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dulcewrites · 1 year ago

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New Traditions

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x afab!reader

Summary: As the first holiday season in your new home approaches, Rhett and you start new traditions and make promises (wc: 3k)

Warnings/Fic notes: mentions of unhappy childhoods (reader and Rhett probably needed more hugs as kids). Allusions to a rich!reader. Me using decorating as smokescreen for a character study lol. Daddy issues galore. The Christmas music is very self indulgent on my part too. Allusions/mentions to 18+ content

A/N: *Mariah Carey whistle note* ITS TIMEEEEEE. Lmao hiii, I hope you all are doing well. It has been a minute since I have written for a fandom outside of hotd so please bear with me on that front. I eventually want to take request soon (for Rhett, some tgm characters, and Calvin Evans) so my inbox is always open if y’all are interested - just shoot me something. If you read anything you like please reblog, like, and or comment. Also let me know when y’all put your decorations up (if you celebrate anything). I’m a staunch first weekend of December girlie myself ❤️

Masterlist

As pathetic as it sounds out loud, Rhett had grown accustomed to having the rug pulled out from under him. He had a looming and painful history with differentiating the cards life dealt him and what he deserves; over time, they began to blur together. At a certain point, he just resigned himself to life just being sort of... eh. Reminding himself that though things could be better, they could also be much, much worse.

It would all combinate in this hazy, syrupy snapshot of moments that ran together. At least, that is what he thought till he met you.

He thinks you would not understand it if he told you - that you are one of those people that is easy to love, while people like him took work to want. Hard work. Something that would be likened to the type of manual labor a Wyoming, farm grown boy like him is used to doing day in and day out. If he dared to express it, you would give him a good-natured laugh and shake your head like you always did when he said something self-deprecating.

"What kind of women do you take me for, Abbott," followed by a playful eye roll. "The type that settles?"

Rhett supposes that was the conundrum with you. Because the statement is not wrong; nothing about you gave off the impression you would settle for anything. That could come from a life of having almost everything at your fingertips. But the questions still tickle his tongue and doubts still makes his brain hazy.

It has only compounded since the two of you moved in together.

It was you who posed the suggestion, a shy smile on your lips. Despite the skepticism and disappointment from your parents, it did not feel right for you to sell your grandmother's ranch, the one your father grew up on, after she passed. You insisted on keeping it yourself, clearly having a soft spot for the house you would visit whenever you had the chance to.

Our home, you called it.

Your baking kits in the kitchen, his horses in the stable, and various clothes in the closets. He should feel reassured by this all… and yet… he waits for the other shoe to drop. For the rug to once again be pulled out from under him. Everything is so warm and new, and he worries about the day it slips through his fingers like sand.

Words in general, and expressing this specifically, does not come easy for him. Though loving you comes as easy as breathing for him. Rhett puts all that stuffing emotions and feelings away to good use as he tries to focus on the present. The only thing that manages to keep his mind clear is keeping his hands busy. So, he tries to make up for it in any way he can. The pale wall color your grandma insisted on keeping but reminded you of a sterile hospital? Painted to something more vibrant. The light fixtures in the kitchen that you said were ‘far too phallic to enjoy a meal under’? Well, those new ones are the best money could buy.

He just finished the building that rocking chair you got for the porch when you stick your head out of the house to call him in for dinner, eyes alight with something he could not put his finger on.

Dinner was silent, too silent for you, who always could spark up a conversation with anyone. A tiny sense of dread sets in, and he can’t help but think it maybe something he did… or did not do.

“The chicken is good,” he tries to start any kind of conversation or joy behind the eyes, but all he gets is an empty smile.

The unnerving quietness carries on for a few of minutes, but you suddenly drop your fork on the plate with a clank.

“Did y'all go all out for Christmas?”

Along with the noise the fork made, the question startled Rhett. He blinks blankly utterly confused by how it went from silence to that.

“What?”

“Oh, sorry,” your lips downturn into an embarrassed frown. “I should not have assumed y’all even celebrate it. I guess I just assumed with your mom and all.”

“No, we do celebrate,” he shakes head.

“So, did you go all out? When did you guys put the decorations out?”

Rhett shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Much like everything else that comes to his family, it is never linear or easy. He doesn’t know how to explain how one year they just stopped decorating; gifts and midnight mass were seen as hassles not the usual. Everything that the holidays stood for: family, love, gratefulness, togetherness was the antithesis of them. The joy and warmth of the holidays was sucked from the house and never came back till Amy was old enough to know what Christmas was - till Rebecca and his ma teamed up one day to make a fuss about the house being cold and sterile. What they meant is that Royal was cold… and sterile.

Rhett can still remember the look of disbelief in Rebecca’s eyes when Perry didn’t back her up on the matter. It was a look Rhett had seen from when he was a teen till the last day, he saw Becca. He still gets a rotten taste in his mouth thinking about he never got to tell her how much she meant to him. But that would also mean admitting that often his biggest advocate was a woman basically forced into the family versus the people he shared actual blood with.

Slight embarrassment burns his mouth like a hot iron down his thoat.

With a tight throat, Rhett shrugs. “It changed every year,” he lies. Then shakes his head. “It wasn’t a big deal really.”

Almost as abruptly as you stopped eating, you get up from the kitchen table. He just about calls out to see if you are ok, but you come back in the dining area carrying a picture.

“When I was cleaning out the garage, I found this.”

Rhett leans over, and he can’t help the slow grin that settles on his face. At first, he didn’t recognize the faces in the picture but then he saw a familiar crooked, mischievous smile, but this time on a younger girl. A little you. Decked out in a red, poofy dress and tiny white fur shawl. Shiny black saddle shoes that gleam even in the old photo.

“My baby as a baby,” he whispers.

Rhett continues to scan the photo. Behind you was two older people, and he can only assume they are your parents. They are exactly how he thought they would be and nothing like he thought at the same time. Your mom casually glamourous in green, your dad in a suit far too done up just for family dinner with a heavy hand on your shoulder. You wear her eyes but his nose. Right behind the three of you, a heavily decorated banister and in the foreground a Christmas tree so large that Rhett thinks it has to be a safety hazard.

You do not seem as happy or in awe of the relic as him, in fact you look sick at the sight.

“That was taken before they sat me down to tell me they were getting a divorce.”

Rhett’s heart sinks a little at the as the way your mouth juts out in bitterness.

“Looking back on it, I should have known. Dad was never home, mom was detached, probably depressed. Ya know, I remember them specifically saying that nothing would change, and naive little me not only believe that but wanted it. Not realizing something was just… off. But I guess most nine-year-old’s can’t tell the difference.”

He supposed it was easier for him to paint a rosier picture of your parents, for his sake and yours. Maybe winters in Texas were better than ones he experienced, maybe life was better. He has seen pictures of house, the compound, you grew up on. But now hearing what you are saying made pity take over the normal envy.

Rhett reaches out to grab your hand, and squeezes. “M’ sorry.”

You wave your free hand nonchalantly thought the casualness does not meet your eyes fully.

“No use crying over spilt milk,” you sigh. “I just saw the picture and tried to rack my brain for the last time we were all together for the holidays. After that one, it was one year with mama, the next with dad. And I don't think we ever decorated the house together. That was my caregiver, Jodie's job. Made me curious other people’s traditions I guess."

Rhett fiddles with the rings on your fingers while chewing on the fleshy part on the inside of his cheek.

“Maybe we can make our own,” he mutters softly. “Startin’ this year.”

You look up through your lashes, eyes fluttering away from the picture that sat on the table.

“Really?”

He nods. If that is what you want, he’d do it for you. Like he would do anything for you. Your gaze goes out the window across from the table. The leaves on the trees already began to change and fall to the ground. Going from green to various shades of red, purple, and brown. The season already has changed; heat melting away as the temperature dropped and cool breeze set in.

Your spirit noticeably lightens. “Do you think we can get a real tree? Mamma always said it was too much of hassle to get a real one.”

Rhett holds up his hand and extends his pinky. “As long as there is mistletoe in the house.”

Under new light fixtures, and with the sun grazing the ground as it sets, the two of you made your first promise.

Investments are important.

Your father told you so all your life. To the giant painting he bought for the Tennessee house (the one you later realized was a Degas), the stocks he bought for you for your fifteenth birthday, or his insistence you go to his alma mater. All investments that he expected payoff for. Your father will always be the smartest businessman you know, and he still managed to be so clueless with everything else.

People are not investments. Not really, at least. Not in the way your father looked at it. You can put money and effort into something, but it is never a guarantee it will work out that way. And you can’t just leave when things do not go your way. Your poor father never seemed to understand that, and you think it broke your grandma’s heart in the process.

And maybe you are no better than him. As a child, you admittedly reaped the benefits your parents offered you, almost to a fault. They would often laugh at your ability to move on to the next thing without so much as a blink of an eye. Onto the next toy, the next piece of clothing, the next makeup item. How can you criticize behavior you gave into yourself?

“You’re a reformed brat,” Jennie, your old debutant buddy turned psychologist said over the phone. “Give yourself some grace. At least you want better yourself now.”

So, you gave yourself just that. You didn’t sell your grandma’s place for the equity or whatever bullshit your dad mentioned. You didn’t Amelia County leave though your mom offered to set you up with her in New York. And God… you’re letting your fall - fall so deeply in love with Rhett, despite the voice in your head that tells you not to.

You replay your, in your opinion, embarrassing meeting. Bursting into tears in the middle of a grocery store was not the romantic story you want to tell others. But he came up to you to say that though he only spoke to her a handful of times when she would stay in her vacation home in Wabang, he knew your grandmother was a good woman and would be missed.

A blubbery mess of grief right next to the meat aisle spiraled into decorating your grandmother's house together - your house.

With Frank Sinatra’s version of ‘Let it Snow’ playing in the background, a rush of giddiness takes over. Jodie always said you had an eye for pretty things.

"A little excited, no," Rhett eyes copious amounts of bags you brought into the house. “It’s not even December yet.”

You survey the bags and boxes laid out. So, you went slightly overboard. Like driving out of town to the nearest big city to do some more shopping. Some habits die hard.

"This is just the starter stuff," you pull reams of garland out of the bag. “Just wait till they start selling the trees. Oh! And I got ingredients to teach you how to make sugar cookies from scratch.”

Rhett is silent for a moment, and you wonder if it is too much too fast. Your mother always said that enthusiasm, especially around men, should be tempered and demure. No one likes a girl that acts like a dog with a bone, sweetheart.

“Do.. do you think we can invite Amy over for the cookies thing,” his cobalt eyes soften at the mention of his niece. “I think she would like that.”

“Of course.”

You knew how important it was to Rhett for things to stay good with Amy. Her reception of the move was the only one he seemed to care about. You could not help but think the rest of Rhett’s family was skeptical about his decision. Cecilia was always kind towards you, and she was mostly receptive to the idea, but you assume it must hurt to see her baby venture out. Something about her reminded you of your own mother. Two women clearly used to the short end of the stick, and had to find ways to deal with it. While your mother found salvation in travel and extravagant parties, Cecilia found hers in faith.

Perry was well… Perry, about the whole thing. Just based on how he handled the news, and small tidbits you picked up from Rhett, it seemed like Perry was upset about Rhett making a choice just for himself. A luxury that the eldest son had a premium on for some time.

But you think it was the patriarch of the family who took it the hardest. It may be the reality of having two less hands around 24/7 like Rhett says, but you tend to think it is something deeper with Royal. Anger, sadness, pride - all of them??? You don’t know.

But what you do know is that family tension is something both you and Rhett know far too well.

After unpacking the bags and boxes you got, the smoky coos of Frank Sinatra transition into the pop Christmas playlist you put together. You don’t remember when the bottle of red wine came out, whether it was between Britney singing about what she wants for Christmas that year or Mariah singing about a holy night. It might have been after you insisted the two of you try your hand at diy decorations. But Rhett rolled his eyes when you talked about getting glasses, taking swings straight from the bottle instead.

“I don’t know how you drink this shit,” he wrinkled his nose, but he takes another hit.

“Just like you enjoy your watery beer,” you retake the bottle from him to have some more yourself.

“Last time I checked,” he expertly ties red and green ribbon into pretty bows and knots. “You were there with me, drinkin’ said watery beer.”

You bite your lip as you watch his brows furrow, and he pokes his tongue out sweetly as he ties meticulously.

“You’re quite good at that.”

“‘M good with ropes too.”

It could be the red wine, which always made your insides warm and fuzzy. Or if could just be the Rhett of it all. Him indulging this perhaps silly childhood wound of yours in full earnest.

“Hmmm,” you shuffle closer to him. The two of you might a makeshift area on the living room floor of pillows and blankets. An almost sickly-sweet peppermint candle ablaze on the table, and the fireplace crackling nearby.

“Royal used to make me secure the lines and pull logs. Kinda got good at it.”

By this time, you’re stuck at his side, suddenly a little fixated on hair on his neck that trickles up to his jaw and cheeks. You like him like this; hair falling from behind where it is tucked behind his ears. Scruffy and soft.

“Maybe you can show me how good you are.”

Rhett’s attention still doesn’t stray from the ribbons he cuts and ties, a task he is clearly taking seriously, but he nods in agreement. You roll your eyes slightly at how oblivious he can be.

“On me, Rhett,” you spell it out for him. “You can use the ropes on me.”

He stops and turns with a look of wanton, wetting his lips for a moment.

“Yeah,” he asks, the inflection at the end of the question breathy and soft.

You nuzzle your nose into area right under his ear with a hum, kissing the skin there and taking in the smell of his cologne. A woodsy scent with sprites of magnolia and cedar. It was one that consumed the bedroom and your mind. You spent much of your formative years pretending to hate the idea of being desired or wanted - chasteness an idea drilled into your head since you were a little girl and told by the ladies of your church that the only thing worse than being ungodly is being ‘fast’. Then you spent college overcorrecting to the point of farce. Letting the guys you knew had little regard for how you felt at the end of it make decisions for you. Emotionally, mentally, and sexually.

Your first time with Rhett was a hodgepodge of giggle and sighs only to be heard by vast emptiness of the home you do sit in now. His boots and jeans askew on the floor. You eccentric grandma’s knick knacks watching you two. Most notably, the cat clock that reflected in the moonlight, the one Rhett insisted you keep when he moved in. After him eating you out until you cried, and a night that ended in you making a trip to the local pharmacy for a Plan B, you honestly expected a series of awkward moments that would single-handedly ruin the small town bliss you experienced for the first time. And yet, in the morning, his lips turned up in a shy smile and he asked if you had bacon in the fridge.

You didn’t realize how badly you were under water and needed to breathe until you came to Wabang. Your lips work their way up his jaw til you reach the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s make it another tradition.”

#rhett abbott x female reader #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #outer range imagine #outer range #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott smut #outer range fic #black!reader #lewis pullman

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fishfooddude · 5 months ago

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Tattoo Ink

Rhett Abbott x Reader

Rhett drunkenly gets your name tattooed while at an out-of-town rodeo. It’s kinda flattering…

Outer Range MasterList

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After becoming a national qualifier at the Amelia Country Rodeo, Rhett was finally able to compete in the National Rodeo Finals in Las Vegas. Ten days and eleven nights of bull riding, drinking, and having fun with his fellow rowdy cowboys used to be Rhett’s ideal fun. Then he met you. The idea of going out with his peers wasn’t as fun as it used to be. He’d much rather go back to the hotel he’d been put up in with you and watch a movie, but you couldn’t come with him due to some work obligations.

Rhett woke up the morning after placing third in the final rankings; he’d gone out with some of the other bull riders after some persuasion.

“Com’on Rhett- you haven’t come out all week.”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

“It’s tradition.”

The words still rang in his ears as Rhett sat up in bed that morning. His head was pounding, and the overall soreness of riding caught up with him. He yawned loudly and got out of bed. He grabbed his phone from the floor before walking into the bathroom. Rhett grinned when he saw your congratulatory text; he quickly texted you back and told you he’d be back in Wabang later that day.

He tossed his phone on the bathroom counter before turning the shower on. As he turned, something caught his eye in the mirror. He glanced down and noticed a piece of saniderm sticking out of the top of his black boxer briefs, “Oh shit…” he mumbled. Rhett was no stranger to getting drunken tattoos, but what would he have gotten on his hip? He bit the bullet and shoved the band of his underwear down to reveal your name sprawled across his hip in a large calligraphy style.

“Well… hopefully she likes it..”

