and mounts behind you. Your basket securely in front of you and Pero sliding one arm around your waist to hold you close, he steers the horse homeward with his other hand. He does not speak as you leave the marketplace, and he does not need to. The two of you always found each other's silences comfortable. Besides, no words are needed to let you know he wants you: his cock is growing hard against the soft roundness of your ass pushing against it. A shiver runs down your spine and ends up on a blossoming pool of arousal between your thighs. Your hand finds Pero's on your waist, fingers disappearing between his in a loving clasp.

You reach your little house, Pero dismounting first so that you can slide off the horse and into his arms. He holds you close again, now with a full erection pressing against you.

"Go inside," he murmurs. "I have to put the horse away."

You push your pelvis against him, smirking at his low groan, before you take the basket and go in. You have barely emptied the basket onto the kitchen table before Pero comes in, kicking the door close as he starts to unlace his breeches.

He takes you on the table, breeches undone just enough to let his cock out, your skirts pulled up to your waist to let him in. A frantic coupling where you exchange breathless moans, claw at each other's bodies through clothes, his cock pressing deep into you as his fingers plant blooming bruises on your thighs. He spills into you before long, cock twitching in the welcoming squeeze of your cunt, and lowers his forehead to yours as he catches his breath. You comb your fingers through his dark hair, curling at the nape of his neck. The amount of silver has increased, scattered like stars across the dark clouds of his soft hair. You kiss the scar over his left eye, both above and under his closed eyelid.

"You need a haircut," you mumble, despite not really wanting him to cut off the soft curls. "And a shave."

"I need you." His initial thirst for you may have been slaked, but his hunger is not sated, and neither is yours.

"You have me now."

He straightens his back and rolls his head, a joint cracking loudly. Slowly, you come down from the table and start to lace up the bindings of his armour. He watches you do it, pulling the bodice of your dress down your shoulders and caresses the exposed skin, stares into your cleavage.

"Wife," he demands, hand on your waist, "Are you with child yet?"

You cast your eyes down. You have been trying to have a child since you were wed. The attraction between the two of you was always there, and pleasure has always been an important part of your married life - before as well, even if he never put it in before you were wed - but there has always been another motive to your coupling as well. You both want a child, several, but one to start with. He takes every opportunity to sow his seed in you, and you welcome every attempt.

But so far, it has not taken.

"My love." Pero caresses your head. "We have time. We will try again."

He kisses your cheek, and leans in towards your ear, his breath hot when he whispers: "And again... and again... and again..."

A husky giggle escapes you and you wrap your arms around his neck as you seek his lips for a kiss. He lifts you up, skirts rustling, and carries you to bed. The kisses turn slower as you undress each other, hands reclaiming every bit of revealed skin. His hard muscles relax when you pass your palm over them, fingers chasing his old familiar scars to trace and love. His hands are dry and callused when he cups your soft breasts, but he still holds you gently. His unshaved face tickles your stomach when he trails kisses over it, but your giggles turn to moans when he buries his face between your thighs, tongue probing between slick lips where his precious seed is dripping out. He assaults your clit, has you thrashing and wailing his name until the sheets are crumpled and you are shaking with the intensity of your release. He rests his chin on your thigh, looking up at you with both a satisfied smirk and adoring eyes.

"That's my girl," he praises you softly. "Let the neighbours know that your husband is home."

You chuckle breathlessly. Your cunt is throbbing hotly, and you pass your hands over your face before reaching for Pero.

"Come to me, husband."

He crawls over you, hissing softly when you close your hand over his cock, and guide it into you. It slides in so easily, but still fills you up so perfectly.

"Oh..." you gasp, eyes falling shut as you bite down on your lower lip. "Pero..."

"I know, precious, I know... but you have to look at me."

He cups your face and kisses you, and when he pulls back, you open your eyes, only to drown in the dark pools of his.

"I want you to look at me when I fill you with my seed," he growls, fingers tangling in your hair. "Look at me when I fuck a baby into you."

