#rhett's thighs

[kaluwa-del-conte]

Oh do I have a prompt for you. RandL in these outfits lol

Lol 😆 yes!

For some reason when looking at this pic I thought of that randl MV ‘Tough Decisions (A Whale Is Gonna Die)’ cause of the dress shirts. So this is what I made~

Them short shorts~ ✨

Hope you love it Sam and thank you for the art prompt! ❤️

[sparkle-jules]

That laugh though. Whatever you need to tell yourself

[callsignspark]

Also how is mailman Rhett doing? I think about him in those shorts often

it’s summer in his story so he is slutting it up in those usps shorts and his backwards baseball cap (which isn’t regulation but he delivers out in the boonies so there’s no one to complain) and most importantly, Miss Marner - it’s Laila, Rhett! call me Laila! Miss Marner makes me sound old! - just brought him a cold glass of lemonade to thank him for hauling all those packages from her backyard to his truck. he may or may not have been flexing after he noticed that she was watching him out of the corner of her eye while she continued to work. (she shuffled papers on her desk while he was in her workshop and when he was walking to his truck watched out the window like 👁️👁️ to really watch those back muscles work)

[attapullman]

I just wanna sit in his lap and rub my pussy on his thigh 😭

WELCOME TO THE CLUB I'M MAKING TSHIRTS

[em1i2a3]

Sports Car

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob have been having sex together for a while now, and have basically christened the entire compound, but when you get injured during a mission and are rendered incapable of having sex for the next month, the cravings need to be relieved somehow.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Fluff, Mentions of Injuries, and Smutish, an Unestablished relationship technically.

Smut Warnings: There are sexual themes to this and references to the reader and Bob having sex together everywhere basically, Mutual Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Cum eating, Bob is just trying to be a good boy man…

Author’s Note: Y’all…I can’t stop writing for this man, and you’ve pulled me into writing for Rhett Abbott as well, what the hell am I gonna do with all these ideas?! Certainly not going to start doing double updates or anything…AHEM anyways. Hope y’all enjoy. I liked the request that was put in by an anon for this to be themed to ‘Sports Car’ by Tate McCrae., I don’t know who y’all are but you guys know how to tempt me with a groovy song lol. Thank you.

Word Count: 6,304

Not being able to have sex with you felt like a death sentence to Bob Reynolds. That was just the plain honest truth.

Because ever since the dam between the both of you broke–ever since the first desperate kiss in the hallway, the first half-undressed quickie in the supply closet, the first time you looked up at him and asked for all of him–Bob hadn’t been the same. You had tethered to him, quietly, and completely, and you didn’t let go.

And he was wholly and utterly yours.

Every room in the compound’s living quarters carried proof of that–or at least memories of it because you and Bob were people who made sure the evidence was only on your bodies and not anything that could be seen to your roommates. They knew of course, but the both of you never wanted to push the envelope by being exhibitionalists, at least…Not when they were around.

Because when the both of you were left to your own devices–which was often–you made sure to take advantage, and you made sure your bodies remembered everything.

You’d sneak up on him in the kitchen and press your lips to the back of his neck while your hand slid under the band of his sweats. He’d whimper every time like it was brand new, like you hadn’t already wrecked him twice that day.

He’d climb on top of you on the couch, tug the book from your hands, kiss your sternum through your shirt until your fingers curled in his hair and your thighs parted instinctively.

You’d pull him into the laundry room and perch on top of the machine with your knees spread, bare just enough for him to drop to his knees and disappear between your thighs–right there, surrounded by the scent of dryer sheets and heat and the unbearable sound of him trying not to moan with his mouth full.

He’d drag you into the storage room, lift you like you weighed nothing, pin you against the shelves and thrust up into you at a devastating angle, biting your shoulder just to keep from making a sound that would’ve echoed through the vents.

The showers were slower. Steamy. Sacred. Hands gliding over each other, mouths tasting sweat and water and salt. His voice would rasp your name like a confession. And yours would stutter in return like a prayer.

This wasn’t just about the pleasure though, it was about the relief. Like your bodies were the only way you knew how to communicate to one another when the world was too loud.

When it all started, it was all-consuming. You’d barely make it through the day without ending up pressed against each other somewhere, whispering ‘just one more time’ through bitten lips. You took advantage of any free time you had and poured it into being tangled up with Bob, and that became your favourite thing to do.

There were days you’d have sex until you were sore. Until Bob couldn’t stop shaking. Until you were both red-cheeked and boneless and half-laughing at how wrecked you were.

Eventually, it mellowed–just enough that the both of you weren’t constantly distracted. You settled into a rhythm. Once in the morning. Again before bed, and sometimes in the middle of the afternoon if the compound was quiet.

Enough to satisfy the craving without drowning in it.

And then–

You got hurt.

It wasn’t a scratch or a bruise or something a few stitches could fix.

You had been caught in a sticky situation–hand to hand combat with someone who decided to bring a knife to a fist fight. And you were left absolutely destroyed.

You spent twelve hours in surgery and were left with twenty-three internal stitches, thirty-four external stitches on your abdomen, two cracked ribs, and a strict, no exceptions recovery plan: bed rest, hydration, painkillers, no heavy lifting, no exertion, and no sex–when you had asked the doctor about it they had said sex is exertion–for the next four weeks.

The first few nights were rough. You couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time, even with the heavy dose of painkillers. You couldn’t sit up on your own because of the angle of the wound. You couldn’t laugh when Bob or anyone else made a joke, you couldn’t sneeze–which was easy to avoid given Bob’s recommendation of distracting your brain by saying something randomly–and you couldn’t move without feeling like glass was breaking through your skin.

Throughout it all, Bob never left your side–even though you had told him multiple times he didn’t have an obligation to be there, which was met with a gentle kiss on the forehead and him telling you to shush.

He helped you shower–kneeling beside the tub, and supporting you with an arm across your back as you lowered yourself into the cold porcelain. He washed your hair with trembling hands, rubbing gentle circles into your scalp in an attempt to relax you and bring you some sort of comfort. He would dry you off without looking too long–even though you knew he wanted to. Though you had caught his eyes lingering–just for a second–before flickering away like it hurt to see you like that.

He would dress you slowly, shimmying you into the oversized t-shirt he loved seeing you in, and pulling the hem down over your thighs before asking if you were okay, like it didn’t break him every time he had to stop himself from going further.

Even through all of it, you always asked him to sleep beside you.

You were so used to waking up with him–your legs tangled with his, your cheek tucked into his neck, his hand resting somewhere warm and steady on your waist. Sleeping without him felt wrong now. Cold. Like something vital was missing.

Bob never said no.

But he had definitely changed the way he held you.

Now, he slid into his side of the bed with the caution of someone lowering themselves into a minefield. He moved like any shift in weight might hurt you, or worse—might hurt himself.

He lay stiffly beneath the sheets, on his back or facing the far wall, hands clutched to his chest or balled into the fabric of the blanket. He didn’t reach for you. Didn’t curl around you like he used to.

And he didn’t sleep. Not really.

Because the proximity was torture.

And not just the proximity–

The bed itself.

This was the bed you made love in.

The bed where you’d climbed into his lap and whispered praise into his mouth. The bed where he’d traced every inch of you with trembling hands. The bed where he’d watched you come apart with his name on your lips and your fingers buried in his hair.

Now he lay beside you like a ghost of himself.

Going cold turkey after months of unrestrained closeness—of your thighs squeezing his waist, of his mouth on your chest, of his hands gripping your hips while you moaned for him—

It wasn’t just frustrating.

It was excruciating.

It reminded him of when he was withdrawing from Meth. Of the days when his nerves felt like they’d been stripped raw, exposed to the air, and every muscle ached with the absence of something he couldn’t name.

It made his skin burn, made his chest go tight, and made his entire body feel hollow and heavy all at once.

Some nights he would lie awake just listening to you breathe–soft and steady beside him–trying to find comfort in the rhythm.

Other nights were harder.

Nights when your shirt would ride up in your sleep, revealing the gauze taped to your side and the delicate curve of your waist…And he’d have to roll away, press his hand to his chest, and breathe through his teeth until the ache settled.

Sometimes your thigh would brush against his–warm and unintentional–and his whole body would jolt. His fingers would curl into his palm hard enough to leave crescent marks, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Because the Sentry…

The Sentry noticed.

He felt everything more intensely now. The smell of your shampoo. The warmth of your skin. The shape of your breath against his neck when you shifted toward him in the dark.

And you were the only person the Sentry had ever bonded with. The only one who hadn’t flinched in his presence. Who didn’t just tolerate his power, but excited it.

You made him feel wanted. Controlled. Grounded.

But Bob–Bob wasn’t sure he could be enough of a barrier anymore especially with the situation.

Every brush of skin. Every gentle kiss you gave him in passing. Every time you said his name with that soft edge of longing–

The Sentry stirred.

Not violently. Not like before.

But with interest. With hunger. With something dangerously close to worship.

And Bob knew–if he touched you the way he wanted to, if he let himself trail his hand down the hem of your shirt, just once, or kissed you too deeply, too long–

He wouldn’t be able to stop.

The Sentry would take over.

Not to hurt you.

But to claim you like he always did.

To have all of you, again and again, until nothing else existed.

And right now? That could break you, delay your healing, and undo all the process you made.

So Bob stayed still and controlled himself with what little energy he had, and stayed quiet.

He didn’t reach for you, didn’t breathe your name the way he wanted to, didn’t tell you how badly he wanted to feel you, even if it was just your fingers in his hair, or your legs curling around him like they used to.

He stayed good.

Even as it slowly killed him.

———————————

By the second week though, Bob was losing his grip.

You were getting better, which was great to see. The worst of the pain had passed, and you could sit up without help, and walk short distances without Bob having to weave himself around you. The stitches were slowly healing, but the skin didn’t feel like it was tearing every time you moved, which meant that process was going smoothly.

But it also meant that the ache between your legs–the one you hadn’t noticed at first because it was dulled by the drowsiness of your medications–was back, and growing louder by the day.

The absence of him–of all of him–had become a pulse inside you. A hollow beat.

You felt like you were on high alert when he was around you, and you noticed such mundane things, like when his hand would brush by yours and set your skin ablaze or when he moved and the smell of his shampoo would tickle your nose. You tried to avoid it because you wanted to respect the doctor’s orders…But it was getting worse by the minute.

So one night, when the lights were off and the air between you was thick with the silence of things unsaid, you reached for him with such slowness that it could've gone unnoticed. Your hand slipped beneath the blanket and rested on his stomach first–just a whisper of a touch.

“Y/N…” He warned, his voice already unsteady, as he slowly opened his eyes to look down at you.

But you didn’t stop. You slid lower, fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers. He let out a sharp breath, and your hand cupped him softly through the fabric. He was already hard–painfully hard, if the way his hips jerked was any indication.

“Let me help,” You pleaded. “Just a little. I’ll be gentle...I promise.” But Bob grabbed your wrist–not harshly. Not even tightly. Just firm, just to stop you. His breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling like he was trying to hold something back.

“I-I can’t,” He rasped.

Your lips parted, and your brows furrowed in confusion. “You can’t or you don’t want to?”

“Of course I-I want to. G-God, I want to,” He said, voice cracking along the edges, almost like he was in pain. “B-But if you keep touching me, I won’t be able to stop, and I won’t be able to stay…You k-know what happens w-when I get worked up.”

The words landed like a stone between you.

You pulled your hand back slowly, guilt crawling into your chest. “Bob…”

“I’d g-give anything for this,” He whispered, eyes clenched shut. “F-For you. But if I l-lose control and hurt you–if the S-Sentry takes over because I can’t keep my hands to myself–I-I won’t forgive myself.” You nodded, even though the rejection burned like a bruise.

You knew the Sentry very well, because you’d encountered him countless times when Bob was so overwhelmed with pleasure and nerves that he took the wheel. You knew when those eyes glistened with a film of gold you were going to be in for an experience. He respected you, he treated you like you were his queen but he was extremely passionate…Passionate enough to stunt your recovery tenfold.