It was late when Rhett had finally gotten home. He showed up at your apartment close to two in the morning. He let himself in using his key and dropped his duffle bag by the door before pulling his boots off and wandering back to your bedroom. You were lying in bed, face illuminated by your laptop screen, furiously typing something. Rhett had gone unnoticed until he was a few steps away from your bed. You jumped, your laptop almost falling off your lap, but you caught it. “Rhett?! You scared the crap out of me.”

Rhett chuckled, took the laptop from you, and placed it on your side table before climbing on top of you. You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck as his hands snaked around your waist. “I missed you, my pretty girl.”

“I missed you too, cowboy. Congrats on ranking! I wish I coulda sen you ride in person but I watched a couple live streams, and you were amazing.” you smiled as you hugged him tightly. Rhett inhaled the scent of your body butter as he held you closer.

“I did something a little stupid in Vegas…” Rhett started, he noticed your face go pale, “I didn’t cheat on you- lemme just show ya…” Rhett corrected himself, giving you some relief. He sat up and balanced on his knees before undoing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans.

“Rhett…”

“You know I have a few tattoos… I got most of them when I was drunk and-” Rhett paused as he pulled his pants and boxer briefs down just enough to reveal the new tattoo he’d gotten in Vegas, “this one was also a drunk tattoo…”

“Is that… is that my name?”

“It is. Do you like it?” Rhett asked softly, hoping it wouldn’t scare you away. You thought for a moment before hesitantly nodding.

“I… I’m lost for words, Rhett. That’s my name on your hip…”

#outer range #outer rang fan fiction #outer rang fan fic #outer range one shot #outer range blurb #outer range imagine #outer range fan fic #outer range x reader #outer range x you #outer rang fic #rhett abbott #rhett abbott fan fiction #rhett abbott fan fic #rhett abbott one shot #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott blurb #rhett abbott smut

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0mg-bird · 9 months ago

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Loom ~ R. Abbott x Fem! Reader

Summary: Rhett doesn’t know how long he can live with his tormenting thoughts while you live without him.

Warnings: Angst! A whole lotta angst, jealous Rhett= stupid Rhett, violence and language.

A/n: Inspired by one of my favorite Zach Bryan songs, Loom.

His jaw might fall out of its socket, the way he grinds his back teeth, back and forth, back and forth. Beer in hand, he’s watching from across the bar at the shape of you. Your Wrangler bell bottoms and little black top made you a sight for sore eyes, the way you spun around the dance floor with your friends had him in a trance.

Perry comes back to sit beside his brother, but upon seeing Rhett’s strong gaze, he follows the line of vision straight to you.

“Here we go again.” He laughs, making Rhett face him. “What are you talking about?” He asks, trying to act casual.

Perry gives him an amused glance. “I’m talking about the Tillerson girl.”

Rhett shrugs. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh please don’t do this act with me, it’s a beat horse at this point.” He says, huffing. “You ever gonna get over this little fantasy of yours?”

Rhett swallows hard, looking away. “It ain’t a fantasy, it’s ain’t anything.”

That was a lie, Rhett knew it. You were like forbidden fruit, so sweet, he was desperate to get a taste but how could he when you were you? Entirely too good for him, with a name that couldn’t be seen next to his.

He used to never consider you, not until you came back from college all grown. Now you were as sweet as honey, funny as ever, looking finer than any mountain view he’s seen. The moments you’ve shared alone, the unusual tension, the words that go unsaid, it’s things you think about often. But Rhett never made a move, and in those moments he doesn’t lift one finger to you, you can only think of the way your father and brothers ruined this love affair chance.

At some point you decide it was no use to pine for a cowboy who you pushed you away, so you were going to move on with your life.

Here you were now, dancing with a charmer. Your two step beat was fun, he was a looker too. While you two spun around, Rhett was clenching his beer bottle with a white knuckled grip.

He has this reoccurring dream sometimes, where you and him ran away and made a life of your own. He isn’t so angry, he isn’t feeling anything other than some type of emotion that makes him feel like he’s going through the floor.

It’s the thing that haunts him, it teases him to a life he does not have.

A life he’s afraid to admit he wants.

“I’ll be back.” Perry states, navigating his way to the mens room.

As Rhett is left alone, he finishes his last swig, then goes to get another beer.

That charmer you were dancing with has his hand on the small of your back as he leads you to get a drink. As you stand beside him, slightly leaning over the bar as you talk to the bartender, the man’s hand slips down your back side, playfully pinching and squeezing. You push his hand off, the action makes Rhett alert.

When the man does it again, leaning over to whisper in your ear and getting pushed off again, he steps back into Rhett.

“Hey, could you fucking watch where you’re going?” Rhett snaps, making you turn and face him. “Sorry, Rhett, he didn’t mean too.” You glare at your guy.

“You’re right, sorry.” He throws a half hearted apology to Rhett before diving to kiss your neck.

Rhett knows your awkward laugh well, the one you give when you try to be polite but are still uncomfortable. You give it to the guy you continue to push away.

It feels wrong, his hands on your body, his lips on your skin. It makes Rhett’s breath quicken.

“Hey, I think she wants you to back off.” He grabs the guys shoulder, pulling him off of you.

The man grows defensive, smacking Rhett’s hand away. “I think you should mind your own fucking business and not pay attention to what me and my woman are doing.”

You pause, taking a large step away from him. “Who said I’m yours?”

He chuckles lowly. “Oh come on baby, don’t start this teasing shit now.”

“How about you go fuck yourself.” You call back, turning back for your friends before he tugs at your arm.

Just as you’re about to gasp, Rhett is standing in front of you, gripping the man’s wrist.

“I don’t want to have to do this right here in front of everyone, but I will if you don’t get your hand off of her right now.”

The expanse of his back is shielding you, you can’t see his expression but you know it’s angry.

Your arm is dropped, deep fingerprints are left in your skin.

“I would’ve let you had a go at her after I was finished, all you had to do was ask.”

Those disgusting words fall from his lips and the next thing you know, he’s on the ground.

The ones around leap back, watching as Rhett tumbles around with this charmer you thought was great ten minutes ago.

“What the hell?” Perry shouts, pushing past bodies to pull his brother away.

The two put up a fight, but when Rhett gets pulled one direction and the man gets pulled another, it’s over.

You follow the Abbott brothers out the back door of the bar, Rhett’s still seething, spitting out a mouth full of blood. You slink back quietly, looking up at Perry.

“I’ll pull the truck around.” He tells you, making himself scarce.

“Rhett…” You’re tone comes out quieter than you imagined it would.

He looks at you with confusion and question. “Why do you do this? Why do you find the biggest assholes and hang on their arm?”

You wrap your arms around yourself, the night air colder than expected. “I don’t intentionally do it.”

Rhett scoffs, then pushes his hair out of his face. “Tell me what you want me to do.” He demands. “Put me out of my damn misery and tell me that you’d rather not think of me.”

Your brows furrow. “I don’t want to say that.”

He’s running his hands down his face, blood on his split knuckles. “Then tell me how I get this to stop. This-this back and forth, coy game we play.”

“What game?” You shout, stepping towards him.

“The one where we both know what we’re feeling but don’t do a damn thing about it!”

Maybe it’s the few drinks in your system that’s making you feel like dropping in tears. You blink them back.

“And what am I supposed to be feeling, Rhett? Stop speaking in fuckin’ riddles and just say it with your chest!”

He stomps to you. “How do I make you fall in love with me? How?” He demands, your bodies close in proximity. You stare up at him, not missing the way his chest rises and falls quickly.

“I would’ve fallen in love with you years ago if you hadn’t been so damn stoic. All this talk about our family feuds, about how you don’t bring much to the table and I need more than that…” Your voice shakes, you reach out to hit his chest with both of your hands. “You never once cared about my feelings, so why now?”

He takes the hits you give, though they didn’t really hurt like you intended them to. They hurt deep in his lungs.

“I thought I was doing right by you.” Is all he says, making the first few tears fall down your face.

“I would’ve loved you with everything I had, every fiber of me, Rhett.” Your hands are in your hair, then you take a step back.

“You would have?” He asks, and you nod. “I would…I’m just not sure about now, anymore.”

His heart aches, his fingers itch to reach out for you.

You wipe your face. “Thanks for intervening back there.” You say, then disappear back inside.

He watches the spot you just stood, and the overwhelming feeling of lost love, looms.

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A/n: aghhhhhhhh this was so angsty omg. If y’all like it, lmk, maybe I should do a part two???

#Spotify #rhett abbott #rhett abbot x reader #lewis pullman #angst #outer range #rhett abbott angst #zach bryan

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nurse-floyd · 10 months ago

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How to Smile Again - Chapter 2

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x driver!reader

Warnings: mentions of injury, sadness and depression.

Despite Rhett trying his best, your first day on the ranch doesn’t go as planned.

Rhett Abbott tag list: @vivwritesfics (thank you for your feedback and help with the flow of this chapter!)

Rhett didn’t see you for the rest of the day. He had dropped off some staples for you in the kitchen to tide you over until you got settled, but other than that, the last he saw of you was when you were limping back to the cabin later that evening.

After he had settled the horses for the night and finished cleaning tack and packing it away, he made a quick stop at the mare you had befriended earlier that day. “Hey girl,” he said as she nuzzled against the hand in her mane. “You really like her, don’t you?” As if she had understood him, she let out a snort and nodded her head up and down. Rhett let out a laugh. “She’s hurt, Pea. I don’t know how we’re gonna help her, but we’re going to do our best, right? Are you up for it?”

He then returned to his own home, also located on the ranch, exhausted from the day’s work. As he sat there with his laptop and a hastily made sandwich, he began replying to emails to various clients. Then his curiosity got the better of him. He wanted to know a bit more about you and see what you really did and loved. So he went on a deep dive. He started by searching your name on YouTube, wanting to see you in action.

Of course, the first thing he saw was a video of your crash, the thumbnail showing what looked like a car in pieces with the caption ‘horror crash for y/n at Montreal.’

He couldn’t bring himself to watch it, not yet. Instead, he found videos from your team with a thumbnail of you laughing with another man called Logan. He clicked on it. The pair of you were doing a silly challenge but couldn’t make it through without wheezing with laughter. You were bent over, hand on his shoulder, giggling away at something he had said. Rhett’s eyes lit up; God, he wanted to get you smiling like that again so badly. After a few more videos—ones of you doing donuts in your car, the smoke billowing around the vehicle as your tires left black circles on the tarmac, and ones of you leaning into your team’s arms as you celebrated a podium—he returned to the video of your crash. He hesitated, his cursor over the video. He didn’t want to intrude or invade your privacy, but he also wanted to understand just what you had been through.

He watched as 20 cars raced around the track, names he didn’t know were called out as one colorful car overtook another. He waited for the inevitable to happen. The cars sped around the track, around tight bends, and squeezed between each other in gaps Rhett thought were way too small, but they proved him wrong. The commentator called out your name, the camera focused on your car as they described the race.

Then it happened.

The crash was sudden. Another car clipped the back of yours and sent you spinning at a terrifying speed. Metal crunched and tires screeched as you desperately tried to gain control of your car and avoid others. Your car slammed into one wall before spinning again and slamming full force into another barrier before it came to a halt.

“And that’s a horrific crash for y/n,” he heard the man commentating.

The radio crackled to life. “Y/N, are you okay?” a man’s voice asked.

His heart broke as he heard the muffled cries and gasping breaths come through the radio from you. He held his breath as the voice over the radio asked again. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. The coverage from your radio stopped then.

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself.

He continued to watch as stewards and medics rushed to your car. They didn’t get you out right away, though. He knew why. He knew the extent of your injuries from your trainer and physio. They kept replaying the clip over and over. He flinched every time he saw your car practically crumple around you, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. They seemed to show every angle, and each time it seemed worse.

He could hardly breathe as the camera zoomed in on your car, now a crumpled wreck. The commentator’s voice was somber, his voice cracking as he tried to relay any information on your condition. The video then cut to a series of images and videos from people who were obviously there and watched the accident. Scenes of you being extricated from the wreckage and the ambulance pulling away from the track where he knew you went through more pain. Rhett swallowed the hard lump he felt rise in his throat, the reality of the crash just now hitting him.

He found your Instagram account then. Now, Rhett had never had an interest in Instagram, nor did he want to create his own account. His brother and a few of his staff had suggested he make one for the ranch, but he didn’t have time to run it (and secretly, he didn’t know the first thing about Instagram). It was eerie; there was your name, the name of your team, and then the last post. A picture of you in a race suit and helmet by your car he had just seen in bits moments before with the caption, “Montreal GP, let’s go!”

“Shit…” he muttered to himself. He closed his laptop, eyeing the time. It was late and he knew he needed sleep because, after seeing those videos, he was even more determined to get you back to racing, back to that happy girl he had seen in those videos goofing around and smiling.

He opened up his emails again, sending a quick email to your trainer and physio asking if there was anything more he could do and if they had any tips for dealing with a hot-headed and stubborn F1 driver.

The next morning he was up early, helping his staff feed the horses and get them ready for the day’s work. He tried not to act surprised as he saw you stepping down from the porch and making your way over to the stables.

“Morning,” he called.

“Hi,” you replied as you looked up and gave him a tight-lipped smile and held up your hand in a small wave.

Some sort of cattle dog ran up to you as you approached him, jumping up at your side, his head licking against your hands as he excitedly greeted you.

“Scout, down,” Rhett called as the dog jumped down and sat at your feet, tail still wagging.

“Well, you’ve met Scout.”

“Hi bud,” you cooed slightly, as you rubbed between his ears.

“So, we’re going to try and get you on Peanut today if you’re up for it.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and a nod.

“Perfect, let’s find you some gear,” he said as you followed him toward the tack room to get fitted for a helmet and some boots.

He picked up a sleek black helmet and handed it to you. “Try this one on.” He slipped the helmet on, adjusting the straps under your chin for you before he stepped back to get a look at you. “How does it feel?”

“A lot more comfortable than my racing helmets.” You were used to people helping you in and out of your helmets and gear, but something about the way Rhett’s hands brushed underneath your chin had butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Good,” he exaggerated with a small tap to the top of your helmet, “now for the boots.” He guided you to a line of boots, varying styles and sizes; all well-worn. You settled for a pair of long riding boots, and with Rhett’s help, you tugged them on, trying to ignore the pain that jolted in your thigh.

As soon as you had both, you looked at yourself in the dirty mirror, Rhett standing just behind you.

“There, now you look the part.”

As you stepped out of the storeroom, you saw Pea being led out by one of the stable hands and passed off to Rhett as you approached. She nuzzled into your hands again, which you reciprocated with a scratch underneath her chin, “alright, let’s do this.”

With a leg up from Rhett, you managed to mount Peanut, the familiar twinge of pain shooting through your leg despite the stretches you had completed that morning from your physio. The first few steps were weird, the positioning and the new angle sent a burning through your leg, but it was a good kind of pain. Or so you told yourself. It was pain, but pain was needed if it meant you were going to get back to where you really wanted to be. You gritted your teeth against the new sensation as Rhett walked beside you, his hand resting on Peanut’s bridle until you got used to being on her.

Rhett led you out into the riding ring, Pea’s steps slow and gentle to begin with. For a while, it was manageable. As you get used to the sensation, Rhett clicked his tongue as he encouraged Pea to pick up the pace. The motion sent a jolt of pain shooting up your leg and soon your frustration built beyond your limit of tolerance. You tightened your grip on the reins and took a deep breath to try and focus on the rhythm of Peanut’s hooves on the ground. But it was useless, the pain was getting too much and the same feelings of anger and helplessness you had felt during your first few weeks of physio bubbled back up.

“You’re doing great,” Rhett said, his voice low and soothing, not at all condescending, which you appreciated.

“I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t,” your words choked in your throat as your frustration bubbled to the surface.

Rhett immediately pulled Pea to a halt, “It’s okay. We can stop. It’s your first session and it’ll take time. Riding uses different muscles than you’re used to and you’re doing better than you think.”

But in the state you were already in, his words did little to soothe your frustration, “it’s pointless. I’m never going to get better. Just…help me down.”

Before you could take your legs from the stirrups to dismount, a sudden gust of wind caused a barrel to fall over and crash to the ground outside of the school. Pea’s ears flicked back as she spooked. She took a few galloping steps forward before Rhett could react, “Hold on!” he shouted, but it was too late.