His voice is strangled, his hips grind tightly against yours. It is slower now than that first, hurried time, but still intense, desperate in a whole new way. You are hypnotized by him, his presence, his weight on top of you, his cock ravaging your very womb, his low voice that always knows just how to drop to make you wet, that scarred gaze of his that scowls at everyone else but turns soft and vulnerable when directed at you.

"Breed me," you whisper, hooking your ankles together behind his back. "Breed me, husband, I need you to breed me."

He stutters as he fucks you harder, digging deep into you, finding your spot, and staying on it as your moans rise.

"Pero, oh, God, please don't stop!"

He lets you cum first, fucks you through it before driving himself as deep as he can, then staying there. You whimper his name, your cunt convulses, and you can barely breathe, but Pero stays where he is.

"Take it," he soothes you through clenched teeth. "Take it, wife, every last drop, and grow me a baby."

"I love you," you manage to whisper, the words drowning in his mouth when he kisses you.

"And I love you."

Dinner is forgotten, as are the chickens and the horse. Pero slumbers in your arms but wakes up when you take his soft cock in your mouth. You rest together, until he has to be inside you again. Not until dusk settles around the house do you rise to take in and feed the chickens. Pero takes care of the horse, and you prepare dinner. He comes in and finds you by the workbench, cutting up cheese and smoked meat, and immediately cages you against the bench, arms sneaking around your waist as he kisses your neck.

"Pero, I'm holding a knife," you smile, and he immediately closes his hand over yours, guiding it to put the knife down. You hear his stomach growl, and know that if you are hungry, he must be starving.

"Dinner is almost ready."

"Only hungry for you, my love..."

You turn your face to his and receive his kisses, sighing softly at his roaming hands, one finding your breast only covered by your camisole, the other cupping your mound through the fabric of the underskirt. Your cunt weeps to have him again, while stinging from overstimulation. You lost count of how many times you have taken him this afternoon.

"Pero," you whisper between the kisses, your hands finding his and pressing down, in direct opposition to your words. "We need to eat, and you need a bath."

He expresses his discontent with a guttural grunt but gives you one last kiss and squeeze before releasing you.

"Sit down," you gesture towards the table, but he lays out cutlery, plates, and knives for both of you before taking his seat. When you bring the tray of foods to the table, he does not take his eyes off you. You feel the heat rise in your cheeks because you know exactly what he is thinking when he sees your soft breasts spill out of your camisole, the roundness of your ass underneath the threadbare skirt when you bend over to pour him ale. He smirks at you when you catch his gaze, and you shove him gently with your hip.

"Eat."

You take your seat on the other side of the table and eat in a comfortable silence as darkness descends outside. The sounds of your small town die down, only the occasional call of an animal drifting in through the open window together with the cool breeze.

You clear the table afterwards, Pero watching you in quiet contentment. When brushing past him, he cannot keep his hands to himself, but slaps your ass and grins when you yelp and turn around to tell him off. You find yourself pulled down onto his lap instead, Pero nuzzling your neck as he holds you close.

"Thank you for the meal."

"You are very welcome."

His whiskers scratch your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. He kisses your neck, your shoulder, drags his lips down to your breasts while his hand gathers the fabric of your skirt so that he can slip underneath. His fingers find the messy apex of your thighs, his seed and your slick drying on your lips, and when he pushes his fingers inside you, your head falls back as you moan low in your throat.

"Pero... oh, oh, there, oh my God... I can't..."

"If you're too sore, tell me, and I will stop," he whispers hotly against your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You shake your head, a sob of abandon slipping you.

"More, my love, more."

He brings you to the edge with his fingers, skilfully and quickly, before pushing you over it, catching you in his strong arms when you fall with a wail against his chest.

"Beautiful," he murmurs as he strokes your back, "so beautiful, my pretty girl..."

The night comes on, and Pero brings in water that you warm on the stove, for him to finally pour into the tub where you have spread out dried herbs and flowers. When he sinks down into the warm water, you take a sponge and a piece of scented soap and scrub every inch of him. He relaxes into the water, eyes finally falling shut, as you rub his body down with small, round circles. He leans into your touch with a sigh filled with gratitude and love. Pero is a man who desperately needs softness in his life, the life he always thought would be cut short due to his choice of profession. No wonder he has such a strong need to have children, see part of himself in a tiny face, foster a new generation to carry on his name after he is gone. And you desperately want to give him that.