So you turned your back to him quietly, and cushioned yourself against the body pillow beside you, just to not torture yourself and Bob more by looking at him.

——————

The next day, Bob couldn’t concentrate. Not on his book, or on his breakfast. Not even on the tiny lavender plant you’d started trying to keep alive on the windowsill, which had recently begun to droop–as if it felt the tension in the room.

He just wanted to do right by you and be a good man, but on the inside he was screaming. His body was tired of restraint. Tired of pretending.

He could barely look at you without needing to breathe through it.

So he excused himself around midafternoon–told you he needed some air. You told him you’d be okay for a bit, and you meant it. You knew where he was going before he even left the room.

He needed someone to talk to.

Someone who could handle hearing about what he was feeling without looking at him like he was dangerous. Someone who knew what it meant to wrestle with instincts too big for one body.

He found them on the back patio, where the weight bench had been dragged out into the spring sun like a makeshift shrine to silence and post-mission soreness.

Bucky sat on the low concrete ledge, knees spread, forearms resting on them like he’d been in that same position for hours, he was sweating through his grey shirt like he had been benching a whole building on his own.

Walker was shirtless with sweat running down his chest as he racked a set of heavy dumbbells with a grunt that seemed unnecessarily loud.

And Alexei was reclined in a half-broken Adirondack chair, with a half-eaten protein bar melting in his lap, and a bottle of beer perched on the table beside him, just enjoying the warmth that the sun was bringing him.

They didn’t say anything at first when he walked out into the common area, shielding his face from the sun, but they could tell that he looked absolutely exhausted and he was shouldering something that he couldn’t handle on his own. He threw himself down on a lawn chair and let out a sigh, tilting his head back to stare up into the cloud dusted sky.

Alexei, Walker and Bucky gave each other a few side eyes, almost like they were daring one another to ask the question that they knew would crack Bob open immediately. But when Walker made a gesture for Bucky to say something, he decided to take the first shot at starting a conversation.

”You alright?” He asked reluctantly, squinting at him through the rays of sun that beat down on the patio. Bob let out another long exhale, deeper this time, keeping his eyes glued to the dusty blue that lined the sky, watching the clouds shifting overhead. It would’ve been a beautiful day if his insides weren’t chewing themselves to pieces.

”I really don’t know.” He replied. Walker raised an eyebrow.

”Well that’s a strong opening.” Alexei took a gulp from his beer bottle and sighed.

”Is this about Y/N?” Bob didn’t flinch at the mentioning of your name, but just by the softening of his features they knew you were going to be the topic of conversation. Walker gave a soft whistle and leaned back on the bench.

”Damn…Must be serious. You never bring her up.” Bob shrugged.

”W-Well we don’t really talk a-about this kind of stuff together.” Bob muttered, voice low, as his cheeks began to heat up from nerves.

”That’s because we assume that if you do, you’ll explode, which seems like you’re on the right track to doing that now.” He said, motioning to his face to point out the blush that crept up on Bob’s pale cheeks, before cracking open a water bottle. Bucky shot Walker a sharp glance but kept quiet.

”Okay, you talk now, we listen, and we tell how you don’t mess things up.” Alexei explained with a shrug, taking another swig of beer. Bob shifted forward in his chair, palms clasps together like he was trying to stop them from shaking.

”We were…Uhm…” He cleared his throat, “We were s-super active before she got injured…And I mean l-like…” His voice dropped even lower than it was, “A lot.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at the statement.

”I hope you’re not about to tell us she’s pregnant.” Bob’s head shot up.

”W-What? No!” Walker snorted loudly at the reaction, watching Bob run both hands over his face, “T-That would be e-easier to manage t-than this honestly…” That shut them up for a second. He exhaled and shook his head.

“The doctor basically gave us a full-on ban. No sex. No exertion. F-For weeks. A-And I’ve been going insane. I’m trying to be good, I-I am, but I can’t even look at her w-without feeling like I’m gonna burst into flames.” The guys exchanged a look. Not mocking. Not amused. It was a shared, silent kind of understanding. The ‘oh shit, he’s really losing it’ kind. Alexei frowned slightly, like he was calculating something. Bucky leaned back a little, arms crossed, but his jaw was tight. Walker raised both brows and sat forward on the bench, elbows on his knees.

”Well…It’s not like…You can’t do other things apart from actual sex.” Bob let out a strained exhale.

”E-Easy for you to say…You don’t have the S-Sentry serum running through your veins…I–I almost punched a hole in the shower w-wall the other day just trying to relieve myself b-because the Sentry was pissed off we couldn’t have her…” Walker paused mid-sip, brows scrunching.

”Wait…Wait, hold on. We? The Sentry’s had sex with Y/N?” Bob froze. His ears turned crimson instantly.

“I–I mean–I…It’s not–I didn’t mean it like that, I–” He ran a hand down his face, flustered once again. “It’s not like I hand over the keys to my b-brain and say ‘have at her’, o-okay? I-It’s just…I-It’s hard to control when I’m all… Worked up…S-She knows that.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Bucky, quiet but not incurious, leaned forward slightly. “So…What happens to you when he, y’know…Interrupts?” He only asked more because he had his fair share of odd experiences before he got a handle on The Winter Soldier programming, so maybe he would actually have sound advice if he knew what was going on. The question only made Bob’s eyes widen.

“W-We’re not talking about this,” He stammered quickly, shaking his head and sitting up like he could physically remove himself from the question. “No. No, absolutely not. That’s not why I came out here.”

Walker raised both hands. “Hey man, you’re the one who said we. You opened that very complicated door.”

Bob scrubbed his palms against his thighs, anxious. “I’m n-not here to give you guys a breakdown of–of what happens w-when I get off, okay?”

Walker opened his mouth again to say something.

“I mean it,” Bob cut in, voice cracking slightly from sheer desperation. “Guys, please. I’m not trying to be dramatic, I just–I really need help f-figuring out how to not reject Y/N e-every night without doing s-something that’s going to mess up her recovery.”

That quieted them.

Bob’s voice dropped again, a threadbare plea now.

“I-I don’t wanna push her away. She already feels like s-she’s broken or fragile or… I don’t k-know. L-Less than. And I hate it. I-I hate not being able to touch her. But if I lose c-control, if the Sentry kicks in at the wrong time, I could delay everything. I could–I could hurt her. I don’t want to fumble this. So I need to figure out how we can both get some kind of relief without c-crossing that line.”

He looked up, finally, eyes flicking from one face to the next.

“So can you guys p-please help me. F-For the love of God.” The silence that followed wasn’t awkward anymore. Bucky stayed quiet for a moment, still leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees, gaze steady on Bob like he was reading the fine print behind his eyes. Then, very calmly, very dryly, he said:

“…What if you acted like it was a long-distance call?”

Bob blinked. “W-What?”

Walker let out a short laugh. “Like phone sex?”

Bucky didn’t flinch. “Exactly like phone sex. She’s could be in the bed next to you, but you pretend she’s not…Or you keep your distance or something so you can see her, but you won’t have the temptation to touch her…And you can do it together too so it’s not like it’ll be one–sided or anything.” Bob blinked slowly, then looked down at his hands, the gears clearly turning. A pause, then—

“…That may actually work,” He muttered, more to himself than anyone else

Alexei raised his beer slightly and tilted his head toward Bucky, brows raised in mock suspicion. “But how you know this, Snow Soldier? You never leave compound. You don’t even have dating app.”

Bucky didn’t even flinch. “Doesn’t mean I forgot how to please a woman, Alexei.”

Walker choked on his water. “Jesus Christ.”

“I read and keep up with the times,” Bucky added flatly, raising an eyebrow. “And unlike some people here, I’ve been alive for over a century. There’s not much I haven’t heard of. Or tried.”

Alexei let out a low whistle. “That is…Oddly impressive.”

Bucky smirked, just a little. “Thanks. I’m full of surprises.” Bob, who had gone quiet again, looked back up with a glint of something new behind his eyes. Not quite confidence–but something adjacent to courage.

“I–I think I’m gonna ask her about it. T-Tonight. See if she’s up for it. I mean, if she’s not comfortable then I won’t push it, but…I think she’d say yes. I–I think she needs it…”

“Yeah,” Walker nodded, surprisingly sincere now. “She probably does.”

Alexei pointed his beer toward Bob with a nod. “Just go slow. Say words. Stay in control.”

Bucky gave him a final look, calm and steady. “You’ve already got the hard part figured out, Bob. You care. That’s more than most guys walk into a bedroom with.”

Bob nodded, then stood–hands still a little shaky, but steadier than before. Steadier with purpose now.

“Thanks,” He said, voice low but certain. “Really.”

And with that, he turned and headed back toward the compound. The sun had shifted lower in the sky, casting long golden beams across the windows as he disappeared through the door.

——————

The bedroom was quiet except for the soft rustle of pages.

You lay on your side, nestled into a warm pocket of pillows, the glow from your bedside lamp casting a soft halo over the book open in your hands. The words blurred slightly around the edges, not because you were tired, but because it had become harder to focus lately—especially when your body remembered Bob’s absence more than your mind wanted it to.

Then the door creaked open.

You glanced up.

And immediately–everything shifted.

Bob stood in the doorway for a moment like he wasn’t sure what kind of gravity he was stepping into. But something about him was different tonight. Less hunched. Less haunted. His jaw was still tight, but not from restraint. His eyes–those warm, sky-colored eyes–met yours without flinching.

You sat up a little, a finger marking your page. “Hey…”

He closed the door behind him. “Hey.”

The word felt heavier than usual. More certain.

He crossed the room with a slow, quiet gait. No twitching hands. No pacing. Just a quiet sort of determination as he reached your side and—without asking—sat on the edge of the bed beside you.

Your heart kicked up.

And then he leaned in. Like he was checking something on your face. But then his hand came up, brushed your hair gently back from your cheek, and his mouth found yours in a slow, quiet kiss.

Not rushed. Not desperate.

Just there.

Present.

It had been so long since he kissed you like that–without pulling away, without worrying, without freezing halfway through it like he was terrified his control might snap.

And the second his lips pressed to yours, a moan slipped out before you could stop it. Soft. Raw. Needful.

He pulled back an inch, eyes darting over your face.

“Sorry–” You whispered, breath catching.

“No,” He said immediately, voice low and rough. “G-God, no. I missed that. I’ve m-missed you.”

You blinked, stunned by the admission. Your hand lifted and rested on his thigh instinctively, grounding yourself in the weight of him.

“You seem…” You started, trailing your fingers slowly over the muscle. “Different.”

“I-I t-talked to the guys,” he admitted, a little sheepishly. “Bucky, Walker, Alexei. I was… I was honest with them about how bad t-this has been. And they helped me think of something that might…Help the both of us.”

You tilted your head. “Help?”

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw. “S-Something that keeps us inside the lines. But still g-gives us each other.”

Your pulse picked up. “Tell me.”

He swallowed, eyes flicking from your lips to your eyes.

“We don’t touch each other,” He said slowly, like every word was being weighed in his mouth. “But we…W-Watch. Talk. Feel. Together. Like we’re far away, even though w-we’re right next to each other.”

You stared at him.

And you felt your thighs press together beneath the blanket. “Phone sex. Without the phone.”

He flushed. Nodded.

You smiled, almost shyly. “That’s actually…Hot.” He raised his eyebrows at the reception you gave.

“You think so?” He asked quietly.

“I know so.” You shifted upright, the blanket sliding down your legs. Your breath caught as you watched him watching you–those blue eyes darkening just a shade, like the idea of what you were both tiptoeing toward was finally starting to register in full.

“Can we…” You whispered, voice thick, “Can we try it now?”

Bob’s lips parted like he was about to say something, but nothing came out at first–just the shaky sound of his inhale. Then, very softly, he nodded.

“Y-Yeah,” He murmured. “If you want to.”

“I do.”

That was all it took.