You lost your grip on the reins and toppled off the side of the saddle, hitting the ground hard. The pain in your leg doubled and you lay there, tears of frustration spilling over. You hit the ground with your fists and let out a scream of frustration.

Rhett was by your side in an instant, his hands firm but gentle as he attempted to help you sit upright. “Are you alright?”

In your anger, you pushed his hands away from you with a shove. “No, I’m not alright,” you snapped, “this is never going to work!”

Rhett’s face softened as he sat back on his heels, his hands up in surrender. He gave you a minute to cool down and feel whatever it was you were feeling in the moment as you buried your face in your hands, feeling utterly deflated.

You felt a nudge at your arm as Pea’s hooves came into view. You sniffed and wiped your face as you opened your arms and allowed her to nuzzle her face against yours. “I’m sorry, girl,” you whispered into her neck before you turned back to Rhett. “I’m sorry.” With a sniffle, you slowly picked yourself up, dusted yourself off, and limped out of the riding ring, ignoring Rhett as he called your name.

#how to smile again #rhett abott #rhett abbott fanfic #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abott x reader #f1!driver reader #f1 x reader #mine #my writing #beth writes #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #driver!reader #rhett abbott x driver!reader

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purelyfiction · 2 years ago

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miami vice || rhett abbott

Rhett Abbott x F!Reader

Word Count: 3,015 words

Summary: tailgates and trucker hats and drinky decisions. that's all.

Content Warning: HEY!! THIS HAS SMUT!! So if you’re under 18 pleaseeee go away. (brother's best friend, f fingering, choking, oral f receiving, missionary, safe sex, CNC because drunk, strangers to lovers, possession kink if you squint?)

Author Note: hey bitches i'm not dead - jk ily all sorry. if you can't tell i'm self indulgent and needed to put this horny energy somewhere other than my head. enjoy.

"HEADS UP!" You barely register the sound before a sand filled bag clocks you right across the top of your eye, making you curse and drop your beer, hand flying up to your eye. The voice has traveled from the other side of the tent to land in front of you, a large hand taking your shoulder. "shit, i'm so sorry 'bout that."

Finally blinking away the pain in your eyelid, you can open both of your eyes to reveal the jackass who'd struck you - a jackass in a black sleeveless tank with a backward trucker hat. Your chin drops as you look him in very blue eyes, which are flooded with clouded concern. "You good? C'mere," his hand moves from your shoulder to behind your back as he moves to your side, carefully tucking under the tailgate tent. The male moves to one of what had to be a dozen blue coolers tucked under folding tables, pulling it open and carefully pushing the cold can to the affected eye. You've not said a damn word as he carefully settles the drink to your forehead, eyes still trained on him. "Real sorry, again I- my buddy's got shit aim."

"It's fine, I'll just go back to my place looking like I got jumped. " Your quick retort has him chuckling as he guides your hand to take the can and hold it. After he's sure you won't drop it, he's grabbing another two cans, large hands able to handle them with ease, extending one to you as he polishes off the other he'd carried over with him.

"You can actually drink that one." This time, its you laughing at you watch him crush the now empty can and toss it in a nearby hanging trash bag, clicking the tab to open it, foam coming to the top. Instinctually, you're dropping down to catch it with your lips before it can overflow onto his hand, the aluminum still in his grip. Withdrawing, you carefully navigate it from his hands.

"Thanks. You always treat the victims your sloppy shooter assaults?"

"Nah, only if they're stupidly hot." The forwardness leaves your eyebrows to pop up, the pain dully reminding you how you got here in the first place. The nameless cornhole vigilante reaches up to the tent frame, gripping to the accordion metal and leaning in. "I don't think I recognize you? Are you bummin' booze off these guys?"

"First you hit me with a sandbag and then have the nerve to question if I'm crashing a tailgate that isn't mine?" No Name points to your with an index finger while the remaining fingers keep curled around his Miller Lite.

"Good point. Name's Rhett." Nodding in response, you're carefully moving back to the cooler to toss a somewhat warm can back to the cooler, and return to your spot. Sorta. The brunette somehow seems closer - at least his face seems that way. You introduce yourself in response, and he laughs. "Dane's sister?"

"That's the one. This is all him. The RV, the parking pass - the booze I'm 'bumming' from him." Another sip of his beer blocks the view of his devilish grin. It almost matches the flames of the shirt he's wearing. "Where's the accent from? Definitely doesn't sound like it's from here."

He would proceed to explain that he's originally from Wyoming, and had come down to compete in the National Rodeo Circuit finalist events. That made him a cowboy cornhole viglinate. Rhett had insane stories from his events - like how he fucked up his shoulder on one of his best runs and rode again the very next day. When he ran out of stories - two beers later - he was happy to attempt to get revenge on his former cornhole partner for smacking you across the face.

"You're absolutely ass at this!" He laughs, watching the bag splat against the concrete. Bouncing along to a nearby speaker you turn to him when the other two start collecting bags.

"I gotta admit - I've never played."

"You-" His face fills with surprise and disdain, shaking his head, "How have you never- damn it, we're teaching you."

On the next turn, Rhett keeps the bags to himself, and feeds one into your hand. Before you can throw it however, his larger hand comes under yours, fingers skating along your forearm before getting comfortable under your grip. His chest is flush against your back, his scruff brushing against your ear as he leans in. Thick drawl gives you instructions about the power you want to put behind the throw, moving your arm along with it. Guiding your toss, the orange bag goes flying through the air, lands on the board and slides right into the hole. "Atta girl."

You end up losing the game, mainly because Rhett's cheating by continuing to tug you backward by the belt loop every time you take a shot to the board. Each time you looked over at him with a scowl, he would sip at his drink, mumbling 'don't look at me'.

The closer and closer to game time that you got, the thinner and thinner the tailgate group got. Dane had started cleaning up, his friends helping him put things inside the RV and his friend's pickups. Rhett still clings to you like tipsy velcro, his hand stuck in your back pocket as you try to help pack things away.

"Here, I'll dump out the cooler."

"Rhett there's still-"

"Oh there's still beer in here. Would be a shame to let it go to waste." Tossing one to you - which you somehow catch - he's snagging Dane's keys from a nearby table, pushing the first key blade he can find into the bottom of the can, duplicating the hole in your can that he's guided to the horizontal position. Dropping the keys to his feet, he looks at you. "Do I gotta teach this shit to you too?"

"You gonna cheat at this too?"

"Who said this was a race?" He asks.

"This is always a race. Three, two-" Both tabs crack open as you push the cans to your mouths, shotgunning commencing without a final count. As you tilt the can properly, you realize that Rhett has already finished his can, dropping it to the pavement. How the fuck- you obviously can't ask as you continue to chug, your throat working as you keep downing the liquid. Rhett's hand, coated in beer, carefully tucks under your chin, pushing your head further back, back and back.

"You can take it." If you weren't so determined to show him up - you would've sputtered foamy wheat water everywhere. You nearly choke thanks to the new pace, but make a smooth recovery. Dropping the can, you gasp for air, throwing your head back as you let the beverage settle in your stomach. Looking at Rhett, he's got a stupidly large grin on his face, upper lip covered in beer foam. You're about to say something when Dane comes out of the RV, calling your name.

"You don't have tickets right?" Nodding, the cowboy looks at Dane and then at you.

"You're not going?"

"Unless you're tucking me into your purse, Rhett - no." Dane slaps the taller male's shoulder before reaching down for the keys on the ground and pushing them into your hand.

"These are yours 'til we get back," Turning to Rhett, he nods toward the stadium. "Ready to start walking?" The mid-west male starts patting at his jeans, all the way down to his boots. Popping up to his full height, he grips your brother's shoulder much like he had yours earlier.

"I can't find my phone or my wallet. Let me go check the RV - I'll just meet you at the seats." Dane nods, and moves to the rest of the group, starting the trek to the metal building. When they're out of earshot, Rhett's hand tucks back into your pocket again. "You wanna give me the tour?"

In the most hasty fashion, you clamber into your brother's RV, showing off the kitchenette/living area, before leading him to the bunk areas, where you'd be sleeping tonight. Rhett's hand hasn't left your pocket at this point. As you show off the tiny space, he laughs. "What's so funny?"

"It's cute y'think both of us are gonna fit in there." Like a tipsy cocker spaniel, your head tilts at him. Fingers move to grip your ass through your jeans, before he spots the pocket door to the owner's bedroom of the mobile home. He's easily pushing the door open, a larger queen sized bed waiting on the other side of the door. "That's more like it." Before you can argue with him, his lips are latching to yours, hands gripping your hips enough to tug you flush against his own.

Rhett is efficient in pulling the jersey you were roasting in off your shoulders. The cowboy is about to let it hit the floor when you pull back. “Be smart about this.” You warn. Before you can blink, he’s thrown it to a side table and you back onto the bed.

“Or. You be smart and leave the commands to me.” A hand slides up from your lower back, up along your spine, soft finger tips electrifying the skin under them as he finds the strap of your bra. His lips busy themselves along your neck, wet and sloppy open mouthed kisses are soft and smooth compared to the sharp and coarseness of his stubble. The clasps are disengaged in quick time, and he pulls away from your skin to switch to the other side of your neck. Your bra- unlike the jersey- is discarded to the floor, leaving you in jeans that hugged you well, and sweat slick bare skin.

He carefully cups your breast, gripping onto it, a thumb rolling over the peak as your head cranes back. His kisses are getting shorter and closer and closer to your chest, until the warm and wet feeling blooms along your other boob, his tongue forming many shapes in the process. Your hands are eager to tug the backwards hat off his head, fingers carding through his hair, tugging with teeth teasingly scraping your skin a moan lifts from you. “Oh did my girl like that?” He taunts, moving to switch sides.

As he keeps mouthing at your tits, his hands busy themselves with your belt and button of your pants. It’s damn near expert execution, jeans swiftly thudding to the floor, no awkward entanglement to be found. His maneuvers leave you with only your panties left to hide yourself from him, but even then, a curious index finger runs along your pussy lips through the skimpy material. Slowly, he pulls the elastic free from your skin, running along it in a pacing line, smirking up at you as he moves to the edge of the bed. "This is such a treat, cause I know that stadium doesn't serve tacos." Adjusting to sit on your forearms, you stare him down as his lips start leaving wet spots along your inner thighs, a slight sound leaving you. "Did you just call my pussy a taco?"

An idiotic and drunken smirk floods his face as rough hands slide under the sides of your underwear. "Depends. Am I gonna starve, or are you gonna let me eat it?"

The surprise on your face speaks for itself as his hands free the material from your hips. His hands come to your calves, guiding your legs to prop up and spread apart. "Let me just set my plate here- that's just perfect." It takes mere seconds for his tongue to slide between your folds, the sensation making you somewhat melt along the duvet under you. He doesn't continue in his stripe patterns but in zig-zags, waves - patterns that tease you and just barely hit your clit. Rhett keeps this behaviour up until you're grinding up against him, his hands grabbing your hips. The hold is tight, and sharp blue eyes glare up at you, darkening as you whine.

"You're gonna stay right where I put ya. Y'hear?"

"But-" He snaps up back onto his feet, hovering over you again, his finger tips gliding along your skin and delicately wrapping around your throat.

"Wanna try that again?" It's punctuated with the slightest squeeze, the revelation that he was truly in control. You shake your head, and he smirks, his eyes locking you and your attention in as he catches you off guard, his other hand pushing a finger into you, thoroughly soaked from his toying. "Good girl. You just sit there and look all pretty while I take care'a you." His hand at your lower half begin to pump in and out, his other hand still decorating your body in the form of a necklace. "You are just the damndest thing I ever did see, know that baby?"

Rhett's thumb comes from the side of your neck, tracing along your jawline and chin before it taps your bottom lip. "Open up, my girl." You do as you're told as he dips his thumb past your lips, instinctively closing around him. Your cheeks hollow out as you suck intently - the digit stifling the moan that vibrates through you as he gets another finger into you. "God you are so fuckin' beautiful." It's muttered as his hand picks up a pace, your body relaxing and holding onto him tightly in two separate places. The faster his hand rocks into you, the more distracted your tongue becomes, he can tell. Which is why his hand pulls back, using the slick from your lips to begin rubbing circles against your clit, the feeling making you sigh in contentment. His lips trap yours momentarily, his tongue running along your teeth as his hands blindly work against you.

"Fuck, you are so wet for me, aren't you?" Rhett pulls back, the both of you catching your breath as pushes - in, out, in out. Your jaw slacks, trying to get an answer out. A particularly rough thrust of his hand drives his question again. "Aren't you?"

Eagerly, you nod, a gasping answer sneaking out. "Yes, god, I'm so wet, so wet for you, Rhett."

His hands retreat, moments from letting you finish with just his fingers. The male is rapidly undoing his belt buckle, slithering a hand into his back pocket, fishing out a condom from it. He sticks it between his teeth as he barely manages to get his hard on free from his boxers.

Part of you wants to ask him to let you put it on, let you admire the length that has sprung free from his jeans, but you know he's working against a running clock. Someone is going to notice he's taking too long. He didn't want to run that risk it seems.

The wrapper disappears somewhere. You're sure it remains somewhere in the RV floorboards, but as he's entering you, there's no fucking way you care where the evidence went.

Rhett presses into you, inch by inch, his lips playing with a spot on your neck. He stretches you so well, a hiss coming from you that times well with how he sucks a bite mark onto your skin. "My girl's so tight for me. Fuckin' so goddamn tight." His voice is low, gruff and right in your ear.

The smell of his body wash hovers over you, mixing with the newly formed scent of sex in the air as he pulls back, only to move forward again. "Sweetheart, you want me to move?"

"Yes, yes I want you to move-"

"Ask me nicely, baby." He freezes above you, staring you down, piercing blue eyes drinking you in like this. Sweat slick from the stale air of an RV and the Miami heat, tucked under him, captive.

"Please move, baby. Please, I just wanna come." The expression he makes strokes your ego in ways it likely shouldn't.

"Oh you're gonna come, I'll promise you that- you're gonna come." His hips begin rutting into you as he stands up a little further, hands coming up under your knees. Propping your legs up slightly, not fully extended but providing an angle to get even deeper into you, a sound escapes you, pinpointing exactly when he does. As his thrusts move quicker and quicker, your legs seem to slip from his hands, leaving him to reach up on the bed, snagging the nearest pillow.

"Hips up, sweetheart." A pant leaves him as he aids you to pop up, sliding the cushion under you. Upon the next thrust, and each one after, Rhett continues to hit the exact same spot, earning himself a rhythm of moans that time with his hips. "Oh honey, if they didn't know, they sure do now."

His hand drops between where the two of you meet, his thumb returning to do paces, sending you careening off the edge and into a blazing white haze, your body shuddering from the sensation.

Your cowboy continues his pace, no faster, no slower - continuing to ride out until you're nodding, encouraging him along. His pace picks up, his lips snagging onto yours as the sound of a cell phone comes from the floor. It only serves as encouragement for him, until he's finishing, his upper body hovering over yours as sloppy kisses and whimpers from him fill the soundscape.

His phone stops ringing, and when he pulls out, you remain trapped under him. Rhett gives you one more slow kiss before he moves to pull off the condom, cleaning himself up. "I think that big brother of yours is lookin' for me." He charms, pulling his pants back up, zipping himself up.

"Seems like it does." You offer, squirming on the bed, not ready to get up yet. Rhett pulls his phone from his pocket, nodding and confirming that's who'd called.

This time, your phone starts going off.

Simultaneously, his does too.

Then there's a pounding coming from the RV door.

#rhett abbot x reader #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x reader smut #rhett abbott outerrange #outer range #lewis pullman #lewis pullman characters

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galatially · 1 year ago

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𝑟ℎ𝑒𝑡𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑏𝑜𝑡𝑡

#my masterlist #galatially #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x black!reader

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delopsia · 10 months ago

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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.

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.

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.

"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.

#rhett abbott x reader #afab reader #oneshot #rhett abbott #outer range #delgato writes

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dulcewrites · 2 years ago

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#a teaser… if you will #for like the two people that will care lmao #idk what I will post first but yes… we are back in our outer range bag (fingers crossed)#rhett abbott x female reader #rhett abbott x reader #outer range #outer range imagine #rhett abbott #black!reader #black!fem!reader

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mothdruid · 1 year ago

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Happy Birthday, Abby! 🥳 Can I request “thank you for picking me up- i know it’s late” with Rhett Abbott?