"Pero," you speak quietly, getting a hum in return. "What if I cannot bear children?"

He does not react at first, but as soon as your words make sense to him, he turns his head to look at you.

"Why would you say that?"

"We have tried, and I'm not pregnant."

"We haven't been married for a year."

"For some, it takes immediately."

"Not for all."

The open window brings in the scents of your garden: evening primrose, wisteria, moonflower, jasmine, and whiffs of herbs rises from the water to meet them. You cast your eyes down to the soap in your hands, and Pero raises a hand from the water, and gently places it on your shoulder.

"My love. We have time."

You nod, knowing he is right. But you still cannot shake the feeling that you have carried around since he left, and your monthly cleansing arrived.

"The wives in town say things."

"What do they say?"

You wet your lips and raise your gaze to meet his. "They say that men who sleep with whores during their trips soil their seed."

Pero's face remains calm and honest. "I have not as much as looked at another woman since I met you. I hope you know that."

"I do, I just..." You shake your head, unsure why you even brought it up. You have never doubted his faithfulness. "I'm sorry. Their words ring in my ears, I can't stop thinking about it."

"Why do you even listen to those old hags?" he shakes his head.

"Because I meet them every day, and they talk, and they know things, and they look at me like I'm a prized cow, all of them waiting for me to become pregnant."

"It's none of their business," Pero scoffs, but his thumb is rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder.

"They also say... that older women are less fertile."

"You are fertile," he immediately dismisses your fear and self-doubt. "You still bleed."

"But if I'm too old?"

Pero sits up straight in the tub, the other hand coming to your other shoulder as he looks into your eyes.

"You are my wife and my love. I want us to have children, but if we for some reason are not to be blessed with them, my love for you will not change."

"I know," you smile softly, "and I will love you too." Tears rise in your eyes, and you wipe at them with the back of your hand. "Forgive me. I just missed you so much."

"You have nothing to apologize for, my love."

You lean forward to kiss him, but when his lips start to trail across your cheek, you giggle and shake your head.

"You, Pero Tovar, need a shave, or you'll grate me raw!"

He stays completely still as you trace his cheeks with the razorblade, eyes under heavy eyelids following your minuscule movements. The hint of a smile plays in the corner of his mouth as he enjoys how your steady hand shaves away the itchy bristles. Finally, you trim his moustache, then his hair. The water grows cool, and he rises from the tub, accepting your hand when he steps out of it. His cock is striving proudly towards his stomach, and he does not take the time to dry himself before lifting you up and carrying you to the bedroom. He sets you down next to the bed and cradles your head in his big hands.

"How do you want me, my beloved?"

You caress his smooth cheeks, stroke your thumbs over his eyebrows, still wet from the bath.

"From behind, husband. I want you to mount me like an animal."

"Your wish is my command."

His hands drop to your shoulders, where they guide you to turn around before caressing down the straps of your camisole. You undo the lacing in the front, and the neckline widens enough to drop and expose your breasts. He cups them from behind, thumbs brushing over stiffening nipples, soft lips peppering kisses all over your neck and shoulder. His cock strains against the fabric of your skirt, and he drops his hands to your hips, finding the laces that will free you from the garment. It rustles softly as it falls to the floor, and Pero's hard cock comes to a rest between your ass cheeks. Your cunt clenches and you can smell your own arousal.

"Take me," you breathe, but Pero grazes your shoulder with his teeth.

"I need to service you first."