You reached for him before either of you could second-guess it–your fingers curling gently around his jaw as you pulled him back in for another kiss.

But this time it wasn’t soft.

This kiss was full of all the time you’d spent aching. All the days spent holding back. All the longing that had been quietly burning a hole through your resolve. The moment your lips met, it was slow but hungry, your mouth parting for him with a sigh that made his whole body jolt.

He kissed you back like a man dying of thirst–like he couldn’t believe you were letting him taste you again. His hand cupped your cheek, then your neck, and for just one second, just one, he let his thumb brush your jaw like he was memorizing the shape of you again.

You felt his restraint trembling under every inch of that kiss, before you pulled back.

His lips were still parted when you pulled away, breath ragged, lashes heavy over those pale blue eyes.

“I know you said no touching,” You whispered, your forehead still brushing his, “But I just wanted to do that again before we start…”

Bob didn’t answer right away.

He couldn’t.

His gaze was locked on your lips like they still had a gravitational pull he was barely resisting. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run a mile barefoot through fire. But then he gave the smallest nod–slow, reverent, like he understood that this wasn’t just about want.

It was about worship.

You leaned back, eyes locked with his, and slowly threw off the blanket covering your lower half. The cool air kissed your bare legs, but you didn’t flinch. You wanted him to see you. All of you.

You were wearing one of his shirts–oversized and thin with wear, soft against your skin. It was the one he’d dressed you in that morning, his hands shaking a little as he’d pulled it down over your shoulders and mumbled a shy, “Still looks better on you…”

Now, it fell just barely to your upper thighs.

And when Bob saw it–his shirt clinging to your body, brushing your skin like he wished he could–he visibly swallowed.

“Jesus…” He murmured. You shifted your legs slightly apart, slowly, deliberately, and tilted your head at him.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” You whispered. voice soft but trembling with need.

Bob’s breath hitched. His eyes didn’t leave you. Not your face, not your thighs, not the oversized shirt you wore like a second skin. He looked like he was trying to memorize everything, in case it slipped away again.

Bob’s breath caught again, chest rising in a shaky inhale. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just stared—like if he looked away, you’d vanish.

“Wh-What I’m thinkin’?” He managed, voice tight. “I’m thinking about how I used to touch you right there…”

His gaze dropped, slow, reverent, to the place between your parted thighs.

“…With my mouth. My fingers. Both. Just to see which one made you lose it faster.”

You shivered.

“I’m thinking about how y-you look when you come on my fingers,” He rasped, hand twitching near the waistband of his sweats now. “All breathless and wet and begging m-me not to stop, even when you’re already t-trembling…”

Your fingers flexed slightly against the sheets. He noticed. God, he noticed everything.

“And I’m thinking t-that if you slip your panties down right now, I-I’m not gonna last five minutes.”

You leaned back into the pillows and smiled, slow and sinful. “Then don’t blink.”

Bob sucked in a sharp breath as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and began to draw them down. Slow. Teasing. Letting him see.

He let out a low, desperate groan when the cotton dragged down over your thighs. When they hit the bed and your legs parted again–bare and glistening in the lamplight–he swore softly under his breath.

His eyes darted to yours, wide, glassy. “I-I–shit–can I–”

You lifted your hand before he could finish, holding out two fingers in front of him.

“Wet them.” You instructed, your voice soft, yet commanding all at the same time.

His lips parted with a soft gasp, and he leaned in immediately, eyes glazed with heat, desperation thick in every breath. He took your fingers into his mouth like it was instinct–like he’d dreamed about this–and moaned around them as his tongue swept between them. Slow. Purposeful.

His eyes never left yours.

You felt it in your core–the worship in it, the filth layered beneath the reverence.

You smiled, breath hitching as you whispered, “I love having your spit on my fingers. Almost makes me feel like you’re inside me…” Bob whimpered, a shudder rolling through him.

He sucked harder, tongue dragging slowly along the pads of your fingers, his cheeks hollowing slightly as he coated you, made sure you were wet–made sure he gave you everything.

And then, just as slow, you pulled your hand back.

You didn’t break eye contact as you brought your glistening fingers down to your clit and touched yourself–soft, slick circles that had you gasping, hips twitching.

Bob’s mouth dropped open. “F-Fuck…”

His hand moved like it wasn’t his own–shoving his sweats down, pushing his shirt up just enough to expose his stomach. His cock sprang free, flushed and painfully hard, already leaking at the tip.

“Jesus Christ,” You moaned, watching him. “You’re so fucking hard, Bob.”

His hand wrapped around himself, shaky. His jaw clenched. “Y-You did that. Just from w-watching you touch yourself, I–please., don’t stop–”

“I’m not planning to,” You breathed, and then slid your fingers down.

Sank them inside.

Your head tipped back. A moan ripped out of you, louder this time, raw.

You fucked yourself deep, a little rough, hips jerking against your own hand. Your moans came fast now, rhythmic, broken.

Bob panted.

He stroked himself hard and fast, eyes locked between your thighs like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His mouth hung open, chest rising in quick, uneven pulls, his light brown locks falling in front of his eyes briefly before he shook them away from his sight.

“Y-You’re rougher tonight,” He gasped. “You’re picturing m-me, aren’t you? My fingers, inside you, f-fuckin’ you so deep–just how you like–god Y/N, I-I’m not gonna–I’m so close–”

“I am picturing you,” You moaned, your voice shaking as your fingers drove in again. “I’m picturing your hand, your breath against my thigh, your groans ringing in my ears while you make me come on your tongue.”

Bob groaned loudly.

And then he broke.

His hips jerked up, cock pulsing as he came across his stomach with a strangled, wrecked moan. Hot streaks spilled across his belly, his hand, his shirt. His other hand braced against the bed as he tried to stay upright, gasping through it.

You didn’t stop yourself though.

Your fingers were soaked, knuckles glistening. You moaned his name again–louder, needier–and then came with a cry, thighs shaking, fingers still moving inside yourself as you chased every last wave of it.

The room filled with nothing but your breaths.

Shaky. Open. Ruined.

And then–

You sat up, slowly, still flushed and trembling. Your fingers, still slick, still glistening with your arousal as you reached toward him.

Bob didn’t even breathe.

He opened his mouth as if possessed.

You slipped your fingers past his lips, and he sucked them eagerly, moaning around them with such softness you could feel yourself getting worked up all over again. His hands were limp at his sides, useless, spent–but his mouth worked slowly cleaning every inch of your fingers, lapping up your sweetness like it was nectar from the gods. When you finally slipped your fingers out, slick and warm, he moaned softly like he didn’t want to let go.

You didn’t speak.

You just leaned in.

And kissed him.

Slow. Gentle. Nothing like the aching heat that came before. This one was quieter–tender and full, your lips brushing against his like you were grounding him, like you needed him tethered to you in this moment just as much as he needed the kiss.

Bob melted into it with a sound that barely made it past his throat, his whole body relaxing under your touch even as his skin still buzzed with the aftershocks of release.

And then–

You pulled back slightly, dragging your gaze down to his cum streaked stomach–glossy and glinting faintly in the lamplight. His shirt was bunched up just enough to show the ridge of muscle beneath. Your hand moved before he even realized.

Fingers dipped low.

Bob’s breath hitched hard as he watched you swipe through one of the fresh, warm streaks across his stomach–slow and lazy, like you were collecting it on purpose.

And then you brought your fingers to your lip, licking them clean without breaking eye contact.

Bob let out a strangled noise–half gasp, half groan–as his body jolted under you.

“Y/N…” He whispered, voice gone thin and broken. “I-I c-can’t–Jesus Christ–“

You just smiled, slow and flushed and soft, licking the taste from the tip of your finger with a flick of your tongue that made his eyes roll back for a second.

“I don’t think,” You said, your voice calm and sultry, “We’ll be able to follow the rules for the next two weeks at the rate we’re going.”

Bob stared at you like you’d just rewritten gravity.

”I know…”

[zottts]

lewis pullman characters, and what they'd do for their first time with reader

Bob - it takes him a LONG time to get there, to make sure you and him are both comfortable, and that you both know you want this. it starts off with small touches, he would gently kiss your skin. from the crook of your neck to the inner parts of your thighs, his hands go wherever you let him - his touch his soft despite his hands being... well- big. he calls you pretty, perfect and boy does he make noises!! he is very noisy, whimpering, whining as you move your hips against his own - each little noise falls into your mouth as you kiss him, he is careful. he feels like if he "does to much" you'll wither away in his hands.

HE ALSO EATS YOU OUT CANT CJANGE MY MIND

owen - definitely back seat type of deal, or hiding in a storage closet - he purposely has this achingly slowly, and soft touch. he wants to work you up, get you hot and bothered, he knows what he was doing to you from the start, he wants to take his time hearing every each little almost pornagraphic noise that falls from your mouth "fuck- owen- oh my god-" your hands tugging on his shirt, hair - as he fucks you up against the wall, his hands over your mouth so you don't get caught, because that's unholy right? don't want to be seen like that, that would be sinful. but the way he talks into your ear about how dirty you are, how good you feel, goes right to your core. and this time definitely wouldn't be last time either, he also likes leaving hickeys in places only you two can see

rhett - you would expect him to be rough since he gives that "rough and dirty" look, but he's the complete opposite. the first time is in the bed of his truck, he has a blanket and pillows set, you are under the stars. he has you in his lap so he can see you, he is also very touchy, and lets you be loud, he loves hearing that you take so much pleasure from him, yes he treats you good, makes sure you feel good and all that but that doesn't mean he doesn't like marking you, he loves leaving hickeys, bite marks all of it. (but thats for later, he doesn't want to push you to far), he also loves kissing your skin

calvin - he holds your face, arms, sides. each touch is calculated and articulated, he goes slow, but hard. keeping his eyes on you the entire time, talking you through it, complimenting you, telling you to keep your hands on him, eyes on him. despite being an awkward fuck he likes the eye contact, watching unravel underneath him. he also definitely does it with you in his bed, he probably set it up and everything too. all cute, candles, attempting to make you a dinner, soft kisses leading up to it

THATS IT MWAH

[spaceycat]

𝚕𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐;

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: somebody told me by the killers // " a-breaking my back just to know your name, but heaven aint close in a place like this.. "

bob floyd - this man is just purely curious, trying to figure out what feels good for you and him - but you cant look at bob and tell me that he doesnt love to be between your thighs with his glasses on, fogging up. meow....

bob reynolds - he just wants to feel you, in anyway - but he prefers going down on you because it makes him feel good that he makes you feel good, he just watches your face the entire time making sure that his mouth good feels against your cunt. (bob, void + sentry drabble on the same topic.)

calvin evans - calvin doesnt really care if he's receiving or giving, he's just very articulated and calculating with his movements - if he's in between your thighs he'll make sure you're staring at him the entire time, eye contact is important to him. he likes to go soft and slow, being rough isnt exactly his entire thing.

owen taylor - owen typically likes receiving, pushing you down on your knees and practically fucking your mouth. it's unholy, the spit and the drool coming out of your mouth - but he wouldnt have it any other way. when in the unlikely event that he's giving, he makes sure you feel everything (100% spits on your pussy before diving in)

miles miller - he likes to give more than he recieves, when he puts his mouth on you his entire brain shuts off and he only has to do, not say and he likes to please you more than he likes to please himself. when he does recieve, he's a literal whimpering mess but doesn't know what to do because he doesnt want to hurt you in the slightest.

rhett abbott - sometimes getting his dick sucked his the best thing after a fucked up rodeo, as much as he loves you whining beneath him from his tongue he likes the feeling of your mouth on him as a stress reliever, and he has a lot of stress.

inspiration tag: @sammygidd

[verricherri]

I have smth, someone walking in on reader and rhett but it's secret relationship and no hanky panky just like cuddling or reader is sleeping !!