- @bradshawsbaby 💕

Fuck Up

pairing: Rhett Abbott x afab!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: MEGA-ANGST AHEAD (you've been warned)

a/n: what would an event be if i didn't accidentally write too much for one request....

The old pick up rattled down the random dirt road, it having replaced the music long ago. Rhett's grip on the stirring wheel was tight, almost as tight as his heart at the point in time. His heart had grown tight as soon as he saw the message. Just his luck honestly. He had barely even been home for fucking fifteen minutes.

can you come get me?

The texted had illuminated his entire bedroom. For a moment he had been happy, hoping that it was maybe, finally, you were asking for him to come by or just anything. Which he did get, but at what cost. Especially after he watched your next text pop up, an address that wasn't yours. He knew that things between the two of you weren't the same as they once would, but he wishing for him to take back what he had said. It'd been years but it still hurt like it happened yesterday.

He checked his phone one more time to make sure it was the right driveway and pulled in. Rhett couldn't help but think that you looked small in his headlights. You were dressed for to cool summer night. A pair of ripped jeans that showed enough skin to drive him wild. A black cropped tank top that also was making him more jealous of whoever was in the house you were leaving. You had a flannel pulled tightly around you, trying to keep at least a little warm.

He unlocked the door, keeping his head straight as his eyes followed you around the front of his truck. He tugged on the brim of his trucker cap, pulling it down a touch more. He sat there, slowly starting to dissociate now that you were sitting next to him.

"Hey," you said after getting situated and buckled in.

"Hey," Rhett's voice was low and gruff.

“Thank you for picking me up- I know it’s late,” you folded your hands in your lap.

All Rhett could do was let out a hum, knowing that if he spoke his words might betray him. He put the truck into reverse, backing up out of the drive way. A tense silence accented by the rattles from his truck encompassed the both of you. Rhett could feel how tense it was, but he wasn't sure if he was just making it up or not. Something that only he could feel.

"Did I wake you up?" You asked, hands still folded while you stared out the window at the black of the night.

"No," Rhett replied briefly. Awkwardness started to seep into the silence after that.

Rhett clenched his jaw as his mind started to swirl with jealousy, wondering what the fuck had happened inside of that house you came from. Better yet, why the fuck were you outside when he got there. Did whoever that touched you not have the decency to even let you wait inside? All he wanted to say was that you deserved better, that he could give you that. But that was a lie.

The two of you sat in the tense awkward silence the entire way back to the tiny apartment that you were renting above the local pharmacy. Once he pulled up to the side of the street he parked. He had expected you to just leave, thank him then bail, just like always since six months ago. Rhett couldn't believe that it had even been that long.

"I can hear you thinkin'," your voice was barely audible above the hum of the engine.

"Hmm?" Rhett asked, having not heard you.

"If you have something to say, say it."

Rhett noticed a change in your tone. It was cold yet, but sharp. That was when he finally broke his stare away from the lifeless gauges on his dash. You looked beautiful. Even with the crinkle between your eyebrows and conflicted look on your face.

"I don't got any-"

"Oh come on, Rhett. You really think I can't fuckin' tell," you interrupted.

Rhett felt a little irritation simmer in his chest, sensation rising up into his throat. You face had changed from conflicted to annoyed. Or at least that's what Rhett clocked it as, maybe it was irritation just like his. The two of you stared at each other for a while, waiting for one of you to break and talk first.

"Why are you out trampin' around?" Rhett's voice was deep.

"You don't know that, I could have been doing anything," you retorted.

"Yeah? That why your car wasn't there and you needed me for a pick up?"

"I didn't fucking need you for anything," your irritation was becoming more obvious now.

"Damn right, you fuckin' texted me," Rhett's own face was starting to show his irritation.

"I could have texted anyone el-"

"Bull shit, and you know it."

Rhett moved his body a little more to face you, you doing the same. Neither of you really wanted to do this at 1am on a Saturday, but when else would you do it.

"Why does it matter what I'm doing anyways?" You asked, eyes locked with his.

Rhett paused for a moment, wondering if he should even say it. Wondering that if he said it would it fix everything. Wondering about how your relationship would change even more.

"'Cause you deserve better."

He watched something change in your expression. It was still irritated, but there was something else. Maybe pain? Pity? He hoped to god it wasn't pity.

"No," you muttered, "Rhett don't."

"You do," Rhett pressed on.

"Rhett Abbott," you cleared you throat, "you do not get to tell me that. You had a chance to give me better, I had fucking asked you for better, and what did you say?" You paused, for some reason thinking he might actually reply.

He didn't.

"You told me that 'you ain't the one' and 'it was a mistake'," you said with air quotes. "So, don't come fucking acting like some stoic cowboy coming to save me, when you're the one who left me out for the wolves to begin with."

Rhett couldn't say anything. You were right. He had left you out for the wolves.

He had woken up in your bed hung over six months ago. You were curled into his side, hand resting over that bull tattoo on his chest. He was shocked by it, headache pounding to reminded him why it happened. Or at least why he thought it had happened. Once you had woken up he left no time for anything. He had only stayed that late to explain to you that it shouldn't have happened.

"Rhett, it wasn't a mistake for me."

"It was for me, and trust me, I'm not the one for you."

And now here he was. Reliving the same thing but from the other side. Watching the person he loves get out of his truck and walk away.

Once you were in the side door, that lead you up to your apartment, he cried. Tears falling even though he didn't want them too. He slammed his hand against his steering wheel in frustration, hating himself for fucking everything up.

What he didn't know was that you were doing the same. Crying as soon as you out of his view, running up the stairs to your apartment. and for the first time ever, you wondered why Rhett would fuck something up this badly.

I'M SORRY THAT IT CAME OUT A LOT MORE ANGSTY THAN I INITIALLY INTENDED. but thank you so much for requesting it and I really enjoyed writing this tbh. i love the stinky cowboy but also like to see him suffer cause he is my blorbo.

don't forget to send requests in for my birthday weekend!

birthday weekend blurb event

#moths 26th #rhett abbot #rhett abbott angst #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott fic

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sebsxphia · 1 year ago

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ptolemaea. | spirit in the basement.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: all you can feel and see is darkness, but someone else is there with you. you pray for your preacher in these desolate times.

￫ word count: 2K.

￫ c/w: heavy religious themes, preacher!rhett abbott, death, love and cannibalism.

￫ a/n: this is it, the last chapter! i’d highly recommend listening to spirit in the sky by norman greenbaum and strangers by ethel cain when reading! i also want to say to every single one of you who have loved and supported this series, thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. i’m genuinely so proud of this series and please know, that this is never the end either! my inbox is always open for these two! this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

| previous chapter |

What was this?

What was this feeling?

Your muscles in your calves tensed first on instinct to familiarize yourself with this feeling. They squeezed against something and you tensed them again, in an attempt to push against this something and feel it out.

Your forearms and biceps together repeated the same action and once again, you felt them squeeze against something.

No matter how hard and tight you flexed, or squeezed your muscles, they would not move against this something.

Something was binding you together and as you moved against this feeling, it felt as though invisible ties of fraying rope were twisting and turning over your body. You could feel them contort over your ribs, and tug at your ankles and wrists. Your limbs were glued tightly shut to your body in a position that you couldn’t even fathom to picture. And you were cold. You were so fucking cold.

Throughout all of your winters back in your home town, you don’t ever think you’d felt a chill this cold. It was prickling at your skin and covering you from head to toe. But, although you felt this piercing cold, your body wasn’t shaking like it would back home. You wondered if you were moving at all.

You thought you felt your eyelids blinking against each other in an attempt to try and see this something, but no matter how hard you blinked, your eyes remained open and there was nothing to be seen. It was just black. A black, deep, dark void that consumed your vision and everything you knew to be true.

And then you heard it.

There was a faint hum of music above your head. It was muffled considerably, but you couldn’t mistake that tune for anything else. Spirit In the Sky by Norman Greenbaum entered your hearing and swarmed your head with its familiar lullaby. It was a familiar favorite with yourself and soon after, with Rhett.

Rhett.

The song was still severely muffled, but further muffled creaks and groans contorted above your head. They paced around in an un-predictable pattern, and slowly they started to grow louder and closer to you. The sound cleared up and you recognized them to now be rhythmic patterns of footsteps. They were descending lower and growing louder, but something else came with it.

The low hum of the tune playing above you was turning into a whistle as something, came closer to you.

This was someone whistling the tune.

“R— Rhett?”

Your voice was broken and it croaked out from your throat.

“Rhett!”

You screamed louder with desperation, but your throat felt coarse and torn up.

As you desperately pleaded for Rhett to find you, over and over, you could feel the flesh on your neck tearing with your muscles. Your vocal cords were severed as you screamed.

You came to the deafening conclusion that he couldn’t hear you, as you heard his low drawl draw closer to you and hum out the words, “Never been a sinner, I never sinned. I got a friend in Jesus…”

His voice was so close to you now and he was practically on top of you. A crack of light dawned to your left and widened quickly. The darkness was now cut open above you and, you thought, you blinked furiously as your eyes adapted to the light. It was a dim and flickering light, yet it felt as though you had seen this darkness for your entire life. Your eyes adjusted and they went wide as you finally saw him.

Rhett had heard your pleading prayer.

He had always spoken to you about how you would find yourself in the Garden of Eden with him, therefore this wasn’t right. This wasn’t God’s plan for you, nor it wasn’t Rhett’s plan for you either. Your Preacher had come to save you from whatever horrid Hell this was. You would be safe in his arms again. He would hold you tightly against you, so tight his flesh would mould to yours and you would be tethered for eternity. You needed him, you craved him.

You made another futile attempt at screaming his name, but they fell on deaf ears. Your words never came. And Rhett simply continued to hum out Spirit In the Sky as he looked down at your neatly tied together body, which was frozen solid in your freezer, at the bottom of your basement.

You saw his hunting knife twirl in his slender fingers. You felt a blunt thud! whacked against your body and you were thrown back into the darkness.

You had no idea how long you’d been surrounded by this pitch-black, aching, darkness. The concept of time had all but disappeared with the light you saw your Preacher with. You thought it funny how the dim lightbulb that flickered above his head, silhouetted him like an Angel.

Concepts and things were starting to merge. You got confused and you felt yourself forgetting what time was all together, what your Daddy looked like, where your home was, how to breathe… But, Rhett was what you thought of most.

As you thought of him you could feel your heartbeat quicken in your throat and trail down to your heart itself. His initials of ‘R.A.’ thrummed on your hip bone with it. When you thought of him in this darkness, your body would vibrate and the blood in your veins would fizz.

He always made you feel as though you were coming alive. Every kiss, touch and bruise from his hand during sex, made your flesh come alive. Your hearts were tethered together, with his arteries suffocating yours.

You missed him.

And then you saw him again.

The darkness around you knocked down like bricks, before coming back together and forming a kitchen, specifically your kitchen, that you lived in together.

You were home and Rhett was with you there.

It was a sickly sweet, warmth inside your kitchen and it was just as you had left it. Left it where exactly, you weren’t sure of, but the heat made it feel as though wind was blowing gently along your arms.

Still, Spirit In the Sky played on the antique radio and you remembered how it would play in Rhett’s truck during blistering hot drives to the West, with the wind blowing through his rolled-down windows and onto your arms. You would mumble the lyrics to the tune with your knee bouncing in time. Soon you began to notice how Rhett would hum the tune with you, quietly making it known to you that he loved the song just as much as you did. His slender fingers would tap against the wheel of his truck, or his truck door as his hand stuck outside.

You suddenly felt his fingers tapping against you and you jolted with a spark. You watched him in the kitchen as he seared something with his hands in a sizzling hot pan. That sickly sweet, warmth was all you could feel as it clung to your flesh and stuck you to this particular place.

The song died out faintly on the radio and it followed with the town's local news.

“The missing persons case that has been wracking and worrying the people of Wyoming is causing another wave of paranoia as it’s suspected links to the missing persons cases that recently happened in the state of Florida. At this point, it is only suspected and local authorities are questioning…”

The monotone voice on the radio wasn’t interesting to you. It was drowned out from your ears as you gazed fondly, with an emptiness still behind your eyes, at Rhett. Your heartbeat picked up its pace and thrummed heavily against your rib cage as you watched him still. He was so handsome as he walked over to you, and then by you, reaching out to the cupboard that held your tableware.

His forearms now had small freckles splattered over his skin. You adored how they came up darker in the hotter weather. The fuzz of his arm hair, trailing up to his calloused fingers, had got lighter in the sunlight and you felt it softly brush against your cheek like he would when he’d lean in to tenderly press his lips to yours.

You’d only ever just wanted to be his. When you would kneel by your bed each night in nothing but your thin cotton nightdress, you’d pray to be his. You would beg him through prayer to tell you that you’re his. With your hands clasped so tightly together that your palms became damp, you’d mumble against your flesh, “Can I be yours? I tried to be good, Preacher Abbott. Am I no good? Can I be yours? I tried—”

When he told you that you were finally his, his forehead was pressed to yours through your screen door at the back of your house. His lips fumbled over the mesh material as he spoke and you laughed with pure, undeniable happiness that you were his. Through the small holes in the screen door, his familiar scent mixed with Marlboro Reds blanketed over you and wrapped you up with comfort. His tiny glass bottle of aftershave would always be splashed on his pulse point, just under his jaw, which was now tensing tightly as he chewed.

You watched as he devoured his smoked meal sat in front of him, and suddenly you felt an overwhelming and all-consuming love. You felt loved and protected by him, and you came to understand, like it was the most simple thing on this bountiful Earth, that this was his plan to keep his little lamb safe with him.

As he swallowed you thickly, you could feel his heart beating rapidly. You thought it funny because you never considered yourself tough before.

You felt whole as his heart was beating and intertwined itself with yours again. You were turning in his stomach and making him feel lovesick off of you and your tender flesh.

Tender pieces were still bleeding red and you thought, that Rhett had never looked so handsome when you were all over his mouth. His dog teeth that bit the meat off of your bones, were stained red. He groaned quietly, as he occasionally let his tongue wrap around his calloused fingertips. Doing so, he would smear your blood across your chin. His face was the portrait of a lover's rage.

This feeling was euphoric, in some strange and delightful way. You could never blame him for loving you the way that he did, because you were happiest here and because he would always be tethered to you. You’d never be without your Preacher again. Never alone, or fearful. He could protect you now from any hurt, or pain. This was meant to be and you would always forgive him, because he would always come back to you.

This sensation crept up your body, and you recognized the feeling of Rhett’s large hands running along your fingertips, down your forearm, and then up your biceps and to your shoulders.

You watched as the kitchen fell around you again like bricks, before building themselves back up and Rhett’s board arms were incasing you against his bare chest. You felt warm again, but it wasn’t the sickly, sweet type of warmth you’d experienced in the kitchen. This was instead the comforting warmth of Rhett’s flesh, pressed and moulded against yours.

The bricks came back together, stacking atop one another to form your bedroom in your home, where you lay together. Your hearts pounded against one another and you could finally feel his breathing. You could feel how his lungs expanded steadily below your own. The steady thrum of his pulse that you could feel under his jawline. As you scratched over it, his stubble pricked at your fingertips.

But you knew this was different.

In his basement, you would grow cold. The memory of you to everyone who knew you would simply be restricted to the Polaroids Rhett had of you. And whilst you were torn apart by the dog teeth of Preacher Abbott, you would still wait for him in your bed, in Death.

You felt safe, loved and protected with Rhett as you turned in his stomach, and you were held in his comforting arms. You just prayed that he knew how much you loved him.

But, it’ll be okay.

You can tell him when he gets here.

to my muse, jenna, thank you.

taglist: @sunblchdfly @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch @kmc1989 @randomfandomgirl97 @peachystenbrough

tagging those who may be interested: @attapullman @lewmagoo @floydsmuse @auroralightsthesky @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbitch @sugarcoated-lame @becks-things @roosterbruiser

#rhett abbott #preacher!rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott angst #rhett abbott drabble #rhett abbott imagine #outer range #lewis pullman #ptolemaea

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filmtv2022 · 2 years ago

Text

One More Ride (18+ MDNI)

All Series Masterlist

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Reader

Summary: Rhett & Y/N spend their last night in Wabang together. Pushing away the weight of the world by falling into one another's arms.

Warnings: SMUT (this is probably the filthiest thing I've written so far) + language

A/N: I've had the general idea for this story brewing for a while. This story is a one-shot standalone that isn't connected to my series "By Your Side", but if you want more Rhett content... might I suggest that you go read that too! Enjoy & I apologize for any mistakes!