He kneels behind you, one hand pushing lightly on your lower back. You bend over, upper body coming to a rest on the crumpled sheets. Pero's hand slowly slides down to your ass, cupping and squeezing, before he slides his fingers between your thighs, carefully pushing your legs open. He fingers you almost thoughtfully before you feel the tip of his sharp nose, and his hot breath on you, and then his lips close around your bud in a little kiss before his tongue takes over. He licks at you, into you, hands coming to grab your soft thighs, humming into your aching cunt. You can barely take it anymore, not after the pleasures of the afternoon, but your husband's touch always makes you need more. Like a bitch in heat, you egg him on, writhe and fist your hands into the sheet, loudly moaning without any thought of the neighbours. He brings you to bliss, once again, pushing his face against you, fingers digging painfully into your ass cheeks as you shake through your orgasm. He helps you up on the bed, letting you rest on your belly, and kisses your shoulders, back, and the soft curves of your buttocks before coming back up to steal your breath away with a wet kiss.

"My beautiful wife," he murmurs, and you smile back faintly. "Can you take me?"

"You know I can," you murmur, already feeling his rock-hard cock pressing in between your thighs. "Take me, husband. Breed me. Put a baby in my belly."

He growls at that, bites your neck, pulls your ass up, and legs together before straddling them. You whine when he pushes into you, your dripping yet sore cunt protesting and welcoming at the same time.

"So wet for me," he groans as he slowly moves in you, hands on your hips. "My love, I thought about this so often during those lonely nights on the road." He sinks deep into you. "I would fuck my own hand and think of you." He thrusts his hips into yours, making you choke on your own breath. "I would spill my seed on the ground and mourn its loss. It shouldn't be wasted but find its way into your fertile womb..."

He lays down over you, pressing your hips down with his as he wraps his arms around you and whispers in your ear: "I would think of you becoming round with my child, your tits filling with milk, how proud and beautiful you would look on my arm when we go to the marketplace together. How I would fuck you every night to make sure the child grows big and strong..."

You sob with desire, delirious from his words and the way he fills you up. All you can do is wrap your own arms around his, take his cock with your encouraging whimpers, and let him kiss what breath you still have away.

He takes his time fucking you slowly, his warm body growing hot from the effort, hips grinding into you so deep that you'll surely be bruised in the morning, all the while whispering filthy things in your ear, keeping you on the brink of insanity until you find yourself cumming yet again, and this time the tears come as well, it's all too much and still not enough, you want all of him in you, and you want him to fill your womb, you need it.

"My good wife," he praises you for climaxing, "Cumming on my cock like that, preparing your wet little cunt for my seed. Take it, my love, take it, I don't have long."

"Breed me," you manage to articulate, "put a baby in my belly, Pero, I love you, now breed me, fuck me like an animal and make me pregnant!"

He growls into your ear and props himself up onto one forearm before heeding your wish. You cry out when he drives himself into you, again and again, until you feel the wet heat spill inside you. A low, rumbling growl rises from deep within him, and he thrusts into you, all the way in, as deep as he can go, and stays there, panting heavily. You can hardly take it, you're too full, but you still push back as if he could go any deeper, and you squeeze him tightly to get every last drop out of him.

He finally collapses by your side, cock slipping out, one arm and leg thrown over you. Silence descends over your wheezing, sweaty bodies - yours slick from his perspiration. Finally, Pero groans, and kisses your shoulder.

"Are you still in one piece, my love?"

"Barely," you murmur, exhausted and deeply in love.

"Will you let me tuck you in?"

You gripe but shift so that Pero can pull away the covers. Your head hits the pillow with a deep sigh that changes to a yelp when Pero slaps your ass.

"Move. You've been sleeping alone for too long, you have started to take up too much space."

You scoot over to one side, and Pero gets in behind you. Moulding himself to you, he kisses your shoulder again.

"If I get pregnant, I'll get fat and take up even more space," you point out with a yawn.

"When you get pregnant, I'll worship every inch of your beautiful body, wife," he promises you. "Now, legs together. Don't want my seed to stain anything but your thighs."

Your hand finds his under the covers.

"I'm so glad you're home."

"I'm very glad to be home."

His hand comes to a rest on your lower abdomen, spreading a faint tingle deep inside. You smile to yourself, and then sleep claims you.