Yours, Officially

A/N: THIS IS MAD CUTE AND I DEFINITELY WENT A LITTLE OVERBOARD 😭 but honestly, Outer Range doesn’t give us nearly enough sweet family moments — so I took matters into my own hands. Warnings: this one’s gonna pull you deeper into Rhett spiralling territory… you will fall for him. again. harder. Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

The light coming through the cracks in the old barn wall was soft and golden, spilling faint stripes across the daybed. Dust floated in the air like something out of a dream, and the only sound in the room was the slow, even rhythm of Rhett’s breathing.

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

You remembered the late drive through the backroads, headlights bouncing along the dirt, Rhett drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the radio. You remembered his voice, low and lazy, saying, “Ain’t no sense sending you home this late. I’ve got a setup in the barn. S’quiet. No one’ll know.”

You remembered thinking: he makes it sound like hiding you’s something sacred.

And now here you were.

Wrapped in a blanket that smelled like hay and cedar and him. One arm thrown over the pillow. The other—

The other was tangled with Rhett’s.

He’d slid into the daybed sometime during the night. Big body curled into yours, one leg draped over your calves, hand resting at your waist. He was warm, shirt rumpled, hat tipped low over his face, the edge of his jaw brushing the crown of your head.

You should’ve moved. You really should’ve.

Instead, you stayed there. Let the moment settle. Let the silence stretch. Let yourself feel, just for a second, like you belonged to something that wasn’t allowed yet.

“Y’awake?” he murmured, voice still gravelled with sleep. You blinked, nose brushing his flannel. “I am now.” His fingers tightened just slightly at your side. “Wasn’t sure. You didn’t elbow me once all night.” “Miracle,” you yawned, shifting just enough to look at him. “This your idea of hospitality?” Rhett tipped his hat back with one hand, looking down at you with a sleepy half-smile. “Could’ve let you sleep in the truck.” “You almost did,” you reminded him, voice soft. “Then you got all... chivalrous on me.” He smirked. “I ain’t chivalrous.” “You dragged a whole daybed into your man cave.” “It was already here,” he mumbled. You raised a brow. “In your secret barn hideout?” He looked at you for a beat. Shrugged. “Maybe I like the quiet. Maybe I like having somewhere to go when the house feels too damn loud.” You reached up, brushed a strand of his hair back. “Maybe you like having somewhere to bring me.”

Rhett didn’t answer. Just leaned down a little, forehead nudging yours, and let out a slow breath.

Neither of you said it, but it hung there — soft and weightless and dangerous.

You liked this too much.

And it couldn’t stay secret forever.

---

You shifted slightly beneath the blanket, propping yourself up on one elbow as Rhett swung his legs off the daybed and stretched. The hem of his t-shirt lifted just enough to flash the waistband of his jeans, and yes — even half-asleep, the man still had the audacity to look good.

He ran a hand through his hair and reached for the dented thermos on the shelf behind him.

“Want some?”

You nodded, watching as he poured into one of two chipped mugs sitting on the tiny workbench-turned-nightstand.

“You always keep two mugs in your man cave?” you teased. “One’s mine,” he said, offering you the other. “Other one’s for when Amy hangs out here. Or, y’know, emergency cuddling.” You snorted into the cup. “Emergency cuddling? That a regular occurrence?” Rhett sat back down at the edge of the daybed, his thigh warm against yours. “Wouldn’t call it regular,” he muttered, “but I’m not complainin’.” You smiled over your mug. “You’re getting soft, Abbott.” He raised a brow. “Pretty sure you’re the one who fell asleep curled into me like a damn koala.” You jabbed a finger at his side. “You were the one who pulled me in.” “You were shivering.” “You were touch-starved.” He opened his mouth. Closed it. Shrugged. “Still am.”

The quiet settled again. Not awkward. Just full of everything unsaid.

“I like it here,” you said finally, sipping slow. “It’s peaceful.”

Rhett glanced around the room — the stacked boxes, the folded saddle blankets, the one window with a crack running through it and dust caught in the glass.

“It ain’t much.” “It’s yours,” you said. “And you let me in.”

His jaw clenched, just barely. That familiar flicker — protectiveness, pride, fear — moved behind his eyes.

Then, softer: “You make it too damn easy to fall, you know that?”

You blinked.

“Uncle—”

The door creaked.

Both of you froze.

He set his mug down like it was a ticking bomb. “Did you lock it?” “I thought you locked it!” “I told you to—”

A light patter of steps.

Then a tiny voice: “Uncle Rhett?”

Your eyes went wide.

“Oh no.” “Shit,” Rhett muttered, already scrambling to block your view with his back as the barn door creaked open.

Amy stood in the doorway, hugging a jacket to her chest. Her expression was suspicious at best.

“You weren’t in your room,” she announced. “Grandma said maybe you were feedin’ the chickens, but you don’t even like chickens—”

Rhett stood so fast he nearly knocked his mug over.

“Hey—Amy,” he barked. “Don’t come in.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you—what are you standing in front of—?”

She shifted on her toes, trying to peek around him.

In one smooth, near-desperate motion, Rhett yanked the blanket higher over your legs and backed up until he was fully blocking you like a damn brick wall.

“Amy,” he said, low and urgent. “Turn around. Right now.” Her head tilted. “Are you… hiding something?” “Nope. Just—privacy. Adult privacy.” “What does that even mean—?”

And then she caught a glimpse. The edge of your face behind his shoulder. Your very obvious bed hair. His flannel sleeve half-wrapped around your arm.

Amy’s jaw dropped.

“OH MY GOD,” she gasped, hoodie slipping to the ground. “UNCLE RHETT—IS THERE A GIRL IN YOUR BARN?!” “Amy,” he warned, already too late. “YOU HAVE A GIRL IN YOUR BARN!!!”

She turned and bolted like her life depended on it.

“*GRAAAAAANDMAAAAAAAA—UNCLE RHETT IS HIDING A GIRL IN THE BARN—AND THEY’RE—THEY’RE DATING OR CUDDLING OR—*BOTH!!”

Rhett groaned, hands on his hips, looking like he aged ten years in two seconds.

You flopped backward onto the daybed and dragged the blanket over your face. “I am never showing my face.”

He didn’t respond at first.

Just stared at the door Amy had burst through, then turned to look at the mess of blankets, the mugs, and his damn flannel wrapped around your arm.

Then he deadpanned:

“I should’ve let you sleep in the damn truck.”

---

You barely made it five steps out of the barn before you heard it — the slam of the back door.

Cecilia stood on the porch with a coffee mug in hand, robe cinched tight, and the kind of expression that could drop a grown man to his knees.

You could just make out Royal through the screen door, sitting at the kitchen table like it was any other morning — newspaper in hand, unbothered by the chaos brewing around him. And somewhere deeper inside the house—

“Amy!” Perry’s voice rang out. “What do you mean ‘with a girl in the barn’?! What the hell did you just say?!”

You and Rhett exchanged a look.

“Should we run?” you whispered. Rhett muttered, “You think we’d make it to the truck?” “Nope.” Cecilia took one long, slow sip of coffee. “Well,” she said calmly, looking you up and down, “I suppose this is the part where someone starts explaining.”

You tugged Rhett’s flannel tighter around yourself, painfully aware of your bed hair, crinkled clothes, and complete lack of an escape plan.

Cecilia didn’t miss it.

“Why don’t you head inside and wash up a little, sweetheart?” she said, not unkindly. “There’s a mirror in the downstairs bathroom. I’ll be right here when you’re done.” You blinked. “Right. Yes. Thank you.”

You bolted inside like your life depended on it.

---

You didn’t even get the tap fully running before you heard the next wave of yelling.

“They weren’t doing anything!” Amy insisted, indignant. “But she was totally in there, and Uncle Rhett was standing in front of her like a guard dog, and he had a blanket and everything!” Perry’s voice now: “Wait, what kind of blanket?” “Like a snuggle blanket! The one he keeps on the chair!”

Back in the kitchen, Rhett looked like someone had parked a tractor on his chest.

Cecilia leaned one hip against the counter. “Well,” she said, “this explains the two mugs I found in the sink.” “It’s not what it looked like,” Rhett said quickly. “Oh?” she replied. “So you weren’t in the barn with a girl, alone, in the early morning, and acting like you were guarding Fort Knox?” Rhett groaned. “I was—I—she was tired, okay? We’d been out late. I told her she could crash on the daybed. She fell asleep. That’s all.” Amy piped up proudly. “Yeah, but you were standing in front of her all weird, like you didn’t want me to see!” Perry walked in, coffee halfway poured. “So, just to clarify... no pants came off, but you still got caught red-handed?” “Perry!” Rhett snapped. “What? It’s a valid question.” “She was asleep, man.” Amy blinked. “She looked very awake when I saw her.” “You screamed.” Rhett rubbed his face. “Everyone would look awake after that.” Cecilia looked amused. “And you’ve been seeing each other for how long?”

You reappeared in the doorway, now slightly more presentable, hair brushed and face flushed.

“Awhile,” you said honestly. Royal finally turned a page. “Could’ve just told us.” “We weren’t ready for it to be a thing,” Rhett said. “Didn’t want the noise.” “Well,” Royal said, not looking up, “now you got it.” Perry took a loud sip of his coffee. “At least tell me it wasn’t my flannel she was wearing.” Cecilia ignored him. “I made pancakes,” she said instead, her tone flipping from cool matriarch to warm grandma in a heartbeat. “Sit. Eat. You can be embarrassed with food in your mouth like the rest of us.”

You glanced at Rhett.

He looked like he’d aged twenty years.

“I’ll set the plates,” you whispered, trying not to laugh. “God help me,” he muttered, trailing after you. Behind you, Amy whispered to Perry: “Told you she was his girlfriend.” Perry leaned in, smirking. “Yeah. And last month you said the chicken coop was haunted.” Amy crossed her arms. “It sounded haunted.” Perry chuckled. “Bet Rhett wishes the barn was haunted instead.”

---

You sat at the kitchen table, sandwiched between Cecilia’s warm judgment and Amy’s smug little grin.

Rhett was right beside you — back straight, jaw clenched, chewing his pancakes like each bite was a personal punishment.

“So,” Perry said around a mouthful of syrup, “how long we talkin’? Weeks? Months? Biblical ages?”

Rhett didn’t answer.

Amy did. “I bet they’ve been sneaking around forever.” Cecilia calmly refilled your coffee. “I figured something was going on when you started washing your hair more often.” “I always wash my hair,” Rhett grumbled. “Not in a way that involved cologne,” she replied smoothly. Royal didn’t look up from his newspaper. “You told me she was ‘helping out with horses.’” “She was,” Rhett said defensively. “With her face two inches from yours?” Amy chirped.

Rhett groaned and dropped his fork.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“Alright,” Rhett said, pushing his chair back. “I’m done being interrogated.” “Don’t forget your dishes,” Cecilia called after him. He waved a hand without turning around. “She’s got ’em.” You blinked. “I do?” “Please?” he added, glancing back at you with something halfway between guilt and pleading. You sighed dramatically, grabbed two plates, and stood. “Only because you took the fall.” Amy gasped. “So you were hiding!” Rhett opened the screen door. “I’m going to stand in the sun and pretend none of you exist.” “Love you too,” Cecilia called sweetly.

---

You found him leaning against the barn wall, half in the sun, half in the shade. His coffee was long gone, but he still held the mug like he needed something to do with his hands. Shirt sleeves rolled up, hair messier than usual, the kind of quiet that settled around Rhett when his thoughts got too loud.

You passed him the plate wordlessly. Two pancakes. No syrup.

“Figured you didn’t wanna sit through another Perry monologue.” He looked at you, that quiet warmth already softening the edge of his scowl. “You read my damn mind.”

You slid down beside him, shoulder brushing his.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” Rhett said after a long silence. “What I said earlier. About not wanting it to be a thing.”

You looked up at him.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to hide you,” he went on. “I just… didn’t wanna share you yet. I liked it better when it was just us. Felt safer.” You reached out, brushing your fingers along the seam of his jeans. “I know what you meant. And I liked it too. But I don’t mind this, either.” He let out a breath — not quite a laugh. “You don’t mind Amy screaming it from the rooftops?” “She screamed dating or cuddling or both, Rhett. I feel like we got off easy.”