Bright hues of orange and pink washed over the wispy clouds high in the sky above the pasture. The mountains and far-off forest sat dark on the horizon. An evening breeze picked up as the sun continued to sink, throwing goosebumps over your socked feet and bare arms. It would have been easy to go and grab a hoodie from the cab of the old pickup, but you didn’t want to miss any of the sunset. Digging your toes underneath the pile of blankets that covered the bed of the truck, you leaned back, letting the warmth of Rhett’s solid frame behind you soak in your skin.

Night was quickly settling over the wild landscape, the Abbott house was barely more than a black spot in the distance. The quiet moment stretched on as you memorized the way the light painted the sky, creating a glittering mosaic of colors. The saturation changed the longer you watched. The bright oranges and pinks faded into dusky blues and purples, which you knew would eventually morph into inky blackness. Sitting here, the reality of what was coming felt heavy in the air. Change was coming, and if tradition held, the Abbott family did poorly with accepting that the world continued to turn, paving the way for the future. Closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply, reveling in the woodsy musk of Rhett’s cologne. His lips pressed a constant kiss to your hair as his hands held firmly to him. An edge of anxiety was obvious in the way he kept you close. One hand gripped tightly onto your waist, while the other drew absent-minded patterns over your thigh. Tracing over the bumps and frays of your jeans before following the line of the seams, picking at the loose threads.

“You don’t have to do this you know? You don’t have to ride tomorrow. We can leave tonight,” Turning your head to look up at him, you watched his jaw clench, “You just say the word, Rhett, and we’re gone.”

Looking down at you, his blue eyes ran dark in the dusty light, “You know it’s not that simple.”

“I know,” reaching up to hold his cheek, you pleaded with him to stay with you, to not look away, “but I also know that the only person in that house right now that gives a shit about you is Amy. And she already knows what's going to happen or has guessed as much anyway. You don’t owe them shit, Rhett.”

“They’re family.” A pained look furrowed his brow.

Shifting further, you settled yourself in his lap, your thighs on either side of his. Your face now sat even with Rhett’s, as your hands came up to hold his face, his stubble scrapped lightly at your palms. Scanning over his features, you caught the way his anxiety had settled between his brows, the lines growing deeper the longer he sat with the knowledge of what was to come & the guilt of knowing he was finally going to escape.

“Yeah, they’re family, and that doesn’t change when you drive away from this town. They will always be here, waiting for you, Rhett. But that’s the thing, they’ll always be here. Do you remember what you said? What you've promised me every year since we were eleven?”

“I don’t remember…”

“Bullshit, you remember. Tell me what you said.”

Locking eyes with you, he spoke the words in a whisper, “I said that I'd get out, that I’d get both of us out.”

“That’s right, and you know what, it’s been long enough. It’s time. Nothing is holding us here, and If we don’t leave now… I don’t know if we ever will. This place is killing you, Rhett, and I’ll be damned if I let you stay here to die.” pressing your forehead into his, your soft breath fell over his face, “Be selfish for once in your fuckin’g life… ‘cause I can’t do this without you.”

“One more ride, that’s all that I’m askin’ for. Then we’re out.”

“For you this time, one more for you. Promise me that.”

“Promise.” Holding you close by the hips, his hand slid up the length of your back, burying itself in your hair so that he could press a gentle kiss on your lips.

The glow of the sunset cast his face in shadows as the gusts of air fluttered the loose pieces of hair around his ears. The errant strands, tickled the delicate skin along your temple, making you smile. Gingerly, you reached out and tucked them back into place. You weren’t ready to relinquish the feeling of him. Trailing your fingertips down the side of his neck, you rested your palms on his chest. Rhett used his strength to haul you even closer, as if he needed to pull you inside of himself, your chest flush with his as he slid a hand down your spine. His wide hands came to rest on your ass. Raking your hands over his sides, a shiver ran over his body at the feeling of your touch. The beer he’d been drinking sat sweetly on his breath as your lips brushed together.

Desperation for you filled his every move, you were the answer to every question that ran unchecked through his mind. His mouth found your neck, nipping at the tender flesh and leaving marks in the wake. Pushing up the hem of your shirt, he shifted beneath you, slotting a thigh between your own. Using his strength, he forced your weight down. Your thoughts swam at the pressure of him holding you in place on top of him, your hips moving of their own accord. A groan fell from his lips as your head fell back in pleasure.

Sinking his fingers into the sliver of skin that sat exposed between the hem of your shirt and your jeans, a shaky breath rattled from his lungs, “Fuck.”

“Rhett.” His name was nearly a whine as you called for him.

“I know, baby.”

Helping you move, a low groan rumbled from his chest as you continued to brush up against him. Each movement sent shock waves through his body. Rhett’s hands wandered, skimming over your chest before sinking back down. Toying with the button on your jeans, but leaving it closed, he dipped his fingers beneath the waistband. His callouses were rough against, you as he continued to move. Your lips found his neck as he ghosted over your core, the pressure just enough to leave you wanting more. Taking him by the wrist, you held him in place, encouraging him to continue and silently begging for more. The rapid rise and fall of your chest spurred him on, his nerves alight with anticipation.

A whimper tumbled from you as Rhett removed his hand from your hold, but the disappointment was short-lived. With his eyes locked onto you, Rhett's fingers fumbled with the button on your waistband. Popping it open, he wasted no time dipping his fingers below the fabric.

Your slick coated his fingers, “So fuckin’ wet. This all for me, Darlin’?”

“Yes, Rhett, all for you.” The touch was nearly too much and yet not enough.

A moan ripped from you as he continued to bring you closer to the edge. Losing his self-control, Rhett rather hastily turned you over. Settling his weight between your legs, and rolling his hips into yours, earning a heady groan from you. The ridges of the truck bed pressed sharply into your back even through the layers of blankets, but that was so far from your mind. The only thing that mattered was him.

Rhett’s hands once again slipped under your shirt, pushing it up to expose your bra. Mouthing at the top of your breasts, his patience for the garment in his way lasted only so long. His hand slipped behind your back, grasping for the clasp, and finding it. Moving just enough to free it from your body, he tossed it to the side before tugging your shirt the rest of the way off. You reached for the hem of his t-shirt, and he realized what you wanted, and quickly got rid of it

With both your tops dropped somewhere nearby, he dipped back down to capture your mouth, the kiss hungry and wild. Accepting everything that he gave, your back arched as he worshipped every inch of your body, his lips, and fingers tracing over the contours of your curves.

“So fuckin’ beautiful” he whispered as he trailed down the expanse of your stomach with featherlight kisses.

Moving lower, he gripped at your still-covered thighs, pressing kisses over your hips before turning his attention to your core. Carefully, he pushed your legs further apart, his thumb running lightly over where you needed him most, his lips following close behind, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“Don’t be a goddamn tease, Rhett Abbott” Twining your fingers through his hair, you tugged at the strands trying to guide him in the right direction.

A low huff of laughter rumbled through his chest, “Getting impatient aren’t ya?.”

Sitting up, he peeled your jeans from your body, his hands raking over the newly exposed skin. The heat flowing through your veins left you reeling. Adjusting your position so that you were able to look into his eyes, you brushed your lips over his as you spoke, “Yeah, I am. Are you gonna do something about it… or should I take care of myself?”

Your hand smoothed over your underwear, pushing it aside, and you dipped your fingers beneath drawing a gasp from yourself. You stayed focused on him, daring him to make the next move. A challenge he happily accepted.

“Callin’ me a tease… jesus christ woman" Stripping off his own jeans and underwear, as quickly as he could, his boots also discarded, he wasted no time returning to you.

Crashing against, you, his sure touch replaced your own. Panting into his mouth, you gave yourself over completely to him. Moving in gentle strokes and circles with his fingers, he worked you closer and closer to the edge. Feeling your body stiffen, and your breaths turn into erratic heaves, he continued to rile you up.

“Fuck, Rhett!”

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“I want- I need to-” You couldn't finish your thought, but he knew very well what you were asking for, he could feel how close you were.

“After what you said earlier… you sure you deserve it?” he relished the scent of the whiskey on your breath from earlier as he swiped over your bottom lip, nipping lightly, before tasting you.

Ghosting over your entrance, he moved at a languid pace, just enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to tip you over.

“Don’t make me beg, Rhett.” Your hand that had been grasping at his ass, slipped between you two, finding him aching and waiting for your touch. Wrapping your fingers around him, you stroked him roughly, earning a deep groan.

“I wouldn’t dream of making you beg. Just let me enjoy this for a minute, darlin’” Smirking, he pushed your hips down into the blankets as he kissed down the column of your neck.

He paid close attention to the way your breath hitched as he expertly found your most sensitive areas. Working his way down your frame, he held you in place as you writhed under his touch. Rhett’s warm breath, breezed over your core, causing you to clench in anticipation. His lips found your clit as his fingers curled inside, ripping a needy moan from you as he hummed against your body. Unable to stay still, you rolled your hips up to meet him, begging him for more. Listening to your silent pleas, his tongue worked in steady strokes, pulling you further from reality. Hanging on by a thread, you gasped in shock at the sudden loss of his touch.

“What the fuck-”

“I want to feel you around me when you come.”

Kissing you deeply, he pressed into you in one fluid motion. Both of you let go of desperate moans at the feeling of having one another so close. Pausing for a moment to catch his breath, he waited for you to give him permission to continue.

“You all right?”

“I need you to move, Rhett.”

“Good girl. You feel so fuckin’ perfect... like you were made for me.”

“Holy shit” Digging your fingers into this hair and back, you trembled at the feeling of him, your nails sinking into his skin.

The pair of you were insatiable. You rolled your hips in time with him, pulling delicious moans from each other with every thrust. Reaching up, Rhett laced his finger with yours, holding your hand up by your head as he continued to move. His pace faltered as he felt himself drawing closer to his own release. Pleasure consumed the pair of you heart and soul.

“I’m close.” his voice was airy and light as he whispered his confession.

Wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, you pulled him closer, “Let go, Rhett. I’ve got you.”

Weak moans left your lips as he quickened his pace, chasing his climax. Reaching between you, his fingers once again found your clit, “Come with me, Y/N.”

Snapping his hips in time with his touches, he felt you clench around him as you cried out. You climax washing over you in waves of lightning, setting every nerve in your body on fire. Feeling you go, Rhett was right behind. With one final thrust, you felt him fall over the edge, joining you with his release. Swallowing his sharp exhales and groans, you kissed him deeply as he came.

Slowing down, Rhett stayed buried inside of you as he shifted so that you were lying on top of him. His body was so spent that he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to keep from collapsing on top of you if he’d stayed how you were before. Silence fell over the two of you as your lungs returned to normal, your muscles warm and pliable as you soaked in the feeling of each other. Tugging the edge of a blanket over the top of you both, Rhett ran his finger down the length of your back. The feeling of your skin soothing away the last remnants of worry. Lost in each other’s arms, it was easy to forget every fear that threatened to tear the two of you apart. Here, like this, the future seemed limitless.

“I love you, Y/N. And we’re getting out of here, just like I promised.”

“I love you too, Rhett.”

#rhett abbott x reader #lewis pullman #rhett abbott #outer range #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott x y/n #rhett abbott x female reader

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rhettabbotts · 2 years ago

Note

“friends don’t do this kind of shit”

“this feels dirty” “that's because it is”

with our favourite dilf? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

no rules in breakable heaven - rhett abbott

pairing: dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

summary: when a late night turns into a learning experience.

w/c: 2.5k

warnings: 18+ only. SMUT. corruption kink. age gap (babysitter mid 20s, rhett late 30s). inexperienced reader. making out. fingering. hand job. consumption of alcohol but both parties are lucid. dirty talk. daddy kink. talks of losing virginity.

a/n: dilf rhett and babysitter’s origin story! pour one out for the fatherless girls.

“Guys my age are just so - they don’t understand women. They think about one thing and one thing only and when you don’t want to give them that thing, you’re useless to them. It’s so frustrating,” you exclaimed, sinking further down into Rhett’s couch.

You don’t know why you were talking about this with your boss. He should be the last person you’re ranting to about your troubled love life. But he was here and he was listening, thumb caressing your bare ankle in lazy circles. You hadn’t planned on spilling your guts to him on his couch but you couldn’t stop it.

Rhett had worked late, something about the fences being torn down by the recent storm and it had to be fixed before the cows got out of the south pasture. You didn’t mind staying longer than planned. You loved every minute you were able to spend with the girls. Bedtime with them was easy, you had enjoyed a long day at the park, letting them play in the splash pad to their heart's content. They were both out like a light the second their heads hit their pillows.

You tidied up their toys in the living room and made quick work of the dishes from dinner, storing the leftovers in the fridge for Rhett later. It was nearly ten o’clock when you heard the horses riding in, the bunkhouse boys being rowdy as always. Peeking up from your book when the sound of the lock clicked, you saw Rhett. Sweaty and grimy and all cowboy. His hair was curling at the ends, courtesy of the humidity. Kicking his boots off and mumbling “shower”, he was gone and out of your sight.

You were half tempted to pack your bags and slip out before he finished his shower but you were also tempted to stay. So you stayed. You heated up a plate for him when you heard the water shut off, sitting down at the table to wait for him. You felt silly. You knew he probably wanted to just lay down and go to sleep but you missed him as crazy as that sounds. Over the past several months of babysitting his daughters, you had grown close to Rhett. You didn’t have many friends that lived close by and he spent most of his days working, so it was nice to sit down and have a glass of wine and talk to someone who was over the age of ten.

You ignored your friends’ comments about how “he totally wanted to fuck you.” You would roll your eyes and brush off their crude comments, reminding them that he was just a friend - really, just your employer. But you couldn’t stop from wishing there was something more, that you could be something more.

Brought back to reality by the sound of Rhett’s heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and into the kitchen, your body ran hot at the sight before you. Dressed now in a tight fitting black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, he looked delectable. You mentally smacked yourself for even having those thoughts. He was silent as he pulled out a crystal glass and reached for the top shelf in the cabinet, displaying a bottle of expensive whiskey.

“Rough day?” You questioned as he poured himself a generous amount of the dark liquid.

“You have no idea,” he responded before downing the drink in one gulp. He made a satisfied sound as it made its way down his throat. Rhett finally looked at you and he smiled softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You were in a daze, looking at him, watching the way his muscles rippled beneath the shirt. Finally snapping out of it at his acknowledgment of the food, you cleared your throat and shifted in your seat.

“Oh.. that? It was nothing. I figured it would be more fulfilling than chicken nuggets and mac and cheese. We already had that today,” you said, a small smile forming on your own face.

He pulled the chair out and sat down across from you, sinking into the seat and digging into the food you had prepared. You were silent while he ate, trying not to stare at the way his jaw worked or the way his hand dwarfed the metal fork. He finished hastily, like he hadn’t had anything to eat in weeks.

“That was amazing,” he sighed, a satiated grin on his face as he patted his belly. “Where the hell did you learn how to cook like that?”

“Had to survive college somehow,” you giggled, earning a small chuckle in return. You reached for his empty plate but was quickly intercepted by him grabbing your wrist, not roughly but it made you squeak nonetheless.

“I got it, don’t worry about it. You’re not my maid.”

“I just wanted - I know you’ve had a long day and I wanted you to rest,” you stammered.

“And I will. You’ve had a long day, too. Will you - do you want to stay for a little longer? Tell me how today was? I’ve got a bottle of wine I’ve been meaning to crack open,” he spoke quietly, nervously. How could this man ever be nervous? He made you nervous.

“I’d love to.”

Nearly half a bottle later and you were explaining to him how your failed blind date went. How the guy immediately went in for a kiss when you made it to your car. Wine gave you no filter, even if it was only one glass. You knew you were in dangerous territory but you continued.

“I truly don’t think they know how to satisfy a woman. I mean - do you guys grow out of that or is it just something embedded into your DNA?”

“Trust me, honey. Not all guys are like that,” Rhett said as his thumb rubbed a bit higher, brushing across your lower shin. It made you shiver slightly, the callus that was on the pad scratched against your skin. His eyes were heavy, squinting a little at you as his mouth twitched up into a smirk.

“Hell, I’ve never even had a guy give me an orgasm before!” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. Your hand slapped over your mouth the second the last syllable left your tongue. Rhett’s eyes widened and his thumb stopped, mouth agape. Your own eyes widened in horror at your confession.

“That was so inappropriate! I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

“Are you serious?”