[missnosferatu]

arthur and reader go fishing (i have ideas)

you’d think after being stuck in a snowstorm for longer than anyone should, you would be happy to get into the warm sun and soft grass away from the mountains. except sometimes the sun has a way of making you feel like it’s completely melting your skin right off of you.

which is why you felt like it was only appropriate to be lying on the ground with your head propped against a hay bale.

despite the glares of one older woman who had a distaste for lazing around.

“she’ll come over an’ drag you up by your big toe” it was a rough grumble- something easily recognizable and had you lifting the hat off your face.

“m’not afraid of her” you huffed, even if it was a complete lie.

your eyes automatically found his, arthur’s flickering away after a moment before he let a small chuckle leave him. it was the best music you could have ever been blessed to hear. if only you could have it on repeat from dutch’s gramophone.

“i do my fair share around here, cowboy” it came out mumbled from you, face turning away from him so he wouldn't see the flush on your face, and you’d miss the one on his.

“i’m not sayin’ that” arthur shook his head, a hand coming up to rub over his stubble. “pearson is over there complainin’ about food”

you scoffed, the idea of the camp cook fussing about food was not lost on you.

“was thinkin’ we could go” he cleared his throat after, and the warmth in your cheeks just seemed content to stay. “why not take javier?” you muttered, hoping it didn't come across horribly. it’s not like you didn't want to go- you just needed to hear him say he wanted you to go.

“ah he’s…” arthur trailed off, a small wave of his hand as he tried to come up with an excuse.

he sighed, hands on his hips as he looked down at you.

“i thought you’d wanna go. never see you out fishin’ much” it came out in an almost mumble, like he was unsure of his answer.

you didn't ask any other questions, just standing with a small huff of air and eyes finding his once again.

“i don't go for a reason” you replied, and that set the two of you towards your horses. it was hardly a ride to the small lake near camp, but it was enough to establish that you couldn't fish to save your life.

a small grunt left you when you dismounted, pulling your fishing pole out when your feet were on the ground. “fish jus’ dont like me” you scoffed, a weak attempt to make up for your lack of skill. it had a hearty laugh leaving arthur, which in turn made the corners of your mouth drift upwards. “fish are pretty smart, i reckon” he teased, causing you to throw a glare his way.

if you weren't already embarrassed to admit you couldn't fish, trying to cast out was going to kill you. your line kept getting tangled without fail, and you were more than ready to give up. especially when you had to fix the line for what felt like the hundredth time. ‘you just gotta…” arthur trailed off from beside you- trying to mimic how to fix it, but to no avail. a frustrated hand pushed hair away from your face, your patience and arthurs wearing a bit thin. “you're not helping” you huffed, voice coming out a bit harsher than intended.

arthur broke, setting his pole down before taking a couple steps towards you. he untangled the line with rage inducing ease- and then his body was close to yours.

“here” he grumbled, his hands on yours to reposition them. his chest brushed against your back faintly, and you couldn't focus on anything but the heat coming off of him. turning your head and finding his face not far from yours brought you and arthur back to reality.

it was an awkward silence, and arthur felt too exposed wirth the way your eyes looked to his. the small shuffle of a fish tugging on his hook had the two of you moving apart, despite yearning for the closeness almost immediately.

“sorry” he mumbled, clearing his throat and avoiding your gaze. “just, uh..wanted to help”

the most you could do was nod your head, hoping you’d sound normal as you spoke.

“yeah, yeah it helped” there was a small curl of your lip, the smallest hint of delight in your voice. you both continued on like normal, maybe getting a bit distracted with fleeting glances.

luckily, you could blame the redness of your cheeks on the heavy heat

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 11: Barn Burner

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: You and Bucky will fight your way through whatever you can to get Curtis

Word count: 2,433

Content/warnings: Interrogation, mention of tranquilizer darts, mob themes, kissing, swears, let me know if I missed anything

Author’s Note: everyone say a biiiiig thank you to @hawkeyes-queen for the motivation for me finishing this chapter. Thank you, darling. And I hope to answer your ask with a blurb soon. This occurs at the same time as Ch. 8 of The Rainmaker and Ch. 4 of Handiwork

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

< Prev | Series Masterlist | Next >

You stood there with your arms and legs crossed, leaning against a hay bale in the old barn. In front of you sat two men that you were less than pleased with, still unconscious thanks to the power of Bucky’s fist.