He smiled at that. Not just with his mouth — with his eyes, too. That rare, quiet smile like something unguarded cracked open inside him.

“I mean, it’s not like we’re doin’ anything wrong,” you added. “We’re two grown adults sharing a daybed in a barn. Fully clothed. With coffee mugs.” “Romantic as hell,” he muttered, nudging your knee. “I’m serious.” “I know.” You paused. “Do you wish we could go back to hiding it?” Rhett shook his head, slow. “Nah. I just wish I’d kissed you before Amy walked in.”

Your heart did a little somersault.

You leaned into him, pressing your head to his shoulder. “We got time.”

He set the plate down beside him, turned slightly toward you. One hand came up to your cheek — warm, careful, thumb brushing just beneath your eye.

“You still got syrup on your lip,” he murmured. “I didn’t eat any syrup.” “Guess I imagined it,” he said, and kissed you anyway.

It was unhurried. Soft. Familiar in that new kind of way. Like it belonged in this moment. Like it always belonged here.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

“So,” he whispered, “you wanna come back tonight?” You smirked. “You mean sneak into the barn and frighten Amy again?” “Nope. I mean…” He glanced toward the house. “You can stay in my room this time. Save me the heart attack.” You looked up at him, eyes warm. “Only if you promise not to stand in front of me like a human shield again.” He laughed. “No promises. I panicked.” “I know. It was kinda hot.” “Shut up.”

You kissed him again just to prove the point — and this time, neither of you moved when the screen door creaked open.

Because now?

You weren’t hiding.

----

[EXTRA]

When Rhett knocked on your door, he wasn’t wearing his usual scowl. He looked… nervous.

Hat in one hand. Shoulders tense. Like he was about to ask you for something important.

Which, to be fair, he was.

“I know you already met everyone,” he said, voice low, eyes flicking down to his boots. “But I wanna do it right. Y’know. A proper dinner. Not… the barn thing.” You raised an eyebrow. “You mean not with Amy shrieking and your mum's sipping judgment through a coffee mug?” “Exactly,” he muttered. “I made Mom cook something she doesn’t hate. There’s pie.” You grinned. “You sure this isn’t just an excuse to get pie?” He looked up, finally. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “It’s a multitasking situation.”

---

Dinner was surprisingly… nice.

The table was actually set. Cecilia used the cloth one — the good one, the one she only pulled out for holidays and suspiciously formal guests. Royal had even changed his shirt. Perry was still Perry, but slightly less feral. Amy was writing in a notebook. You chose not to ask.

When everyone settled at the table, Rhett cleared his throat and stood up — stiff-backed, clearly uncomfortable but determined.

“Alright,” he muttered. “I know y’all met her already, but… that wasn’t exactly the way I wanted it to happen.”

He glanced down at his plate, then back up — eyes landing on you first, then his family.

“This is her. She means a hell of a lot to me. And I want you to know her the way I do — not just some girl caught in the barn, not a joke. She’s someone I care about. A lot.”

A beat of silence.

Then, awkwardly, “So… be decent.”

Cecilia smiled into her wine.

Perry muttered, “You rehearsed that, didn’t you.” Amy whispered, “He definitely rehearsed it.”

----

You survived the meal.

Barely.

Amy got through eleven questions. Perry made three jokes about eloping. Rhett kicked him under the table twice. Cecilia beamed the entire time like she was already planning a wedding in her head. And Royal, in the quietest moment of the night, looked at you and said:

“You make him better.”

That was it. No ceremony. No explanation.

Just four words.

But they landed.

Even Rhett went quiet for a second, like someone had knocked the wind out of him. And when he looked at you again, it was with that same damn softness you were starting to crave.

---

Afterward, you and Rhett ended up in the kitchen, elbow to elbow, rinsing dishes.

“So,” you said, bumping his hip gently. “Was this what you pictured? Your grand introduction?” “Nope.” “Better or worse?” He looked over. “Better. Way better.” You smiled. “Thanks for letting me be part of it.” “You were always part of it,” he said, setting down the last plate.

You reached for a towel, heart doing that stupid little ache-thing it did every time he said something like that.

Then, without looking up, you asked, casual as ever:

“So… next dinner, you gonna let me hold your hand?”

He froze for half a beat.

Then reached over — slow, quiet, sure — and laced his fingers through yours.

“Next dinner,” he murmured, “you’re sittin’ in my lap.”

[delopsia]

Happy belated birthday!!! 🥳🥳

For the celebration - Bob Floyd, Rhett Abbott and Robert Reynolds

Moonlight Bullriding - the boys cumming in their pants

👀 wow I haven't gotten a multi-character ask like this in forever ⭐Join my Starlight Stampede Event! ⭐

Moonlit Bull Riding — Send any kind of thought or request for your rider(s)

Bob Reynolds °.•☆

Your mouth flutters over the thick material of his sweatpants, pressing chaste kisses into the outline of his cock, only pausing long enough to mouth at the tip, wetting it with your tongue. Bob gasps, squirming out from under you and further up the bed. "You're not getting away from me that easily," you murmur, speaking directly against him. The rumble of your voice sends his back arching up, babbling something incoherent under his breath.

Your hand rises to gently squeeze him, wrapping your lips around his cock head once more. Hands paw at your forehead, futilely trying to push you away. He's so cute, you're hardly even doing anything to him and here he is, wriggling like a damn worm. "Does that feel good?" You already know the answer. He's so, so easy to read, but you want to hear him say it. "Uhuh," whimpering under his breath, "feels...feels..." A sharp whine cuts through the bedroom air, Bob's cock twitches beneath your touch, his hips rising up off the mattress. A familiar saltiness greets your taste buds. "Already?" Giggling, you draw away and replace your mouth with your hand, rubbing firm circles into his tip. A beat passes, and he gasps. "I didn't—I didn't mean to, oh my god." He sucks in a breath, holding it for a moment. Then, sitting up, excitement glistening in his wide eyes."We can do that again, right?"

Rhett Abbott °.•☆

Between the low groan rumbling in your ear and the way he twitches against your thigh, you can do this all day. Rhett's hand tightens on your waist, absolutely shameless about how he chases the pressure of your leg between his. Anyone can walk past and see you. This alleyway is only so remote, someone is bound to come walking down here and stumble across the sight of a cowboy grinding on your thigh. "You're gonna get us caught," you warn, fully aware that he doesn't give the slightest damn about that. Not like this would be the first close-call, or the second, or the third. "No 'm not," the heat of his breath burns right into your sensitive neck. But that's not the answer you're looking for. Your fingers tangle in his hair, yanking his head back and— "Shit," Rhett's eyes roll back, his mouth hanging open. And you can feel his cock twitching through his jeans, cumming without the slightest ounce of warning. "I don't remember you being this easy," teasing. Has he always been this sensitive about having his hair pulled? Teeth nip your ear, his breathy whimper sending a shiver up your spine. "Let's see if y' can last any longer than me, huh?"

Bob Floyd °.•☆

"You're not slick," Bobby's breath tickles your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. "I can feel exactly what you're doing." "Good," you hum. Your eyes remain glued to the television, remaining as casual as possible. As if you're not perched in his lap, lazily grinding your ass into him. "I want you to feel it." His dejected huff is almost too loud, but nobody looks your way. Thank god Maverick likes his action films, your cover would have been blown a long time ago if this were a quiet, yearning romance. Bob's head thumps against your shoulder, a faint noise bubbling out of him. The roar of the movie covers up the louder one that follows. Frankly, that's the only thing fueling your to keep moving, grinding your ass into him in loose circles, in spite of the strain its putting on your thighs. His arms curl around your waist, squeezing you as hard as he can, and you think that might be his teeth sinking into the back of your neck. Vaguely, you feel him twitch against your ass. Once, twice. A faint moan chases it. You peer over your shoulder. "Did you just...?" Bob's flushed face is the only answer you need. "I might've."

[attapullman]

when and where can we order our club shirts?

we need to elect a secretary and plan our first meeting and then RATAC shirts shall be available

[fishfooddude]

Oral Fixation

Rhett loves being between your thighs, and you love being the receiving end of his little fixation.

MDNI 18+

Outer Range MasterList

Directory

“There’s my pretty girl.” Rhett grinned as you walked over to where he and Perry had been sitting. Perry raised his beer bottle in your direction before flagging down the bartender to get you a drink and himself a refill. Rhett hopped off his stool and pulled you in for a tight hug. You giggled and hugged him back.

“Hey, cowboy… hey, Perry.” you greeted as Rhett guided you to sit between him and Perry. 

The three of you hung out at the bar for a few hours before Perry needed to get back to the ranch to take care of Amy. He said his goodbyes, and you kissed him on the cheek before he put down a 20 and headed out of the bar. Rhett sat back in his chair and looked you up and down with a familiar glint in his eyes. You giggled and sipped your drink, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty baby.” Rhett grinned, putting a hand on your thigh. “Especially when you wear stuff like this…” he mumbled as his fingers played with the flouncy material of your skirt. “You wearin’ anything underneath?” a blush spread across your cheeks as Rhett flirted with you. “Am I makin’ ya nervous, pretty girl?” 

“No…” You giggled as you finished your drink. Rhett scooted closer to you and put an arm around his shoulder, and his other hand shifted up your thigh under your skirt. You smacked his traveling hands playfully, “Rhett, not in public…” 

He chuckled, “Well, my trucks right outside… we could go park by that stream… got some blankets for the back…” he leaned in closer, kissing gently against your jaw. You bit your lip at Rhett’s words and the feeling of his chapped lips moving up your jawline. “You wanna head out, baby?” you nodded in response to Rhett's question, and he hummed in acknowledgment as he pulled some cash out of his pocket to pay for your and his drinks before hopping off his chair.

Rhett held your hand as the two of you exited the bar and walked around the building to the back parking area where he’d parked. He opened the passenger’s door for you and watched you climb into the seat, your skirt hiking up ever so slightly. He bit his cheek to surprise the moan that threatened to spill from his throat. As he walked around the front of the truck, his brain filled with dirty thoughts of you. As he got into his seat, he looked at you, “You never answered my question…” his hand squeezed your thigh. You giggled and decided to pull up the bottom of your skirt now that the two of you had some privacy. As you revealed your pair of soft cotton underwear, Rhett swallowed. “Can I?” he implied as his hand moved up your thigh. You nodded and spread your thighs to allow Rhett’s fingers to rub soft, slow circles over your clothed cunt. The sensation made you shiver; Rhett bit his lip and exhaled through his nose. He loved how sensitive you were.

“Rhett” you giggled as his fingers pushed the material of your panties between your lips, giving him better access to rub your clit through your panties. He chuckled and pulled his hand away to start his truck. He joked about not wanting to get caught before he pulled out of the bar’s parking lot and began the short drive to the stream he’d been talking about. Rhett parked and turned his truck off before grabbing a blanket from his nonexistent backseat. You giggled as you watched him struggle to grab the thick woven blanket. He chuckled as he managed to get the blanket out in one piece. He held it under his armpit, got out of the cab, and walked toward the bed of his truck. You watched him spread the blanket, making it look as comfortable and appealing as possible. You giggled as he came to the passenger door and opened it. After undoing your seatbelt, Rhett slipped an arm under your knees and his other at the small of your back. You scooted toward him before he hoisted you up out of the seat. A slew of giggles escaped your lips as you loosely wrapped your arms around his neck.

Rhett laid you down in the bed of his truck before climbing in himself and trapping your head between his arms, “You’re a damn beauty, you know that?”

You giggled at his compliment and nodded, “You tell me every chance you get.” 

Rhett grinned, “You’re also smart..” Rhett leaned in to kiss your kiss. “And kind.” he moved to kiss your jaw. You bit your lip to stifle a moan as one of Rhett’s hands slipped under your skirt again. A whimper escaped your lips when one of Rhett’s rough fingers came in contact with your slick folds. “Already wet for me?” Rhett teased as he nipped at your collarbone. You hummed in confirmation and let your fingers lace in his hair. “You’re so sensitive… so responsive…” Rhett muttered as he pushed a single finger into your entrance. 