His question was genuine. He was curious.

“Um, yeah. It’s just- well just the one time. In college when I- it was over in like, maybe five minutes? And he left right after. Oh, this is so embarrassing.” Your hands shielded your face, you couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Hey, it’s not embarrassing. That guy was a shithead for doing that. That’s not a real man,” Rhett explained. “Your partner should always focus on your needs as well. They need to take care of you.”

Rhett shifted on the couch, closer to you. Your upper thighs were pressed against his and your breath caught in your throat. Something shifted in the air. You felt it. Rhett’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he quickly glanced down to your chest, watching as it rose and fell in short breaths.

“Rhett-“

“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered, like he was saying it to himself. Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud for you to hear. You gasped softly. He was looking at you in such a way that it made your thighs clench involuntarily. A dark heat in his cobalt eyes that you had never seen before. You surged forward, tangling your fingers into his hair and crushing your lips against his own.

Rhett moaned unabashedly, licking into your mouth without preamble. His hands traveled to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You were so enraptured in the feeling of the way he licked and nipped and the way his grip tightened on your hips, you couldn’t think straight. Once your brain caught up to what was happening, you pulled away.

“Rhett, we- we shouldn’t. You’re- and I’m- we’re friends and this shouldn’t happen. It would complicate things and-“

“Friends don’t do this kind of shit. Dance around each other for months. The flirting. The teasing. I can’t be just friends with you, honey. I want- I want more with you. I can’t get you off my mind. You’re all consuming.”

His confession made your chest ache. You felt the same way. You have felt the same way for a long time and now he was here right at your fingertips. You pulled him in for another bruising kiss.

Things progressed much quicker after the second kiss. His rough hands roamed over the planes of your body, sliding up your thighs and under your dress, fingertips dipping under the hem of your panties where your thighs met your ass. You bucked your hips reflexively, causing you both to release wanton sounds.

“Rhett. Touch me. Please, touch me,” you whined desperately, moving your hips clumsily against his own. He laughed lightly as he pulled away to settle back into the couch cushions. Your heart was beating rapidly, a thousand race horses galloping against your rib cage. He was drinking you in like he drank the whiskey earlier, hands coming up to grope your chest.

“You’re a dream, baby. An absolute dream.” His voice once laced with sleep was now full of lust, desire, want. No one has ever made you feel the way he’s making you feel now. It was like he knew the effect he had on you, if the smug smile on his face was any indication. “This what you wanted?”

Your nipples hardened and Rhett tugged at them through the thin material of your dress. Your own hands found their way to his strong chest, running them over his broad shoulders and up his neck. You tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear, such a soft gesture compared to the way he was squeezing at your breasts. A particularly sharp tug to the pebbled bud pulled a whine out of you.

“I want- I need you- oh, please,” you babbled.

“Tell me,” Rhett commanded.

“Want you to touch me here,” you said as you grabbed one wrist and put his hand between your thighs. His hand cupped your clothed pussy and dug the heel of his palm against your clit. He hummed, pleased with how wet you felt even through the cotton.

“Good girl. Fuck, you’re so wet. I can feel it.”

His finger traced a line from your hole to the bundle of nerves, moving up until he dipped it into the waistband. He took his time, drawing slow circles around it like he had previously with your ankle. That felt like a lifetime ago. You whimpered as he traveled lower, tracing your swollen lips languidly. Effortlessly. Even when you did this, it never felt this good. The angle was awkward but he slid one finger into your dripping hole, leading you to jerk in his lap.

“So tight. Squeezing my finger like that. God, honey. Is this all for me?” He thrust his thick finger in and out of you at a slow pace.

“All for you, daddy,” you moaned before you realized what you were saying. His low groan and harsher thrusts of his finger validated your feelings. He liked that just as much as you did. He soon added a second finger, stretching you more.

“Can I- please can I touch you, too?” You nearly begged, nails digging into his biceps at the feeling of his digits moving inside you.

“Yeah, baby. Touch daddy. Shit,” he grumbled as your hand slid beneath the elastic of the sweatpants. It took some maneuvering but you were able to pull them down below his hips. His cock was rock hard, pink tip leaking precum and you so desperately wanted to get your mouth on him. Your thumb rubbed just under the head, biting your lip when his hips thrust up.

His unoccupied hand grabs your wrist and raises it to his face, pursing his lips and spitting a generous amount into your palm.

It was quiet for a few moments as you both found your rhythm again. You tried your hardest to match the thrusts of his fingers but you couldn’t focus, not with the way he hit that spongy spot inside you every single time.

“This feels- god, this feels dirty. Fuck, Rhett. Right there,” you whimpered.

“That’s because it is. God, listen to you. No one’s ever made you feel this way, have they? Baby, shit- tighten your grip just a little- there it is. Atta girl,” he praised.

You were so close already, trying your best to stave off the feeling in hopes of this lasting longer. But you were chasing that high, riding his fingers eagerly. He was leaking on your hand, canting his hips up to get more friction. Hushed moans and grunts escaped the two of you and you drew near to the edge.

All it took was one gasp of your name from Rhett’s mouth to send you spiraling into pure bliss. You threw your head back in a silent scream. Your thighs quaked uncontrollably as the pleasure washed over you. It took just a few more pumps before Rhett’s release. He had leaned forward to crush his mouth against yours, moaning as he came all over your hand and inner thighs. It was all so overwhelming. All of these new feelings and questions that swarmed your brain as you both came down from your climax.

You sat on top of Rhett breathless, wincing slightly as he pulled his fingers from you. They glistened in the low light and you saw stars when he slid his digits inside his mouth, licking them clean of you.

“You taste good,” he said nonchalantly. “Let me get a towel so I can clean you up, okay? I’ll be right back.” He placed a gentle kiss to your lips before grabbing a warm wash cloth from the bathroom down the hall.

Your mind was reeling. Rhett just got you off. Rhett kissed you back. Rhett said he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Rhett-

“Here you go, honey.” The warm dampness jolted you out of your thoughts and you were staring up at the man before you. His graying hair hung down in his face, framing it like a portrait. “You okay?”

“You just gave me the best orgasm of my life. I’m perfect,” you teased. He rolled his eyes but there was only affection in the gesture. Rhett pulled you into his lap once more after he cleaned you, kissing all over your face.

“So… what now?”

“Now… I’m gonna sit here with a pretty girl in my lap and kiss her until she’s tired of kissing me. Listen, I really like you. And I know this will be hard to navigate but… I can’t give you up now, honey,” Rhett declared.

“I really like you too, Rhett,” you affirmed before leaning forward for another kiss. It was going to be difficult for numerous reasons but you were ready to face it head on. Maybe it was okay to be a little selfish for once.

#shelby’s sleepover #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott smut #dilf rhett x babysitter #dilf rhett 4 ever <3

976 notes · View notes

wintersoldierslover · 3 years ago

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my fic recs masterlist

---

Bucky Barnes:

all bucky barnes

headcanon - blurb - one-shot - series - two-parter

fluff - angst - steamy - smut (new categories!!)

40s - The Winter Soldier - Avenger - TFATWS

dbf!bucky - brother’s bff - bff’s brother

neighbour - housewife reader

lumberjack - firefighter - bodyguard

priest bucky - college

football player - hockey player - boxer

professor - teacher - librarian/bookshop

coffee shop - soulmate - royal

other AUs - taboo

moodboard - deactivated:(

---

Stranger Things characters:

all eddie munson - all steve harrington

eddie and steve (x reader)

billy hargrove - jason carver - mike wheeler

dmitri enzo antonov - jim hopper

robin buckley - nancy wheeler

---

Outer Banks Characters:

all Rafe Cameron

all JJ Maybank

Rafe Cameron and JJ Maybank (x reader)

Pope Heyward - Topper Thorton

John B. - Sarah Cameron

Kiara Carrera

---

Marvel characters:

Wanda Maximoff - Kate Bishop

Natasha Romanoff - Yelena Belova

Peter Parker - Pietro Maximoff

Steve Rogers - Stephen Strange

Frank Castle - Matt Murdock

Moon knight - Steven Grant

Joaqín Torres - Clint Barton

Loki Laufeyson - Druig

Eddie Brock - Miles Morales

Miguel O’hara - Hobie Brown

---

Harry Potter characters:

Sirius Black - Remus Lupin

James Potter - Poly!Marauders

Lily potter - Cedric Diggory

George Weasley - Fred Weasley

Severus Snape - Tom Riddle

Draco Malfoy - Theodore Nott

---

Avatar (James Cameron) charachters:

neteyam - aonung - lo’ak

rotxo - kiri - spider

jake sully - neytiri - tsu’tey

tonowari - ronal - colonel quaritch

---

Top Gun chracters:

Fanboy - Hangman - Rooster - Bob

Iceman

---

Wednesday characters:

Xavier Thorpe - Ajax Petropolus

Wednesday Addams - Divina

---

Bridgerton characters:

Anthony Bridgerton - Benedict Bridgerton

Colin Bridgerton

---

Criminal Minds characters:

Spencer Reid - Aaron Hotchner

Derek Morgan

---

The Last of Us characters:

Joel Miller - Ellie Williams

Abby Anderson

---

Call of Duty characters:

Cpt. John Price - König - Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

---

Love and Deepspace characters:

Sylus - Zayne

---

The Devil All The Time characters:

Tommy Matson - Lee Bodecker

---

Uncharted characters:

Nate Drake - Sam Drake

---

Euphoria characters:

Elliot (Euphoria) - Fezco

---

On My Block characters:

Mario Martinez - Oscar Diaz

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Modern Family characters:

Luke Dunphy - Alex Dunphy

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Ted Lasso:

Roy Kent - Jamie Tartt

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NHL players:

Matthew Ktachuk - Trevor Zegras

Nolan Patrick - Tyler Seguin

Matthew Knies - Connor Helleybuck

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Actors:

Sebastian Stan - Joseph Quinn

Jamie Campbell Bower - Danny Ramirez

Drew Starkey - Rudy Pankow

Ben Hardy - Bella Ramsey

Jenna Ortega

---

Miscellaneous characters:

Eli ‘Hawk’ Moskowitz - Marcus Baker

Rodrick Heffley - Hunter Sylvester

Lloyd Hansen - Ari Levinson

Nick Fowler - Tangerine

Eggsy Unwin - Carmen Berzatto

Rhett Abbott - Hayden ‘Harvard Hottie’

Colin (Not Okay) - Min Ho (Xo, Kitty)

Ash (No Exit) - James Maguire (Derry Girls)

Jake Peralta - Nick Miller - Brian O’conner

Robbie Jennings - Harvey Specter

Chandler Bing - Sherlock Holmes

Anakin Skywalker - The Darkling (Shadow&Bone)

Dick Grayson - Bruno Madrigal

Tadashi Hamada - Kakashi Hatake

---

Miscellaneous real people:

Matt Sturniolo - AEW Hook - Charles Leclerc

Lee Know - Eminem - Billie Eilish

---

*Updated whenever there’s a new character <3

2K notes · View notes

delopsia · 2 years ago

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Stellar Ride | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 8,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, PBR!Rhett. Mentions of Rhett blowing up in the media, crowds, Maria flirting with Rhett in front of the Reader, Archie is a gem. Praise, grinding, mentions of past injury, unprotected sex, a dash of jealousy, post-coital snuggles. Please comfort and reassure your cowboy during sex. Brief Summary: When new fans and a childhood crush come seeking the hand of your cowboy, you take great pleasure in knowing that this cowboy is yours. Not Maria's. Not his fans. No, just yours.

The roar of the crowd is louder than the drum of your heart. Thrashing against your chest like a caged animal. The buzz of adrenaline jittering through your veins. Rattling what remains of your already shot nerves. That blinding jumbotron flashes a familiar name and face. But it's not what you can focus on.

And even the screams of a name you know too well aren't enough to rise above the deafening ring in your ears. A constant tone that makes your world blurry. Tunnel vision locked onto a mop of black hair lingering by the chutes. Beyond the sections reserved for fans, but not in the staff area. A familiar sight that has your heart beating harder. As frustrated as the bull thrashing in the chute.

Is that...

Thump.

...it can't be.

But then that head turns to speak to a friend. And the screams of Rhett Abbott's name floods your ears. No longer muffled. So loud that you jolt in your seat.

Maria fucking Olivares.

Two thousand pounds of pure muscle bursts out of the chute. Twisting counterclockwise. The big right hand of your beloved cowboy held high in the air. Muscles flexing as he clings to that thin piece of rope. Seconds spinning across the jumbotron screen.

Numbers that you can't bear to spare a glance at. You don't know if it's you shouting his name or if it's the fan next to you. Her shrill voice overriding all else.

The crowd shoots to their feet as the buzzer sounds. Blocks you from catching sight of him falling off the bull — always the scariest part. The familiar voice of the announcer blares across the speakers as if the victory is his own, crying your husband's name as loud as he can.

He's made it.

Rhett's going to the finals again.

...if he doesn't get disqualified for darting toward the fence.

On a one-way track to the stands, he hops up and swings his dirt-covered legs over the barricade, hat blowing off his head. Spurs jingle as his boots hit the ground. Darting through the collection of squealing girls that have congregated in front of you. A big, loopy grin sprawls across his scruffy face. Arms opening wide.

That's the last thing you see before a hundred sixty something pounds of adrenaline and excitement slams into you. Knocking you off your feet. His grimy nose burying into the crook of your neck, sweat dripping from the curls at the nape of his neck. Yelling something that you can only interpret as a "we made it!"

And you just know he's getting red dirt all over your new white t-shirt, but you're wrapping your arms around him anyway. Hanging on tight as he spins you in a circle, uncaring of the unfamiliar faces that crowd around you.

"My ring," he's already muttering into your ear, "where's..."

So impatient.

Your hand disappears into your pocket, producing a thin, golden band. Dented on the side from the time a bull stepped on his hand, broke it in three different places. That scarred ring finger of his crooks off to the left more than it should, but the ring slips over it regardless, hugging him just right.

"Can't go a second without it, can ya?" You're teasing, nose wrinkling as he leans in to steal a kiss. All sweat and grime and all the things that shouldn't be on your mouths.

The corners of his lips turn upward, wild blue eyes glittering, "nope."

Cute.

But fuck does he need a shower.

A flash is all it takes to break you out of your own little world. Cameras greedily snapping photos of a moment that wasn't anyone's to save or share. Hands are touching you; someone's behind Rhett, yelling for him to turn around and take a photo with her, the loudest amongst a clatter of voices that rattle around your skull.

It's the worst possible time for Rhett to be drawing away from you. Right at the start of the pushing and shoving, brought on by the rise in security surging into the stadium, frantic to get their photos and videos and everything else they could possibly get out of your cowboy. But he's grabbing hold of your wrist, downright hauling you underneath his sweat-drenched arm, safely tucked into his side as he shoulders through the crowd.

Rhett's head dips down, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers into it, "next time 'm makin' them put ya in the damn staff section."

"Don't let the win go to your head, cowboy," you tease him as if you don't know that you'll be in that section next time; at this point, you're surprised it hasn't happened already. These crowds grow with every rodeo, a sea of folks who had never heard of Professional Bullriding until they discovered the handsome mug of a small-town Wabang cowboy.

A familiar face emerges from the crowd, one over his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting as loud as his deep voice can possibly manage, "yer a goddamn fuckin' fool, Abbott!" That other hand waves a cowboy hat high in the air, the dark brown felt dusted in a light coating of dirt.

"I knew you'd catch it," Rhett's smiling, so drunk off the adrenaline that he doesn't seem to care when Archie slams that hat back on his head.

"Y' kiddin' me?" The edge of Archie's lip is rising, fighting a smile that is bound to work its way across his bearded face eventually, "I wrestled a gal fer this piece o'shit!"

You nearly wish that you had been present to see that. Big ol' Archie going toe-to-toe with a fan who had gotten her hands on the most iconic piece of attire your cowboy owns. "And you won," you don't mean for your tone to come off so snappy; the words nearly shoved out of your mouth by the collision of an elbow into your side.

"Damn straight I won," there's that grin, breaking out on its own accord, just as wild as Rhett's, "d' y' know how much them folks would sell that bloomin' hat on eBay fer?"

No, but you're still reeling from the prices that fanmade duplicates have been fetching. Hats crafted to look identical to Rhett's, with their deliberate tears in the felt and scuffs to high hell. Why someone would want to beat their hat to hell and back is anyone's guess.