Bucky paced the floor in front of you, on the phone with an ally from the city: Stark. Apparently Lloyd had been causing him grief, as well, for some time now, and after you two were done with him, that’s where he’d be going to be dealt with. Some underground weapons bunker it seemed.

As he hung up the phone, Bucky placed his hands on his hips, stopped in front of you, and sighed. His face looked so tired, eyes sunken in, brows pulled together in distress. You were sure it mirrored your own.

You uncrossed your arms, taking a step towards him as he reached for your waist. Strands of hair that had grown a little too long flopped in front of his forehead and you pushed them back, running your fingers through his hair, giving Bucky the only taste of relaxation he was sure to get tonight. That was probably a good thing. Bucky had already lost his worn bar clothes in favor of a suit, ready for all the business that was sure to take up this night.

As you brushed a palm against his stubbly cheek, he leaned into your touch, a soft hum leaving his lips that was taken from his grasp as soon as it came when the sound of fabric rustling reached both of your ears. Lloyd was stirring awake.

Bucky stood up stark straight at that, but turned his head and kissed your palm before the tenderness left his eyes, replaced with a cold working demeanor.

He turned around, his bulky shoulders doing their best to shield you from Lloyd. You peeked around him anyway, though, catching the way Lloyd’s eyelashes fluttered open, his dark eyebrows raising in amusement when he registered that he was sitting in front of the mob boss he once called a friend. He let out a low whistle.

“Ah, Bucky! Bucky, Bucky, Bucky Barnes. What a pleasure to be dealt with personally. Heard you’ve got goons out the wazoo these days, which is surprising, considering how much I’ve enjoyed personally knocking them off lately.”

If he weren’t already stiff as a board, Bucky would’ve tensed at that. So many innocent people were dead at the hand of Lloyd, a series of killings in the city. Whether they were workers in the family or tangentially related, some of them unknowing of their connections until it was too late, Lloyd had shamelessly gone after them. A barista, a hairdresser, and several lower-level guards taken because they were accessible; something that Bucky worked hard to make sure you and he weren’t. But he hadn’t even thought about the friends of friends. Or just friends, including Curtis, that Lloyd could apparently so easily snatch.

Lloyd was shuffling in his seat, likely feeling around for one of the various knives he kept hidden on his body, but Bucky shook his head and shook off Lloyd’s previous attempt at a jab.

“You’re not gonna find any weapons on your person, Hansen. I strip searched you already. Personally. Checked all your old hiding places and some new ones. Don’t forget who taught you those hiding spots in the first place. I will applaud you for being creative with the new ones, though.”

Lloyd lifted his head, a smirk rising under his mustache, covering the small disappointment of being weaponless. He cocked his head to the side, giving a wink to Bucky.

“Ooooo, kinky. Didn’t know you were such a freak, Buck. But I guess that’s just the natural course when you date someone like Lil for so long.”

Bucky let a huff out of his nose. He was trying his best to remain stoic, but Lloyd knew just the right ways to get under his skin. You took a step forward and put a steadying hand on Bucky’s back. You didn’t want him to appear weak, but you knew you’d get nothing if this whole thing went south. It was all about getting Curtis back and keeping Lloyd in custody. Veering from the plan wasn’t worth the risk.

Lloyd noticed your action, the smirk on his face growing into a shit-eating smile.

“Well if it isn’t the sweet peach, here to calm down big, bad Bucky.”

Bucky’s fists clenched at that. He didn’t want you anywhere near Lloyd, but you insisted, and he was no one to tell you that you couldn’t do something.

Lloyd leaned towards you as much as the ropes around his chest would allow, as if he was about to tell a secret.

“No need to come to the rescue, cupcake. He ever tell you the things he’s done to rise to the top? This is nothing. I’m surprised he doesn’t have me hanging from the rafters by my toenails already.”