“Rhett-” you gasped as he slowly started pumping his finger. He hummed at your gasps, relishing the sounds you made as he began to work you. “Can you-”

“You want me to go down on you, baby?” Rhett chuckled as he kissed your neck softly. 

“Am I that predictable?” you giggled.

“Yes, but I love eating you out… I could do it all day if you let me.”

[spaceycat]

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✮⋆˙ ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ...  ╰┈➤ 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚘 .⋆˚࿔

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: angel by massive attack + horace andy (6:20)

✰ pairing: rhett abbot x fem!reader

✰ cw: (no use of y/n & proofread) smut, enemies to lovers, swearing, bratty!reader, brat tamer!rhett, pure filth tbh, car sex, p in v sex, fingering, tit play, oral fixation if you squint, multiple orgasms (f!recieving), reader on top, save a horse ride a WHAAT?? sweetheart, baby, sweet girl and bunny nickname when referring to reader

✰ word count: 2.3k+

✰ summary: you and rhett are enemies and have been for years, after he lost his rodeo you find him brooding by his truck you poke fun but it soon grows hotter.

✰ a/n: apart of the maria hate club

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༺colour chart༻ reader ❀ rhett ✪

You and Rhett locked eyes from across the tournament, you were sitting alone - almost like you came just for him. But he knew better, he knew that he needed to focus in. He had to win this, but your eyes made him falter. He found himself staring back at you a few times, he hated you, sure. But god the way you smirked at him made him crumble.

After the bullride, Rhett was ushered of the field - he scored, but he scored low. Faulty bull, is all. He packed up his things, silently hoping that you conveniently weren't watching him eat shit just before. He placed his things into the backseat of his truck, when he heard gravel against boot.

"You took quite a tumble out there, cowboy." He practically heard the smirk in your fucking voice. "What do you want." He said it more maliciously than he wanted, but you were mocking him at the wrong time. His eyes were locked in on his truck, as he sifted through his bag for something. You leaned against his truck, "To poke a little fun, is all."

"Now's not a good time." "It's always a good time, Rhetty." "Don't call me that." He finally turned to face you, his arms crossing. You stepped closer to him, reciprocating the same body language - crossing your arms. "Your attempts at intimidating me are as good as your bull-riding skills, so that's not sayin' much." You flicked back his hat as you spoke. He grabbed your arm, "Don't fuckin' test me right now, sweetheart." You faltered a bit, his grip strong."You were starin' at me from across the field, did I make you mess up?" "In what world?" "Do I make you nervous, Rhett?" You'd step closer. "Quite the opposite." "Mhm, I bet." A smirk was plastered onto your face. You'd pull your wrist away from him, "Careful now, cowboy."

You'd step away, moving to walk off - feeling Rhett's eyes on you. When he suddenly wrapped an arm around your waist, practically pulling you back to him. You let out a noise of surprise as he kissed you.

You soon melted into the kiss, Rhett pushing you up against the side of his truck. Rhett forced his tongue into your mouth, tilting your head up to accommodate for the height difference between the two of you. The kiss was all teeth, tongue and spit. Pent up frustration coming through.

Rhett broke the kiss before opening the door to his truck, "Get in." "What?--" "I said get in, sweetheart. Need to fuck this out of my system." You'd settle into the truck without another word, watching as Rhett crawled in after you - closing the door behind him from any prying eyes.

He'd pull you into his lap, hands moving up the sides of you - you giggled a bit, taking off his hat. "Need to blow off some steam huh?" "Yeah and put you in y'r goddamn place, got quite a mouth on ya." "Want me to use that mouth?" "I want you to shut the hell up." Rhett wove a hand into your hair, tugging you into another kiss. Teeth clashing against each other, as he made work on your jeans as you shrugged off your jacket.

His mouth moved down to your neck, as he shoved down your jeans to your thighs. He bit into your neck, running his tongue over the bites as a silent apology. His calloused hand dragged down your body, slipping underneath your panties - thick fingers finding your clit.

He pulled back from your neck, resting his head back against the head rest as he watched your reactions eagerly. "There you go, bunny. Already so wet for me." He'd murmur, pushing two fingers into you with ease. He'd make work of you, moans spilling from your mouth as Rhett found that spot inside you almost immediately, fuck. "Yeah, right there? That feel good, doesn't it?" He tilted his head at you, the teasing evident in his voice. You couldn't voice your pleasure, so you just nodded - moans leaving you. Of course he'd be experienced, you wanted to feel his fingers inside you all the time if you could. Hips bucking against his hand as you rested your head against his shoulder, fucking his fingers into you as you practically rode his hand there in the backseat of his truck.

"I hate you." You let out a soft moan. "Yeah?" His palm was now grinding into your clit, your hand immediately going to his shoulder to stabilise you. Your orgasm found you quickly, he placed a hand around your waist - coaching you through it. Moans spilling from your mouth, Rhett moved to cover your mouth. "Shh, bunny.. you dont want people hearin' now?" As you came down from your high, Rhett pulled you closer, "You still got some more in ya?" "Can't leave you pent up now can I, cowboy?" Your hands made quick work of his belt, hands shaking slightly from your previous orgasm.

Rhett's hands covered yours, "I've got it." He chuckled, unbuckling his belt - tossing it somewhere else in the car. Unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down his thighs.

You'd notice the very obvious tent in his boxers, he was big. Bigger than you thought. You wondered if he'd let you suck it, atleast once - if this thing you were doing was going to continue. "You still with me?" "Mm-- mhm." You'd nod, fingers dragging down his abdomen to the bulge. You'd toy with the waistband, just for a few seconds - just to confirm that this is actually happening. Then your hand dipped beneath it, pulling down his boxers down to his knees.

His cock bobbed against his stomach, the tip already leaking pre-cum, a bit of it landing on his stomach. The tip swollen, red and angry.

"Condoms in the glovebox." Rhett murmured, a hand resuming it's spot on your waist as you turned around on his lap, your back now facing his front. Leaning over in the car into the front seat - adjusting yourself to open the glovebox, practically on your knees.

"You really need to clean out your glovebox." You mumbled fishing around it before finally finding a condom. You settled back into Rhett's lap, turning around so you were now facing him. He took the condom from you, ripping it before placing it onto his hard cock. "I didn't force you into my truck for you to complain more." A smirk on his face, as he placed his hands back to your hips. "All good?" You'd nod, "Gonna have to give me words, baby. Or did I make you cum that hard?" Another tilt of his head. "Yes-- god yes." "There we go.." He'd muttered.

Rhett's hands moved to the button up shirt you were wearing. You'd swat his hands away. "C'mon, not even a peak?" "Gonna have to pay extra for that." He'd simply pout, "I bring you into my very comfortable truck and I let you cum on my hand and you wont even let me have the pleasure of seeing your tits? Plain criminal." Rhett placed a hand to your cheek, his thumb dragging down your bottom lip. "C'mon, sweetheart... I'll make you feel so good." You let out a breath at his promise, "Fine. I'll hold you to that though." Then, a smirk, "Thank you," Rhett placed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, hands working at the buttons on your shirt - pushing it off your shoulders with your help. His hands expertly unclasping your bra, slowly pulling the straps off you. Placing kisses to your neck and collarbone as a thanks. He looked down at you, "Fuckin' gorgeous.." He'd mutter more to himself, cupping one of your tits - a cold thumb slipping over the perked nipple, earning a soft whimper from you. He took your nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling against the hard skin. You placed a hand into his hair, egging him on - pulling at the soft curls.

You could only imagine how his tongue would work between your thighs, you could only imagine a lot of things with his man who previously hated you sitting in front of you now sucking on your tits.

Rhett pulled back a string of saliva connecting his mouth to your tit, he looked up at you - a lopsided smirk on his face. "If I don't fuck you now, I am going to lose my mind." He placed his hands to your ass, pushing you further onto his lap. The tip of his cock grazing your soaked core, learning a groan from the both of you. "That makes two of us." You leaned forward, capturing him in another heated kiss as his strong hands directed your hips for you to sit down directly on his cock, feeling unbelievable full. The moan you let out soaked up by the kiss as he smirked against your lips. "Th're you go, bunny.. s' good, doing s' good just for me." Rhett muttered against your lips. You pulled back a bit, looking down at where you two were connected, Christ he was big. "You alright, baby?" Rhett placed a hand under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. He looked concerned, not a look you commonly saw on Rhett Abbott's face. "Y-Yeah.. you're just, it's big." You wanted to smack that egotistical smirk off his face, "Big, yeah?" He tilted his head. "Don't be a dick." "Well you're riding mine." You felt him twitch inside of you, earning a small whimper from you.

You took a moment to collect yourself, get used to the sensation of your enemy's cock buried to the hilt inside of you. "O--Okay, I'm gonna start moving." "Be my guest." Rhett leaned back as you started to move your hips, moving forward and back first - building the pace. "Jesus-- you're so tight.." He looked down to where the two of you were connected. You started to move your hips upward, Rhett's hands moving to wrap around your waist - hoisting him up for the two of you to be chest to chest, his own hips bucking up now meeting your rhythm.

"I hate you." You said between high pitched moans. "Hate you too, baby." You felt that sensation deep in your belly again, overstimulating yet soothing. Rhett knew that too by the way you were clenching around him. "Y' close, sweet girl?" His hand snaked between your two hot bodies to have his thick fingers work in circles against your clit. You could only nod with this new pleasure, head resting against his shoulder. His other hand moved to weave into your hair, tugging gently as he tsked. "Nah, bunny. Look at me when you cum, I wanna see it." Because of course he did, he wanted to see the girl that he argued with for years cum like it was her first time, because of him. Just needed that ego booster. Your mind was completely turned off at this point, your thoughts just filled to the brim with Rhett - in more ways than one. The way his dark blue eyes watched you, his thick fingers working against your swollen nub, and his cock pushing into you and filling you ever so deeper. Your mouth open as moans and whimpers poured out, if people didn't hear you before. They sure as hell did now. "C'mon, cum on my cock." That deep southern growl in his voice was the last thing you needed to tip over the edge, hands gripping as his chest as you came around him, earning a groan from him as you tightened. As you came down from your high, Rhetts hands caught you from falling into him, then you realised Rhett still hadn't cum yet. That fire still in his eyes, your cunt was overstimulated but a front row seat to Rhett Abbott being ruined by your pussy was too good to give up. He tightened his hands around your waist, switching your position for you to be laying down on the carseat. Rhett overtop of you as he fucked his cock into you, his face planted in his neck - peppering kisses there. You whined from overstimulation. "I know-- god, I know baby.. just.. give me a minute, okay?" His words muffled by your neck, you then weaved your fingers into his hair - deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine. Pulling his head back as you looked into his eyes, you saw the smallest amount of drool in the corner of his mouth, his eyes wide as his hips didn't let up, in fact fucking into you faster - but his hips soon faltered, with one last thrust he came into the condom.

You both just laid there for a moment, catching your breaths as realisation set in. Rhett pulled back, looking down at you - chest heaving. You simply looked up at him, your hand still in his hair. You pushed yourself with the remaining energy you still had, pulling him into a kiss by his hair. This one wasn't heated like the others. It was soft, promising. Promising that there was something more to this. You then pulled back, smiling against his lips. "What?" A breathless chuckle left him. "I actually came over to your truck before to tell you that the guy who placed above you got disqualified." "..What?--" His eyes widened. "You're going to the semi-finals, Abbott." "Why didn't you tell me?" An evident smile on his face. "Because I wouldn't have gotten fucked if I did." A beat of silence, he'd laugh - placing his head on your shoulder. "I hate you." "I hate you too."

[lalafral]

Protective Rhett who punches some creeps lights out after they hit on you. At The Handsome Gambler some guy couldn't take the hint when you clearly weren't interested, going so far as to slide his hand down your ass. Rhett came back just in time from stepping out to get an eyeful of the creep copping a feel.