You wonder if any of them have figured out about the polaroid of you two, taken on your first official date as a couple, delicately stitched into the inside of his hat. His good luck charm, he calls it.

Wading through the swarm is easier said than done; Rhett's squeezing you into his side, strong arm secured around you, and yet you can still feel yourself slipping out from his grasp. Forced away by the bustle of it all, unable to do anything but push forward.

Fuck, it must take an hour to get to the other side. Bursting from the flurry and into a small gap that a pair of grumbling security guards have created for you. Tumbling down the stadium floor, Archie perpetually a step ahead as Rhett leads you through unfamiliar gates and past bullpens. Such sweet, oversized animals these bucking bulls are. Intimidating at first. A massive presence that reminds you of your own mortality could hand your ass to you if they so desired but are almost always just looking for a good head scratch.

You could say the same for Rhett, now that you think about it.

It's so much quieter behind the chutes. Tucked away from the stands, its own private detachment in this oversized arena. Complete with a swarm of security and a thick, black curtain to keep out the occasional nosey fan who has yet to learn the concept of a boundary.

"Ah hell," Archie's arms flail. "That goddamn broad—"

"Hey, you two!"

Ugh.

You wish you didn't, but you recognize that voice all too well. The snappy click click click of Maria's heels across the stadium floor is all it takes to have your skin prickling. Shoulders rising with a tension that they've only just lost. Actively fighting the urge to grab Rhett's hand, drag him out of this damn arena entirely and pray she doesn't follow.

"How'd she get back here?" You're not sure if you're asking Archie or Rhett. But you might as well be speaking to a wall because all you receive are blank stares in return.

"I ain't fuckin' know!" Archie hisses, his thumb jabbing toward Rhett, "Ask this fool. He's the one she's 'ere fer."

But Rhett's got nothing more to offer than a shrug, teeth worrying his bottom lip, "I thought you let her in."

That's all it takes to get Archie's boots clicking across the floor, decidedly exiting this impromptu conversation before Maria can even enter it. Disappearing into the bustle of the rodeo once more, off to help another big-name bull rider get ready for his ride. Something. Anything that doesn't involve standing here and being forced into a conversation with someone you don't know.

"Oh my god, I didn't know you were gonna be here," there's something about Maria's big, overjoyed smile that just makes your stomach twist in ways that it shouldn't.

Did she...did she not notice you standing here at all?

She's here too fast. A freshly manicured hand rising to toy with the ends of her braid, slung over her shoulder, on display for the world to marvel at. Not too close by any means, and yet her sugary perfume still hits you like a brick wall. So up there and in your face all of a sudden that it sends you reeling.

"I uh..." Rhett's boot kicks the ground, like he might be able to scrounge words out of the tile, "Didn't expect to see you out here."

"Well, of course, I had to come and see the legendary Rhett Abbott ride," her tone is so bright that it ought to make the arena lights jealous. "Nobody ever believes me when I tell them we were friends in high school."

You're not sure if you'd count on and off ghosting a man for several years as being friends, but to each their own.

But you've got no time to think about the stories that have been relayed from Rhett's tongue because Maria's already sparking a conversation with him. Chattering away about his recent blow-up in the media, like this is some sort of one-on-one interview. You catch yourself trying to speak, a gentle correction about a detail; it wasn't a lucky fan who got a tour of the Abbott ranch. She broke in while his family was at church.

If Maria hears you, she deliberately ignores you. Her big brown eyes focused solely on Rhett and Rhett alone.

Biting your tongue, you let your attention wander. Better to be distracted than make an ass of yourself. Gaze raking over this side of the arena; the swarm of cowboys tucked off in the corner, stretching as they chat amongst themselves, warming up for their ride. All big names from small towns, with stories so similar to Rhett's.

The only difference is that they didn't get a sudden spike in fame over a video of them coming up to their significant other during a rodeo with their arms full of kittens.

A box of strays that Rhett had found discarded near one of the bullpens. Six kittens in total: three oranges, two calicos, and a tabby. Fussy little things, Rhett's still got a scar on his jaw from the tabby. You'd only intended to keep one, but Rhett's somehow convinced you on two, so the other one won't feel like she's lost her family.

There's movement in the crowd of employees by the announcer's booth. Black shirts emerging from the collection of folks working to keep the event up and running; security.

And there's Archie, meandering along next to them; if he had their matching get-up, he'd blend right in. Head held high, shoulders square as they march right toward you. His beard conceals the cockiness in his grin, but the glint in his eye tells all.

Rhett's hand bumps into your wrist as it slides down, thick fingers interlocking with yours. Maria's still talking, but that warm gaze of his is solely on you. A smile lacing his sweaty face as you lean against him.

Before security can say a damn word, Maria's fishing out a laminated card from her pocket, flashing it alongside her too-white grin. "I'm interning for one of the vets on standby."

...that's how she got in?

A hand settles on your shoulder, Archie's minty breath meeting your nose as he dips between you and Rhett. "I tried."

And again, he's gone. Disappearing just as quickly as he did the first time. Leaving you to bite back your frown as Maria's voice drones on once more, a constant irritant that you can't seem to escape. Strange, because the tone of her voice doesn't bug you at all. It's pleasant, actually.

What's bothering you is the fact that it's coming from her.

Popular belief would accuse you of being insecure. She was Rhett's childhood crush, after all, but it's not that at all.

It's the fact that she deliberately ignores you every time she comes around. Talking to Rhett, and only Rhett, with some starry-eyed twinkle that you can only identify as suggestive. Curious about all the things she may have missed out on when she rejected him all those years ago.

She spoke to you that first time you met her, back at the pit bar. When you'd offered her one of your drinks because they'd just sold out. Hadn't known her from any other person in Wabang, just another twenty-something with a story that you didn't know yet. It's a fuzzy memory, old and warped at the edges, but you remember laughing with her, telling some story about one of the guys in the bar.

And you remember the way you vanished from her radar, the moment a particular cowboy ambled up behind you, kissing your temple as he apologized for being so late.

She ignored your presence at Rhett's last rodeo in Wabang when he won that championship title for the third time in a row. Didn't say a word when you said hello at that dinner the Abbotts threw. Her ears tuned you out when the two of you ran into each other in the Casper airport, but oh, did she perk up when she realized Rhett was behind you.

Just like her face had fallen when the word "honeymoon" had left Rhett's mouth, her nose wrinkling as if that new golden band on his finger would burn her.

Hot breath tickles your ear, the scruff of a cowboy's lower lip tickling the skin there, "'m gonna head out for a shower," he whispers, "maybe I can get us outta here 'n to the hotel early."

"Don't get lost," smiling, despite knowing that you're about to be left with the one woman who refuses to acknowledge your existence for longer than a few seconds.

Rhett's lips press against your cheek, lingering in a sort of fashion that makes you wonder if he's purposely making a show of it. But then his eyebrows are shooting upward, eyes alight with a suddenly recalled thought, "Should I shave?"

It's been a while since you've heard that question.

And by a while, you mean at least a week.

Usually, you'd say yes, but the stubble on his cheek has only recently grown to the point of a gentle give rather than the prickliness that comes after a recent shave. Soft under the pads of your fingers, the right amount of scruffy, but not too much so. Doesn't poke you, even when you fully grasp his jaw, just to feel him wriggle and try to shake your hand away.

"Nah," concluding aloud, letting your arm fall back to its place at your side, "I like this look on you."

"Long as y' don't call me homeless again," those eyes of his roll, and then he's pressing a second kiss to your cheek, "Stay close. I'll come find ya when 'm done."

With that final stolen kiss, he's gone. Spurs jingling with every step he takes, shoulders straining against that old, red plaid shirt that he refuses to get rid of. The same one he's been wearing since you met him. Says it's one of his favorites, but then again, he says that about all of his shirts.

Maria is gone.

You suppose she took off the moment Rhett turned his attention to you because even as you twist your head, you can't seem to spot her. No clicking heels, no sparkling white teeth. Nothing. As if she was never here in the first place.

The sound of your name cuts through the air; Archie, again, waving you down, "y' wanna come see this 'ere bull calf we got?"

How are you meant to say no to such a thing?

"Rhett—"

Your back thumps against the wall. Railing digging into your ass. Jean-clad hips part your thighs. Oversized belt buckle digging into your skin as he rolls into you, a careful drag that sends heat rushing between your legs.

"I know it," speaking between open-mouthed kisses against your neck, the hair on his jaw scratching the sensitive skin there, "I know it."

The elevator shifts, only just beginning its upward climb to the sixth floor.

Greedy hands wander beneath your shirt. Callouses catching on the softness of your curves, burning up your sides like they can't possibly get enough. His mouth frenzied against your neck, poorly concealed bulge grinding deliciously against your core. Whittling away at your resolve until your hands are rising from his shoulders and tangling in his hair.

Tugging at the damp strands, forcing him to tilt his head up to meet your lips. Greedily drinking up the saccharine moan that whispers from the back of his throat. Open mouths lazily tangling in a dance that has your teeth clattering together. Wet, sloppy, his kisses trailing across your cheek, on his way to your ear. Only to be drawn back by his hair once more, keening, defenses melting away like sugar in the rain.

The elevator chimes. A pitchy tune that ends just as your feet hit the ground, doors squealing open to reveal a never-ending hallway. Too pristinely white, adorning frames and decor, nothing but a blur as the two of you stumble down it. Hand in hand, vision tunneled on your door.

You've hardly had time to pluck the key from your pocket. Fumbling with the slick plastic, as hands return to wander your sides once more. Drawing you back into a big, warm chest, Rhett's chin coming to rest on your shoulder. His hips bucking up against your ass, shamelessly distracting.

The simple swell of his cock against you is all it takes to set a shiver into you. Seeping through your skin, past muscle, straight down to your bones. And you can't...fuck, you can't keep hold of this goddamn card—

"Oh, what a coincidence!"

Your hand freezes. Caught halfway between sliding the card through the reader. Neck feels like it's been filled with cement as you turn your head to look down the hallway.

"Maria?" Rhett's chirp is brighter than anything you can produce. His hands slip from your sides in favor of curling an arm around you instead. "What are..."

"I'm in room six o' nine," this hallway may be white, but her teeth are whiter. So blinding that you nearly miss the flashing green light of the card reader. The handle gives way as you twist it, door creaking open on its own.

An eight-floor hotel, and yet you get roomed next to Maria Olivares.

Of fucking course, that's how things would work out.

Rhett's saying something, too polite to leave her hanging, but you hardly hear it. His voice nothing but a familiar hum as your eyes fixate on the edge of that oversized bed with its fluffy sheets and cozy sheets. Still messy from your earlier nap in them, the best mattress you've seen since this whole rodeo circuit started.

Oh, what the hell? It's not like Maria's talking to you anyway.

Stepping out of those big, warm arms, you head into the room. On a one-way route to the bed, succumbing to its siren call with all the grace and beauty of a bull rider being thrown. Face down, with a guttural noise strangled out of you by the painful ache of muscles as they finally, finally relax.

You almost think you can feel it. The way a pair of darkened eyes focus on your ass. Probably the only thing your cowboy can see from his place in the hallway. Stuck entertaining the thoughts and whims of a woman who hasn't spoken to him in at least two years. Can't do a goddamn thing about the way you squirm, raising your ass in the air just for the hell of seeing how far you can push him.

He had you in this position this morning; you wonder if he can still feel the way your hips trembled in his oversized hands as you came around his cock.

Because you can still feel the way his ring dug into your skin. Left an imprint that still brands you, even now. On their own accord, your hand rises. Fingertips delving past your waistband to find that sore indent of flesh.

The tip of Rhett's boot thumps against the wall; a soft thump, thump, thump that has your head tilting to gaze out the door. You can hardly see him, but it's impossible to miss the way his hands have folded themselves at the front of his jeans, politely concealing the way he strains against the fabric.

Riding a bull may be hard, but the look in those wild eyes suggests that standing in that hallway is even harder.

That cowboy's bound to break, eventually.

Maria's voice is nothing but a distant hum as you slip off the bed. Toeing off your shoes, uncaring of where they land. Too focused on hooking your fingers beneath the edges of your pants and nudging the fabric down your legs, falling into a messy pile that you're sure to trip over later.

Fire burns into your bare thighs, set alight by a burning gaze that eats up the way your shirt lifts off your body. Leaving you bare, if only for a second, because your hands are already reaching for the soft, oversized flannel that he once wore earlier in the day. Two sizes larger than what he actually fits because the material hugged his biceps too tightly. His cologne still lingers on it, something torn between apple and wood smoke. Sweet with the slightest nudge of earthiness.

You can almost hear it. The soft crackling of his resolve. Crumbling away like an old bridge, pieces falling faster than you can keep up with.

His voice rumbles. Saying something you don't care to comprehend. Spurrs chiming. Boots thumping closer. Door hinges squeal as it all but slams closed. Kicked. You suppose.

Your socked feet twist beneath you. Turning. Coming nose to nose with him.

God, he's going to eat you alive.

If he doesn't get to you first, that is.

One foot steps forward, slotting your thigh between those long, muscled legs. Palms rising to his chest, pressing. You're hardly expecting him to give as easily as he does. Such a strong presence that you hardly believe he's giving way to the gentle pressure. Your noses nudge together with every hesitant step backward, a silent dance until his back hits the wall.

Bold, one of your hands drop down. The heel of it pressing into a warm heat between his legs. Rhett's lips part with the softest inhale you've ever heard, the back of his head thunking against the drywall.

You wonder if Maria heard that.

"Can't talk all of a sudden?" You hum. So nonchalant and casual that it sounds like a part of normal conversation.

"Y' look—" Cut short by the way you grasp him through his jeans. That pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Y' look good in my shirt."

But his eyes suggest that there's much, much more that he'd like to say. So many thoughts and phrases fluttering through that pretty little head that he doesn't know how to get them to his tongue.

Makes it that much easier to lean closer, your lips ghosting against his as you speak, "Is that all, cowboy?"

Rhett's hips buck. Wild. Set off by the thigh that nudges upward against his balls and the heavy underside of his cock. A tremor has long since arose in his hands. Weakly clinging to your hips. Can barely hold on when you lean in and meet his open mouth. Drinking up the soft noise that boils out of his throat, your eyes drifting shut at the soft scratch of his stubble.

Arms curl around your waist. Heavy palm dipping beneath this old flannel of his, pressing into the small of your back. Gingerly drawing you up into his chest, and he's sighing into your mouth like you're a dream come true. God, you could melt.

Your unbusied hand rises, tangling loosely in those dark curls, still wet from his rushed shower. Tugging a little too hard. Yanking his head back, swollen lips parted with a grunt.

"Someone's gotten a lil' feisty tonight," that Adam's apple bobs, the veins in his neck putting on a show for you. Distracting, but nothing quite like the way he peers back at you from beneath half-lidded lashes. "I take it that it ain't 'cause of my stellar ride tonight."

Idly, your teeth sink into your lower lip. "I'm going to take you for a stellar ride if you aren't careful."

For a moment, the room is silent. No voices in the hallway, no clicking of heels out in the hallway. Not even an audible breath.

"...wouldn't mind that," he whispers.

You're not sure if it was you or Rhett who made the first move. But everything is spinning. A blur of color as your feet tangle together. Backing up. Dancing toward the bed. His hands crawling up your back. Your fingers clinging to those long curls. And his mouth is on yours, and his tongue is lapping at your lower lip, and your mouths are parting—

The mattress squeals beneath the weight of your bodies. And maybe it's the bounce that makes it so easy to throw your leg over his hips. Rolling over top of him before you can so much as comprehend what you're doing.

You've no recollection of it, but one of you has undone the buttons of his shirt. Revealing a broad, milky white chest, still marked by your earlier excursions. Bears the wound of a hoof to the ribs from last Sunday. A heart-stopping mottling of purple, blue, and yellow that has yet to fully fade, no matter how many times you've peppered it with kisses.

"I take it y' ain't gon' be easy on me," he says it like it's a hope.

A want.

A need.

"Did you want me to be rough on you, cowboy?" Your smile audible in your words; already know the answer to that question. Distantly, you think you hear his boots being pushed off his feet. Hitting the floor with two dull thunks.

Rhett's hips roll upward, muscles flexing, putting on a rippling show for your eyes only. "A lil bit."

That's all he needs to say. Those three little words setting you into motion. Scooting down his legs, your hands scurrying to pop open that obnoxiously large belt buckle. One of those things that felt like rocket science when you first met him, but now something you can do with your eyes closed.