He was too sure of himself. He must’ve not known just how much Bucky had told you about himself in your time together, which pretty much aligned with all you had coaxed Steve and Sam to tell you previously. You knew a lot, but still not everything, especially about Lillian. But you trusted Bucky. That was what mattered.

You stayed silent while Lloyd pressed his shoulders back. He was attempting to steal the power back from Bucky through you, even in the evident power imbalance that was ongoing. His cockiness was filling the room, almost suffocating. Before you could make another movement, Steve, who had been standing up against the barn wall, took long strides towards you, grabbing your upper arm.

He led you out of the barn, into the cool night air. You looked up at him with slight confusion. Nothing you hadn’t expected had happened yet, but Steve knew Bucky even better than you, so he must’ve had good reason. His face, full of sadness that was only slightly mixed with his stoic work demeanor was matched with tight lips before he spoke, eyes boring urgently into yours.

“Bee, why don’t you go grab Cherry? Maybe she can help us. Bucky is about to do something I’m sure you’re not gonna want to watch, and I’m sure a calmer hand will be needed. Especially for Cole.”

Without a word, just a concerned expression, you simply nodded and headed back to the house.

You could tell Cherry was nervous with the way she bit her nails on the whole walk as you led her to the interrogation barn. You weren’t sure how much Bucky had done since you were gone, but you could tell it was probably a lot based off the bruises you could see forming on the mob boss’s hand when you walked in. Lloyd’s face had grown several fresh marks, as well, that would likely look much worse tomorrow, but the look on his face wouldn’t have given that away. He smiled through the grime that physically and metaphorically coated him.

You looked over at Cole who must’ve woken up not too long ago, a look near terror on his face. As gruesome as it was, even the right of one of your beloved cows giving birth hadn’t prepared you for the sight of pain inflicted on one man by another. If Lillian was as twisted as Bucky and Lloyd had made her seem, you were beyond scared for Curtis.

You shuffled further into the barn, taking a place by Steve, who stood calmly watching the scene. As soon as you had walked through the door, Bucky had turned to see you, his eyes wild, but they softened just the slightest bit as he made his way over to start discussing strategy.

“I can’t get jack shit with Lloyd here, fucking bastard. I know Cole will squeal as soon as he’s alone, though. We just need to-“

He was cut off by a sound that made you all turn your heads. The rafters of the barn creaked and down swung Decks, before landing onto the soft floor with a rustle of the thin smattering of hay over a bare dirt floor. The action caught the attention of the captives, too, as they watched her stalk over to them. Her shoulders were stiff, unyielding. You had only seen her like this once before. In a bar, when a guy she had gone on a couple of dates with spilled his drink on you and didn’t apologize. Except, compared to her demeanor now, that seemed like an anger level of two. This was an eleven.

Steve made a movement to go towards her, but Bucky barred him with an arm. That was a good idea. It was never smart for anyone to get in her way when she got like this, and that included Lloyd and Cole. They were in her way in the act of finding Curtis. She spoke in a low and even tone, but the urgency and spite in her voice was almost deafening.

“I’ll give you one more shot. I’m sick of watching this dance. Where. Is. Curtis?”

Cole stuttered, “I-I don’t know.”

Smack. In a flash, his head was tossed to the side, looking down towards the ground, red already filling his cheek. Beside you, Steve flinched, and based on the look that Bucky gave him, you could assume that was not something the second in command often did.

“Wrong answer.”

She took a step to her left, putting herself directly in front of Lloyd.

“Where?”

Her voice was alarmingly even to an outsider, but you could just barely pick up on the increasing annoyance. It was calm, yet rage-filled. Lloyd shook his head as his shoulders rose and fell with laughter. Bad idea. Your eyes darted down to see the way Decks’s fists tightened.

“Oh, come on, Pumpkin. You’re a smartie. Bet you’re a sweet peach just like your friend, too, but I’m not giving up whe-“

Punch. Right to the jaw. Good. You hated that he kept calling you that. It was a reminder of someone you no longer were. And a signal of just how far off the mark Lloyd was from gauging this situation.