Before you knew it, before you could even tell the guy to fuck off, Rhett was by your side. Taking the guys hand off you, pushing him away before eventually swinging. Without any time to make sense of what happened Rhett put his arm around you, ushering you out. Though there were shouts behind you as you walked out Rhett paid no attention to them until you were safely outside. You alright darlin'? Rhett asked cradling your face. With how soft he looked, his eyes so blue you wanted to fall in, the only evidence that really just happened was his quickly reddening knuckles. You nodded meeting his gaze, a strand of hair falling into his face. Yeah? He nodded back, checking you over again. Once he was sure you really were okay he ushered you to his pickup, making sure you were settled before he walked to the other side and started up the truck.

It was only when he started driving that you saw how much that rattled him. He was muttering under his breath, white knuckling the wheel. You asked if he was okay, assuring him you were too. It was just some drunk ass, no big deal. He looked over to you, sighing, trying to calm down. His hand reaching for your thigh as he drove. 'M fine sweet pea, just want to make sure you are. Piece of shit touching you like that. He grumbled the latter. His grip on your thigh tensed just thinking about it, how he saw red. You tried light conversation on the way home, trying to take his mind off it, reminding how much fun you'd had tonight. His face was still stern, short answers, not that he was much of a talker but he always tried to answer.

Back at home while you were getting ready for bed, his hand already getting iced, he still hadn't lightened up. You didn't know why it bothered him more than it bothered you. He sulked, even in your bed. You finally caved and asked him when you curled up to his side, kissing his cold knuckles. Just hate seeing some guy get close to you like that. Hurtin' you. He admitted. That made you smile, he was sweet like that. Something most people didn't recognize at a passing glance, but it was easy to notice to those looking. You assured him the creep didn't hurt you, and he probably wouldn't be pulling that on anyone soon or he might have another black eye coming his way. Rhett's turn to smile now, relieved that you didn't seemed bothered by it. Making jokes already. He wrapped his arm around you. I'd do anything for you, you know that right? And you did, with Rhett you knew he meant every word.

[verricherri]

Shoulda Knocked (NSFW///MDNI)

A/N: hm bc y’all asked. DONT BLAME ME OKAY. It’s not my fault. Warnings: You will need holy water. Lock the damn door next time. (Also Rhett says “my girl” and you will lose your mind.) Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated ☀️

The plates were still in the sink. Syrup-crusted forks soaking in lukewarm water. Somewhere on the ranch, a screen door banged shut and bootsteps faded toward the fields. Morning sunlight slanted across the tile, catching dust in the air, slow and soft and golden.

You licked sugar off your thumb and caught Rhett’s stare from across the kitchen.

“Don’t,” he said, voice low. Warning. You blinked, all false innocence. “Don’t what?”

He stood slowly. Chair scraping. His shadow stretched long across the floor. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” You tilted your head, mouth twitching. “Who says I won’t finish it?”

And that was all it took.

Two long strides and you were caged in his arms, your back against the counter, breath stolen right from your chest. His mouth was on yours in seconds—hungry, unrelenting—like he’d been starving since sunrise.

You laughed against his lips. "Thought we had chores." "Let the chores wait."

—

You made it to his room half-dressed and laughing, your bare legs wrapped around his waist, his mouth on your throat. The door slammed halfway shut, bounced, and stayed open just enough to doom you both.

He laid you back on his bed like you were breakable—then tore your shirt off like you weren’t.

“You in such a damn rush this morning?” you teased, breath hitching when his fingers slid between your thighs.

He didn’t answer. Just groaned when he found you already wet.

“You know what you do to me?” he muttered, mouth hot on your jaw. “Walkin’ around my house like that—in my damn shirt, no bra, those little shorts—barely wearin’ a damn thing—lookin’ at me like you want me to wreck you.”

Your back arched when his fingers pressed deeper, rough and sure.

“Maybe I do,” you breathed. “You gonna do it or keep talking about it?” His laugh was low, almost cruel. “Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll make sure you can’t walk to dinner.”

—

His belt hit the floor. You were flipped over like nothing—face down, knees pressed into the mattress, shirt still on but hanging off your shoulders. He didn’t bother with slow. Just spit on his hand, dragged it over himself, and pushed inside in one long, deep thrust that knocked the air out of you.

Your hands clawed at the sheets.

“Shh,” Rhett said, voice thick. “Gotta be quiet, darlin’.”

You nodded, cheek pressed to the blanket, and gasped when he drove in again. Harder. Deeper.

 “God—Rhett—” “Quiet,” he warned again, but didn’t slow down. His hand pressed between your shoulder blades, holding you in place.

Outside, birds chirped. A tractor started somewhere in the distance.

Inside, your world narrowed to the drag of his cock, the creak of the bed, his name rasping out of your throat like prayer.

He bent over you, breath warm against your ear. “Told you not to tease me,” he murmured. “Told you I’d ruin you.”

You didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

—

And that’s when it happened.

The creak of the hallway floorboard. The slow, careless push of a hand against the door.

And then:

“Rhett, you seen my—OH WHAT THE FU—”

You froze.

Rhett didn’t.

He twisted around just enough to yell, voice hoarse and furious:

“KNOCK, PERRY!”

Perry made a sound like a dying animal. The door slammed shut so hard the frame shook.

You collapsed face-first into the bed, mortified.

“Oh my god.” “Oh my god.”

Rhett didn’t move. Still buried inside you. Still hard.

“…You gonna get off me or…?” “Nope,” he said, way too calm. “You think I’m stoppin’ just ‘cause Perry can’t mind his own goddamn business?” You twisted to glare at him. “You’re sick.” He grinned. “You love it.”

Rhett was still inside you. Still hard. Still cocky.

You tried to pull away and yelped when his hands yanked your hips right back into him.

“Rhett—” He leaned over your back, kissed your shoulder, your spine, the dip of your waist. “Don’t play shy now. You were beggin’ five seconds ago.” “I wasn’t—” “You were.” His fingers slid under your jaw, turned your face so he could kiss the corner of your mouth. “Still are.”

Outside the room, the floor creaked—then heavy footsteps stomped down the hall. A door slammed somewhere near the kitchen. You prayed Perry didn’t walk into a wall on his way out.

Inside, your body betrayed you. Heat crawling back in. Your thighs trembling.

And Rhett knew it.

“You gonna let me finish, baby?” he whispered, voice gravel and honey. “Or you wanna be real sorry tonight?”

You swallowed hard. Nodded once.

“That’s my girl.”

—

This time was slower.

Not gentle—Rhett was never gentle—but worshipful in that way only he could be. Teeth grazing skin. One hand under your belly, lifting your hips just right. His other arm hooked around your ribs, palm splayed between your breasts, holding you tight.

He fucked you like you were his. Like no one else had the right. Like he didn’t care if the whole damn town knew.

“Still so wet,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along your shoulder. “You gonna come for me again?” “I—I already—” “Again.”

You sobbed his name into the sheets.

And he chased your second high like a man possessed.

The bed creaked louder now. No point pretending anymore. You were past shame. Past words. You clawed at the sheets, gasped his name, let him use you how he wanted because God, you wanted it too.

Rhett’s breath hitched. His grip on you tightened.

“You’re mine,” he grunted. “Say it.”

You did.

And then you broke apart, crying out into the mattress as he spilled into you with a curse, hips still pumping through it, chasing every last wave.

—

The silence after was obscene.

You lay there boneless, sweaty, mouth open against the blanket.

Rhett finally pulled out with a groan and flopped down beside you, chest rising and falling like he just ran six miles. One hand dragged down his face. The other found your thigh and squeezed.

“Shit,” he said, half-laughing. “I think I saw God.” You groaned. “I think Perry did too.”

Rhett snorted.

You rolled over and slapped his chest. “He’s never going to look me in the eye again.” “Good,” Rhett said, smug. “Means he won’t try nothin’.” “He’s your brother.” “He also needs to learn how to knock.”

—

You didn’t leave Rhett’s room for a solid hour.

Mostly because your legs weren’t working right, and partly because Perry might still be in the hallway clutching a Bible and rocking back and forth.

When you finally crept out, Rhett trailing behind you like a satisfied menace, the ranch house had gone suspiciously quiet.

Until you heard it: the unmistakable sound of Perry slamming every cupboard door in the kitchen, pretending to do something useful.

You paused in the hallway. Rhett reached over and gave your ass a full-on grab.

“Don’t,” you hissed. He smirked. “What? You’re walkin’ like you just got ruined. It’s cute.” “Rhett.” “What?” “Do not ever call me cute after your brother caught us mid—mid-—” He leaned in, brushed his lips against your ear. “Mid what, baby?”

You shoved him, face burning.

—

Dinner that night was... a war zone.

Royal was telling some story about cattle feed. Cecilia was humming while scooping potatoes.

Perry sat across the table from you.

He did not look up once.

Not when you said hello. Not when you passed the cornbread. Not when Rhett intentionally reached for the gravy boat across your chest and smirked the whole time.

You chewed in silence, eyes darting anywhere but the man who had seen everything.

Cecilia finally looked between you and Perry. Then at Rhett.

Her spoon paused mid-scoop.

“…Everything alright with y’all?”

Perry coughed violently into his napkin.

You nearly dropped your fork.

Rhett, absolutely unbothered, said, “Peachy.”

Perry stared down at his mashed potatoes like they owed him a refund.

Cecilia narrowed her eyes just a little. She knew. You knew she knew. Women like her always knew.

Royal, completely oblivious, just kept eating.

—

The Day After

You walked into the kitchen half an hour after Rhett, hoping the worst had passed.

It hadn’t.

Perry was already at the table with his coffee, flipping through a tractor catalog like it personally offended him.

The second you stepped into the room, he glanced up—froze—and then got up without a word and dragged his chair to the far end of the table, as if proximity might trigger another trauma flashback.

You blinked.

Rhett didn’t.

He just watched his brother relocate and smiled. Sat down in Perry’s abandoned seat like he was settling into a throne. “You sittin’, or you need help down again?”

You kicked his ankle under the table, heat rising in your face.

Royal, blissfully unaware, looked up from his newspaper. “Everyone sleep alright?” Rhett lifted his mug. “Like a baby.”

Perry choked. Actually choked. Coughed hard enough to slap his own chest.

“You good?” Royal asked. Perry cleared his throat violently. “Swallowed wrong.” “Right,” you muttered, stabbing your fork into your eggs like they were responsible for your humiliation.

Amy came skipping into the kitchen with her hair braided and her mouth already running.

“Uncle Rhett!” Rhett glanced up from his toast. “Yeah, kid?” “Why’d Dad tell me not to go near your room yesterday?”

You stopped chewing.

The world stopped spinning.

Cecilia, halfway through stirring honey into her tea, froze mid-circle.

Rhett, somehow, still didn’t blink. “’Cause I was busy.” Amy plopped into her chair. “Busy doin’ what?”

Perry’s fork clattered against his plate.

Royal looked between everyone like he’d walked into a Western stand-off.

You tried to slide further under the table.

Perry said, a little too sharply, “Eat your damn eggs, Amy.” “I was just askin’…” she grumbled. Rhett leaned back in his chair, eyes cutting toward you. “Guess I should’ve hung a sign.”

You kicked him again. Harder this time.

—

Cornbread Confession

Cecilia was elbow-deep in cornmeal by the time you tiptoed into the kitchen later that afternoon. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, flour smudged across her wrist, and a determined crease sat between her brows as she stirred like the world depended on that cornbread rising just right.

You lingered near the edge of the counter, unsure whether to offer help or disappear. Finally, you cleared your throat and reached for the butter dish. She handed it over without a word.

The silence that followed was thick. Tangible. Like you could spread it on toast.

And then, without looking up, she said evenly, “You know, I raised two boys in this house.”

You froze, butter knife hovering mid-air.

“There ain’t a single wall I haven’t heard through. Pipes too. Even vents. This place carries secrets like air.”