Well-trained fingers popping it open and nudging it out of the way as you make a move for his button and zipper. Eager. Can't even bring yourself to waste time with fishing him out of his boxers. Instead hooking your hands into his waistband and pulling them down before he can finish pulling those lube packets from his pocket. Sends the little things scattering down his thigh and across the bed.

"Damn," Rhett grunts, fumbling for one that was practically ripped from his hand, "impatient."

Getting the bunched-up fabric past his ankles is the worst part. Stupid cowboy and his stupid long legs. Can't release the breath you're holding until it's finally sliding over his heels, belt clanking against the floor. Finally, finally, finally.

Only now, as you crawl back up his legs, do you remember to open your mouth, "I wouldn't be if you didn't spend the past few minutes entertaining Maria."

"Didn't wanna be rude—oh." Eyelashes flutter. His hips jerking up into your hand, wrapped firmly around his cock. Flushed red at the tip, precum shimmering in the dull light of the bedside lamp.

But it's not enough to wet him. The drag of your hand is rough. Firmly stroking, uncaring of whether he gets that lube open or not. Up and down, entranced by the way he twitches in your grasp. Thighs writhing against the mattress, squeezing together, only to spread apart again. A picture-perfect show of muscle, his heavy breaths like a melody.

"Too dry?" You know the answer to that.

He knows that you know the answer. Yet his hair bounces as he nods his head, the edges of two packets frozen between his teeth. "Uhuh."

But he's still not moving. In no hurry to relieve the discomfort that comes with your too-dry touch. Stomach flexing as he twitches up into it, chasing the touch of your hand, a soft noise emanating from the back of his throat. Rumbles out of his mouth and down between your legs.

"You'd better hurry up then," saying it to yourself more than anything. Can feel the uncomfortable wetness growing, a subtle throb begging you to do something about that. Only spurred on by the way he whines at you, fumbling with the packets.

The edges rip. Clear fluid spills out onto his lips and cheek as he pulls them away. Face wrinkling, pawing at his skin with the back of his hand. It's what he gets for opening things with his teeth.

"How many times are you gonna do that before you learn?" You whisper, the corners of your lips rising as you squeeze one of the packets over his length. Drenching him in a slick wetness that squelches when your hand passes over it.

He'd have something to say if you weren't starting to jerk him in earnest. His knees bumping into you, head tilting back. Can hardly focus on wetting two of his fingers with the other packet, dripping onto his heaving chest and running down his forearm.

"Quit—" his mouth opening and closing like a fish, "'m gonna cum if you keep—mmh, if you keep doin' that."

On its own, your hand freezes at his base.

He told you to stop. He knew you'd stop. And yet he jerks up into your fist anyway, keening high in his throat at the loss. Throbbing, balls flexing against your hand. So, so close, over something so little.

Rhett's shaky hand delves between your legs. Rough fingertips pass between your folds, over your clit. Shamelessly pressing inside without much warning, back into an open, dripping wetness that still aches from earlier in the day.

Your thighs shudder, fighting the urge to clamp together as he passes over a familiar bundle of nerves. Bumping into it on every deep thrust of his fingers. "Baby, you don't have to—"

"I know it," the lazy corner of his mouth lifts as he says it, an unnamed fondness sparkling in his smile, "don't wanna hurt you."

You can't argue. God, you can't argue. Not with him shallowly thrusting in and out of you the way that he does. Knuckles dragging sweetly against your walls, drawing your mouth open with a silent noise.

You've only just begun to adjust to it, but you're already catching him by the wrist, drawing those thick fingers out of yourself. All in exchange for scooting further up his lap, your other hand guiding his flushed length to your entrance. The head of him brushing against your entrance, burning hot.

But you're not sinking down on him yet. Aren't quite sure what's made you freeze. Is it the recollection that Maria is on the other side of this thin wall? Hesitance to take what you want so quickly?

Rhett's hands smooth up your thighs, peering up at you from beneath thick lashes. "Take me," he breathes, voice barely there, "please."

Fuck, you can't say no to that.

A calloused grip squeezes either side of your hips as you begin to sink down on him. Sensitive, sore cunt opening to take that blunt tip for the second time today. An aching stretch that has you holding your breath, caught in the way that he slowly enters you. Such a familiar thing that you've experienced time and time again, yet continues to feel so new.

Rhett's mouth is moving, but not a sound escapes his throat. Voice suddenly lost as you take him in, wound too tight by the feeling of splitting you open. Frankly, you don't think you're much better. Can't even begin to find the words that you wanted to say just moments before.

Your palms settle on his exposed chest, feeling the way his heart knocks back against you. Vicious little thump thump thumps that spur your own heart on, pounding in your ears, so strong that your arms feel like they begin to shake with it.

But then your hips are meeting, and the underside of his length is twitching into a particular little spot, and—

"Fuck, Rhett," you whisper his name like its a praise.

A television blares from the next room over. Maria's. So loud that it's hardly muffled, and yet you can hardly hear it. The droning of a news reporter washed out by the breathy whine of a cowboy. Your cowboy.

Not Maria's. Doesn't belong to the fans who attend every rodeo and buy every object with his name printed on it.

No, just yours.

Those brilliant blue eyes sparkle up at you as you lift yourself up until only his plush head remains inside of you, then sink back down once more. A pair of gasps twist through the air at the way that he fills you, at the way you wrap around him so perfectly.

"Jus' like that," Rhett's words punctuated by his heaving chest, "feels good, feel's so..." He can't finish that thought. Tongue limp in his mouth as you repeat the motion, a little shorter now. Quicker. Too impatient for the slowness that comes with lifting yourself all the way up.

And that's okay because his hips twitch up into you. Meeting you halfway with a lewd smack of skin on skin. Hitting a set of nerves that have your eyes unfocusing, the softest noise rattling out of your chest. Those lazy thrusts have no right to hit what they do. Has your quivering cunt savoring the way that his cock head drags inside of you.

His mouth snaps shut. Eyelashes fluttering shut, weakly muffling a moan that you wish you could have heard. Always has been a sucker for feeling you flutter around him.

"Come on, cowboy," you're gasping, can hardly keep your own eyes open as you reach up, pressing a thumb to his soft lips, "open up."

Hesitant, his mouth opens to wrap around the digit. Sucking gently, his tongue swirling around the tip, moaning into it like it's a damn pacifier. And fuck, it's not what you were going for, but he's whining as your hips meet once more, and the sound is vibrating up your arm, and, and—

Your fingers grip his scruffy jaw. Thumb pinning that wriggling tongue to the bottom of his mouth, forcing it open.

That sound he makes is garbled. The weakest little 'huh?' you've ever heard. Wide eyes peering up at you, gaze torn between confusion and intrigue. Poor cowboy has no idea what you're doing, and yet he seems up to whatever challenge you're about to present to him.

"Wanna hear you," Your sentence punctuated by a jerky snap of his hips up into you. Fuck, fuck fuck, he's hit that spot again. Sends you clenching around him once more.

Rhett sputters. Tongue flexing under your thumb, eyes darting to the wall behind the headboard. His protest doesn't make it past his lips, but you hear him loud and clear.

"It's okay," for a moment, your thumb loosens enough for him to escape if he wants to say something, "I'm the only one who can hear you."

Distantly, it hits you that Maria's probably maxed out her television volume as bait to make Rhett come over and ask her to turn it down.

But Rhett's not talking, and his protest dies there. Big hands running up your sides, palms curling around your breasts like he's been dying to do it all night. Gently holding on as you find your pace, riding this ol' bull rider in earnest now. Punching the breath out of your lungs, the sounds whittling out of your throat covered up by the deep grunts from below you.

"That's it," praising, adding flame to that rising confidence, "such a sweet boy for me."

Your unbusied hand slides across his chest, pinching at a nipple. Pulling on it, rolling the rapidly hardening bud between your fingertips, dusky pink blossoming into a raging red.

There he goes.

Jerking up into you with a garbled cry you haven't heard since you began this rodeo circuit. Baby blue eyes grow foggy, jaw slackening. Such a sight that you can feel yourself grow wetter around him, creating this sickly, loud squelch that bounces off the walls of this hotel room. And he's trying—God, he's trying to return the favor. Weakly catching one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, trying his best to roll it back and forth.

Your shaking hand rises, wrapping around his wrist, dragging it away. Still determined to keep your thumb pressed against his short little tongue, forcing those whimpered noises to hit the air.

But then he's trying to do it with his other hand, and you've got no choice but to yank your finger out of his mouth. Your knuckle bumping against his teeth as it flies up to collect his other wrist, pinning them above his head. Forcing you to shift your angle, letting that thick cock of his rub against those nerves with perfect, unrelenting ease.

"Wha...?" Rhett's eyes are wide open again, his head shaking, "But I want—"

His arms strain under your grasp, biceps rippling, and he could easily break out of it if he wanted to, but he doesn't. Stopping his efforts as soon as you don't immediately give way. Yet he's still jerking up into you, meeting your body halfway at the same lazy pace as before.

"What do you want?" Echoing his too-short request despite knowing what he was trying to say. If only to hear that deep voice grumble again.

"Please, I want—" Fighting for control over his speech, head swaying back and forth like he's trying to shake the fog from his thoughts, "wanna touch you."

But you're not letting him go. Collecting both of his wrists into one hand, letting your other one roam through his hair and across his cheek. Stroking that trembling jaw.

There's a glassiness in his eye that wasn't there before. Appearing so suddenly, yet already threatening to spill down his pretty cheeks. "'re you mad?" He croaks, bottom lip wobbling. "Was it—did I...? I didn't mean to..."

All at once, the room freezes. Bodies coming to rest against each other as you let go of his hands in favor of stroking those scruffy cheeks. And yet, his arms lay limp above his head. Unsure.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whisper, lips brushing against his forehead, "I was just playing with you, sweetie; I'm not upset with you."

It's not much, but it's enough to get him moving. Hesitantly wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling into the hands that cradle his face. Your fingers stroking away the wayward tear that spills over until it's nothing but a damp sheen beneath his eye.

"What's got you thinking I'm mad at you?" Not sure if you should press it or not, but you're asking regardless as you press a kiss to the bridge of his nose. Peppering them across his cheeks in the way that always gets his face scrunching.

His eyes dart toward the wall, then down to the floor, "...Maria."

"Maria?" You echo. That's what has him upset?

"I know y' don't like her and, and I know it didn't feel good havin' her follow us around all night." That pretty mouth is going ninety words a minute, rambling like it'll take the edge off of his nerves. Sweet blue eyes watering the more he talks. "I tried sayin' something to her earlier, but she wouldn't listen, 'n I didn't wanna be an ass..."

"No, no, I'm not upset about that," you're saying it so quietly, nearly covered up by the drone of Maria's television, but raising your voice feels like it'll break another piece of him. "I would've told you if it bothered me."

He's still searching. Scanning for a hint of a lie, a shred of anger that doesn't exist.

He doesn't find it.

For a moment, he's still. Breath caught in his throat. But then he's leaning up, nose bumping into yours as he catches your lips in his own, the both of you sighing into it. Some simple lock that ends as quickly as it started. Sharing a heated breath, as unified as your bodies are.

But there's still a flame kindling behind his eye.

"C'n I flip us over?" His hands draw up your sides, stroking your skin. "Please?"

"Go ahead, cowboy," you've hardly gotten the final word out, and yet he's already moving. Arms firm around your waist as he rolls your bodies over, your back settling into the mattress. Unintentionally jostling his cock inside of you, bumping into something spongey.

Rhett's warm nose buries itself in the space beneath your jaw, hips already beginning to move. Searching for that same pace you'd worked up mere minutes ago. Heavy balls smacking into your ass, your legs split wide to make space for his sweaty body. Slow at first, but then—

"Ah!" Stars sparkle behind your eyelids, mouth agape. "There, there, good boy."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's only just started fucking into you, and yet his cock head is already kissing those nerves on each inward pass. Meticulously striking every little spot. Has your cunt growing wet once more. Your blunt nails bite into his flannel-covered bicep, dominant hand venturing down between your legs.

"Feels so good," Rhett's babbling, right into your ear, "fuck, can feel your lil pussy spasmin' 'round me."

The pads of your fingers find your clit. Neglected and swollen, so sensitive that your own touch is almost too much. "Rhett..."

"Uhuh," and then his head is rising, and his mouth is on yours again.

Your lips can hardly stay together. Breaking apart with every shaky thrust, yet always finding each other again. Over and over, gasping into his mouth, swallowing down his pitchy whimpers. Chasing a high that you can feel burning to life between your legs. A dull heat that's already sparking, sending your skin prickling and your head spinning.

"Wanna..." he's muttering against your mouth, searching for words he can't find"Can I—please can I—"

And yet he's cut off by his own cry. A shattered noise brought on by the way your cunt squeezes him, fluttering like a damn butterfly. Your fingers spiral around your clit, chasing a lone flame that blooms into a raging wildfire. God, his rhythm is falling apart, jerky thrusts slamming into you without synchrony.

All of a sudden, Rhett finds his voice, "'M gonna cum."

Fuck, you said this morning that you weren't letting him cum in you again this week. But the thought of the cleanup pales in comparison to the vivid memory of him snuggling into you as he fills your pussy with his cum.

Oh, oh, oh, you want to feel that again.

"Cum in me, angel," your hand flies off his bicep in exchange for tangling in his hair. Holding on tight, like you'll float up to the ceiling and out the window if you don't hang onto him.

The corner of his eye twitches. Keening high in his throat, head dropping down as his hips quicken. Short, rapid little thrusts. Chasing the heat of it all. Pushing your head higher and higher into the clouds. Grunting beneath his breath.

His hips stall.

A sputtered cry falling off his tongue. Head burying into the crook of your neck as his orgasm washes over him. Cock spasming inside of you, twitching, filling your sweet pussy with his cum for the second time today. Painting the inside of you with white. Panting heavy against your skin.

His hips jolt involuntarily

And that's all it takes to push you over the edge. Cumming around his cock with a noise that your ringing ears don't catch. Head tilting back. Cunt clenching around him like a vice. Spurred on by the pitchy, oversensitive whimpers that you draw out of him.

Your head might have fallen off of your shoulders. So light and airy that you think you might feel a cloud brush against your cheek.

Or maybe that's the feathery brush of a cowboy's lips against your cheek. One, two, three, four kisses. Working you down from your high, grunting at the way that you relax around his spent cock.

Unfocused, your eyes open. Blinking back at him. "Some stellar ride, huh?"

The corner of his lip rises with a smile as your arms wrap around his broad shoulders. Chuckling, his head dips down to rest against your chest, soft cock slipping halfway out of you. And you can already feel his cum beginning to spill down your walls, stopped only by that sensitive, plush tip. Even then, you think you can feel it running down your inner thighs.

"We should clean up before we get the bed dirty," you whisper, but just because you should doesn't mean you will.

Rhett's head shakes, dark hair bouncing with it. "No."

"No?" Echoing dumbly. Though you can't say that surprise is your primary emotion.

"Want y' to keep holdin' me," that voice of his is deep, but his smile is light. Sparkling eyes peeking up at you like he thinks it'll get him extra time, "jus' a lil longer."

You've always been a sucker for that soft, cozy gaze.

And maybe you fall asleep because the next time you open your eyes, it feels like forever has passed. Your bones heavy, thighs sore from your borderline workout. Rhett's heavy body still lays on top of you. His fingers walk across your naked skin, transfixed by the way your skin gives to his gentle touch. Lost in his own little world.

Lazy, your fingers comb through his hair. The ring on your finger glints in the light as your nails rake across his scalp in a fashion that always makes him purr.

"Would y' care if I called the front desk 'n changed our room?" His voice rumbles against your collar, its own little earthquake.

"I don't mind," your neck strains as you try to press a kiss to his forehead, his skin still sticky with sweat, "if it makes you feel better, then that's what we'll do."

He hums at that. Doesn't seem to have much more of a response cooked up. But then, the scruff of his jaw brushes against your skin, his mouth opening again, "C'n we take a bubble bath first?"

Your eyes flutter. Supposedly a habit you've picked up from your husband. "Now?"

"Uhuh."

As you clamber off of each other and make for the bathroom, you can't help but catch yourself wondering if any of his big-time fans are aware of his recent bubble bath obsession. Or if Maria and her not-so-subtle fixations know that Rhett is absolutely, one-hundred percent, the little spoon.

Because you sure do.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #oneshot #OC: Archie Morton #delgato writes

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