It was almost in slow motion as Lloyd fell to the hay floor in a heap with a dull thump and a rustle. She had knocked him out cold.

Her eyes were fixed on Cole again.

“Is that motivation enough for you to help us now?”

Cole furiously nodded and looked back over his shoulder at Cherry. “I’ll talk to her.”

It was obviously so he could deal with the one furthest removed from knowing how to properly run business, but the request was turned down quickly as the tall blond beside you took a long stride towards the center of the barn and shook his head.

“No way. You lost your right to negotiate when you let Lloyd cross that line. You talk to me or you don’t have a tongue to talk anymore. Got it?”

Cole swallowed in nervousness. In the next second, Bucky caught your eye. With a jerk of his head, he wordlessly gestured for you to take Cherry out of the barn and you nodded, gently guiding her out as quickly as the two of you came in. Decks was already nearly out of sight, halfway across the field to the house.

Soon before the sunrise, you met Bucky out on the porch. He was on the steps below you, looking up and rubbing his hands up and down your sides as his crew loaded vehicles behind him. Your hands cradled his jaw as he explained the situation to you.

“Curtis isn’t being held too far from here. Apparently Lillian is still there, too. We’ll take care of it all.”

You nodded, your thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek. “Okay. Be careful. Save my cousin.”

Bucky nodded, looking deeply into your eyes and observing them grow hard, tough, fiery for a moment. “…and burn it all down. To the ground. I mean it. I’m sick of this shit and it’s gotta end. I don’t deserve this, Decks doesn’t, and Curtis and Cherry sure as hell don’t.”

Bucky smiled at your fierce statement, going on his toes for a quick kiss. “You got it, Honey. See you in a little.”

Bucky set fire to the farm with ease. Lillian was nothing when it came to the power he held. She met him at the front entrance to one of Cole’s farm property, her heels, inappropriate for the situation, rolling in the gravel.

“James. It’s nice to see you. Come to crawl back to me? It’s too bad that I’ve already got someone else.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. He just had to buy time while his men got in position and Steve got to Curtis.

“No, Lil. But Steve did always warn me that it seemed like you had a thing for inept, kicked puppies. I should’ve predicted Cole would become your next little plaything.”

She smirked with her red lips and shrugged. “Well, that could’ve been you, but it looks like you’ve turned into what you always dreaded. A pawn trying to take on the queen and king.”

Bucky chuckled. “So you’re calling yourself a queen now? And who’s the king? Cole? Lloyd? Both equally cringe-inducing options.”

Before Lillian or the guard behind her could make a move or say another word, a dart was shot into their necks and she tumbled into Bucky’s arms. More of Bucky’s guards emerged from the surrounding tall grass, taking care of the two of them and waiting for their next steps.

Meanwhile, you were trying to hold the house together, cooking breakfast for a worried Cherry and an angry Decks. Cherry was dealing, though, but Decks was a mess. But you knew a lot was happening for her. Betraying her trust and putting so much pressure on her wasn’t what you had wanted to do, but it was the only option you could see.

As your mind was wandering with menial tasks, though, you got a notification on your phone from the security sensors that Peter had installed, indicating something was coming up the driveway. You prayed it was Curtis and he was in one piece.

Based on Cherry first tossing a mug at the wall in surprise, which luckily wasn’t one of your nice ones, you weren’t sure, but then you heard Curtis’s voice and you finally felt yourself relax for the first time in a month.

As soon as Curtis entered, Decks gave him a big hug before he came and did the same to you.

Next >

Bonus A/N: it’s been awhile, but I’m glad to be getting back to this. Thank you for reading, I’d really appreciate hearing about what you thought through comments, reblogs, and asks. Much love!

Taglist: @mrsnikstan @multifandomreader73 @scuzmunkie @openup-yourmind @vicmc624 @hawkeyes-queen @blackhawkfanatic @morgthemagpie @buckybarnessimpp @calwitch @thesarcasmqueen-22 @ronearoundblindly @thedonswife13 @mercurial-chuckles @thezombieprostitute @steviebbboi