Your hand slipped. The butter knife hit the counter with a loud clink that felt louder than thunder.

Your cheeks flamed. Words scrambled in your head but refused to form.

Cecilia finally looked up. Her gaze landed on you with the weight of a hundred unspoken things.

Not cruel. Not even mad. Just... immensely powerful.

She didn’t sigh. She didn’t smile. She simply handed you the pan, her expression unreadable.

“Oven’s hot.”

You took the pan like it was a holy offering and obeyed in complete silence, your ears ringing, your soul leaving your body.

As you slipped it in, you caught her murmuring under her breath, more amused than annoyed:

“Don’t break his damn back next time.”

—

Barn Breakdown

You spotted Rhett and Perry heading to the barn just before sunset. You weren’t proud of yourself for creeping toward the back window, the screen slightly askew so you could hear.

But you also weren’t sorry.

Perry’s voice carried first, already halfway to explosion.

“You couldn’t just LOCK the goddamn door?” Rhett sounded utterly unfazed. “Didn’t know I needed to. You creepin’ ’round the hall like a feral cat.” “I WAS LOOKIN’ FOR MY DAMN NOTEBOOK!” “You found somethin’ better.” “I FOUND YOUR BARE ASS AND TRAUMA, RHETT.”

There was a pause. You could almost hear Rhett smirking.

“You’re welcome.” Perry’s voice went high enough to send birds scattering from the trees. “You’re disgusting! You defiled that room! You defiled HER!” “She was plenty involved, thank you.” “OH MY—”

Another silence. This one deeper. Darker.

Then came a groan that echoed like a dying ghost through the barn.

“I need holy water. And bleach. And a fuckin’ lobotomy.”

A crash. The barn door slamming hard enough to rattle the horses.

You ducked back into the house like your name was guilt and your sin had just been found out.

—

Royal Connects the Dots

Sunday morning came with too much sun and not enough shame. You were still nursing the bruises—physical, emotional, and reputational—from the last forty-eight hours.

You passed Royal in the hallway, pretending to look busy, clutching a half-empty mug of coffee like it might shield you from eye contact. Rhett was right behind you, freshly showered, shirt half-buttoned, hair slicked back in a way that should be illegal.

Royal glanced up.

Then down at the hickey blooming above your collarbone.

Then at Rhett.

Back to you.

His mouth opened. Paused. Closed.

“…You know what?” he said finally. “I don’t wanna know.” He turned toward the porch, muttering under his breath, “Just don’t break no damn furniture.”

You sipped your coffee and prayed for the floorboards to open.

—

The Call to Church

Cecilia popped her head in after breakfast, lips already pursed like she knew resistance was coming. “Church. Ten minutes. No excuses.”

You were mid-eye roll when Rhett sauntered in behind you, belt buckle shining, smug as sin.

“You’re comin’ with me,” he said, like it was already decided. You blinked. “To church?” “Mhm.” “After everything?” He grinned, the kind of grin that made your insides fold in on themselves. “Figure we both got stuff to repent for.” You scoffed. “You’d catch fire.” He winked. “Only if you sit on my lap.” “Rhett.” “Ma’am?”

You threw a spoon at his head. It hit him. He laughed anyway.

—

Hell in the Pew

You ended up sandwiched between Rhett and Perry in the third pew from the front.

Perry looked like he was doing long division in his head just to dissociate.

Rhett was pressed against your side, thigh to thigh, radiating body heat and bad decisions. He leaned a little closer every time you shifted away.

“Touch me and I’ll castrate you with this hymnal,” you whispered. Rhett leaned in like it was a dare. “Darlin’, we in a house of God.” “Exactly. He’s watchin’.”

The sermon began. The preacher's voice was slow and solemn, echoing through the rafters.

“Today, we speak of temptation. Temptation that may enter our homes, take root in our lives...”

You could feel Rhett’s smirk without even looking.

Perry coughed so hard you thought he might pass out right there in the pew.

—

Communion & Crimes

When the communion tray passed down the row, Rhett took the cracker, sniffed it like he was judging a wine tasting, and leaned toward you.

“Body of Christ,” he murmured. “Tastes a little dry.”

You crushed his foot under your heel.

He yelped.

Perry muttered, “I’m surrounded by heathens.”

—

Post-Service Sinning

Outside the chapel, townsfolk milled about, shaking hands and pretending they hadn’t just been mentally undressing each other during the sermon.

You and Rhett stood on the grass, trying to look normal.

Trying.

The reverend made his way toward you, hand extended, eyes kind.

“It’s always lovely to see young couples in the pews,” he said warmly. “Such a blessing to witness young love.”

You opened your mouth to say something safe, polite, God-fearing.

Rhett beat you to it.

“We’re real blessed, sir.”

You elbowed him so hard in the ribs that he actually choked.

But he didn’t stop smiling.

TAGLIST:

MY CHERRIES: veri🍒: @tokkiz @lizzie8878 @mrsparker3696 @pixie2k5 @0urlady0fs0rr0ws421 @astromilku drop your cherries: veri🍒: tag for ALL of that character works

[cultivationtrash]

The man is 6'7", has thicc-ass thighs, and the desk is narrower than you might think.

[delopsia]

Erm, I would actually would like you to elaborate on milking Rhett if you feel like it.

Hell yeah, I'll elaborate 👁️👁️ now that I think about it, I have a slight memory of where I was going with that thought 💃

Notes for prostate stimulation, milking, and, of course, cum play. Minors and folks who have an agenda against playing with Rhett Abbott's ass, this is your queue to exit.

It's a little something that first kicks off when you and Rhett go out for lunch and find yourselves (unwillingly) eavesdropping on the conversation happening at the table across from yours. A little group of rodeo guys rambling on and on about their wild escapades and the craziest things they've done in bed. You and Rhett tried to ignore it; you really did, but you wound up listening when the guy in the red flannel mentioned a threesome in a Jurassic park themed hotel room.

You and Rhett are quietly giggling and whispering to each other until red flannel starts rambling on about how a girl convinced him to try milking a few weeks back. When Rhett's smile first falls, you honestly don't think much about it, but then red flannel starts going into detail, and Rhett's ears are turning redder by the second. It's like watching a cartoon, the longer the conversation goes, the redder your boyfriend becomes.

Your foot darts out to smack against the side of Rhett's boot, audibly jostling the spur that he forgot to take off. "You're awful red all of a sudden," spoken innocent as can be, like you can't possibly fathom what has him so flustered.

"Nothin," he shakes his head, eyes darting back down to his cold fries. He knows it's a lie. You know it's a lie. He knows that you know it's a lie.

Alas, it's one of those things that you giggle about on the drive home but forget about by the time the day is over.

It comes up again a few months later when you're both lying in bed, unable to sleep, and chatting about anything that happens to come to mind.

"Do y' remember them rodeo hands from the diner in town?" Rhett croaks, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"The ones who wouldn't quit talking about drunk hookups? And something about..." Hell. What's the word you're looking for? "Milking?"

His silence betrays him. You can hear how hard he swallows at that.

It's too dark to see, but you already know that his ears have flushed a bright, ruby red. Flustered? Too shy or embarrassed to say it out loud? Maybe it's all of the above.

"What?" You can only do so much to suppress the teasing lilt that colors your voice. "Is that something you may be into?"

Radio silence.

The cricket lurking outside the bedroom window chirps. Once. Twice.

"I don't know."

And, well, there's only one way to find out.

Rhett's hard before you even get those tiny black boxers past his thighs, cock slapping against his belly with a wet little 'smack' that bounces around the room. Even without light, it's impossible to miss the thick sheen of precum that spills out of his tip, dripping like a faucet, running down your fingers when you take him into your hand.

He's already so worked up that you hardly need to worry about going slow, only giving him a few seconds to adjust before you start working your hand over him in earnest. Oh, and the way he jumps when you do, those pretty hips rising up off the bed, chasing your touch as if he hasn't felt it in years.

And you're just so quick about it. It's hardly been a few minutes, and he's already babbling about being close, whining low in his throat as you drag that first orgasm out of him.

"Wait, wait, wait, shit—hah!" Shaky hands reach down to paw at you, half-heartedly trying to push you away, but there's no real effort behind it. His thighs flutter, a stray knee knocking into your side as you keep working over his softening length, his own cum slickening the glide.

"Too much?" You ask, fighting back a smile; he's wiggling against the mattress, slowly scooting himself up toward the headboard, but he isn't getting away from you.

Rhett's head shakes, the faintest 'nuh-uh' falling out of him as he blindly reaches over to the bedside table, all but tossing the half-empty bottle of lube at you. He hardly has to tell you what he wants, his half-assed attempt at spreading his legs is enough.

"You already want my fingers?" Feigning shock, as if you're somehow scandalized that he could already want such a thing.

"Mhm," Rhett isn't paying attention, unfocused baby blues glued to the sight of you pouring the lube onto three of your fingers. Three. Always three.

Wordless, you reach down, dipping between those plush, pale thighs to brush your wet fingertips against his entrance. Such a simple touch, and yet you can feel him clench around nothing.

But there's still something you're looking for. "Talk to me, Rhett."

"Yes," blurting out of him in an instant. Hopelessly impatient. "I...I do."

A little shiver races through him the moment that first finger breaches him, mouth falling open to form a soft 'o' shape. There's really no need for distraction, but your unoccupied hand begins to lazily work his half-hard cock anyway.

Fuck he's wet. Precum beading at his tip, spilling over the moment you press a second finger inside. He's tight. Rhythmically fluttering around you, and there's no pleasure that you could possibly get from it, but heat sparks between your thighs anyway.

You're not looking for his prostate yet, but you know you've bumped into it when his legs flutter around you, trying and failing to close. That third finger can't join quickly enough, crooking upward to rub against what feels like a little ball of nerves that have him squealing.

"Fuck!" Rhett's cock jolts in your hand, his body suddenly a live wire beneath you. Squirming against the sheets. "I—oh shit, oh my god, right there, ah!"

Silence falls. His mouth hangs open, but nothing ever escapes. Those eyes roll, and then...

He's cumming again. A strangled gasp bolts out of him just as a short rope of cum spurts out of him, painting his belly before you can catch it. His hips are bucking now, just as strong as those bulls he rides, but he can't shake you loose. The tips of your fingers still spiral into his prostate, a target you can't let yourself lose, albeit moving slower the more he huffs and puffs.

"No, no, no, keep—" he doesn't have to finish that thought. You hardly need any encouragement, working your hand in tandem with the fingers shallowly thrusting into his ass.

But your thumb swipes over his tip.

And he jumps once more. Cock weakly spasming in your gasp, a short rope of cum covering your hand. You're not sure what set him off so fast, but you're keen to find out, hardly even trying to slow down this time.

"Rodeo." It's there, and it's gone in a second, hardly even a whisper, but you catch it.

One last second tap against his prostate is all it takes to draw one more orgasm out of him. Watery eyes roll back into his skull, body jolting as the smallest bit of watery cum all but drools out of him, hardly even enough to amount to anything.

"Shit," sucking in a breath, "shit, you just," gasp, "you just made me cum again." Shocked. Like he didn't even see that one coming. But that awestruck gaze melts into a giggle as quickly as it arrives, lazily reaching for you with shaky arms.

"What was that, three? Four?" You chirp as you climb up the side of the bed, winded despite hardly doing much work at all.

"Felt like..." the thought visibly evaporates from his head, thin lips floundering for a word that isn't there. He gives up, dropping his head onto the pillow. "I dunno. A lot more than that."

Rhett Abbott may have just been replaced with a giggling ball of putty because that's all he is now. Incapable of doing anything but lay against you and laugh every time he remembers what just happened.

You would think that wearing him out like this would have him hesitant to jump to the concepts of a second time, but he's babbling about it before you've even gotten him up and into a bath. Something about wanting to try it with restraints and that new stroking sleeve that you bought six months ago and have yet to take out of its packaging.

You're gonna have to buy more lube.