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maple-the-awesome · 10 months ago

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He's Becomes a Dad || Part 2/2

Part 1

Pairing: Twilight, Warrior, Sky, Wild x Reader

Overview: Congratulations, you're new parents 🎉 Some of the Links are prepared. Others...might need a moment to gather themselves. But rest assured! At the end of the day, they're all going to get a handle on this whole dad thing. Warning: Mentions of miscarriages for Sky's section. Nothing to detailed, but it's there so beware 🙅‍♀️

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It's never been a surprise to you that Twilight would want kids of his own. He never even had to say it aloud, you could just read that look in his eyes whenever playing with the village children. It was a wordless yet ever so contagious request: I want this. And how were you to deny him? Just look at him!

Simply put, children were a top priority of yours almost as soon as you married. It didn't take long for you to become pregnant either (not with Twilight's fierce passion and your shared disinterest towards 'waiting'). Regardless, there were still many tears shed when you found out - all happy, of course, as your husband spun you around in his arms while you both laughed giddily in between quick kisses.

Let's get this straight: Twilight is prepared-prepared. Ordon is that type of close-knit community where everyone helps raise each other's kids, so despite this being his first rodeo as a new dad himself, he has plenty of experience taking care of youngsters. As a ranch-hand, he's also perfectly accustomed to the whole birthing process, having hand-delivered more baby goats than he can count, so don’t worry, nothing about the ‘less glamorous’ sides of pregnancy scare him.

With that being said, Twilight doesn't stress too much aside from the normal concerns about your health, after all he recognizes that not every pregnancy is the same for every woman, but that's exactly why he makes it his personal mission to ensure your comfort.

Feeling particularly ill? He'll make you all the tasty pumpkin soup you could ask for which, believe it or not, works wonders for an upset stomach. Just having a bad day? He'll happily let you cuddle with Wolfie to help you relax. Restless? He'll take you on a horse ride no matter the hour and if you're too far along in your pregnancy to climb onto Epona, a simple walk to Ordon's spring will do since that's the perfect spot to soak your sore body. Twilight is no above carrying you there himself if you ask.

Trust that your every worry is always smoothed; Twilight is there to reassure you no matter how 'little' the problem. Have concerns he can't speak on as a man? He'll happily go ask one of the other village women for you if you're too embarrassed to do so yourself, in fact this guy's already been talking Rusl and Uli's ears off for advice since day one. He doesn't want to leave a single thing to chance regardless of how confident he already feels which is probably why there's a stack of parenting books on his nightstand. Did he clear the shelves in Castle Town? Probably.

You're pretty sure that Twilight already had a 'go-bag' put together before the end of your first trimester, although he’d add to it like a paranoid squirrel up until your due-date. Curious, you had gone through it one day just to get a hint of how overboard he might've gone. Diapers, snacks, blankets, comfortable clothes for you, more parenting books...He does realize you're doing a home birth, right? Most of this stuff he could just grab from the cabinet if needed, but it's sweet that he's trying to be organized.

It isn’t really news to anyone that Hyrule’s heroes tend to land on the quieter side and usually Twilight isn’t much different…There’s a key word in there because you’re quite certain he hasn’t actually shut up since the second you told him you’re pregnant. He can hardly keep his excitement to himself! Oh, but it’s adorable, especially on those nights when he’ll fall asleep mumbling about his joy all while using your swollen stomach as a pillow. It makes your heart swell every time.

When you eventually go into labor, Twilight doesn’t show much outward panic if he has any at all, however he does feel incredibly terrible to watch you go through it without any relief. He feels absolutely useless while unable to take away your suffering the way a good husband should, so to make up for it, he does his utmost best to be your rock during those long hours, talking you through each painful contraction and doing everything in his power to distract you. Back rubs, walks around the house, whispers of sweet nothings…He’s by your side well into the night, keeping it up until it finally comes time to start pushing.

He definitely was not going to say it while you were going through the motions because he’d like to keep his head, but human and goat births are pretty much the same thing minus the actual cursing. He’s in his element then, knowing exactly what to do to ensure a safe delivery for mama and baby. His movements are almost automatic, trained by years of practice as he cleans the little one off before taking the time to admire them fully.

Are you shocked that Twilight is teary eyed? Not at all. Are you upset that he almost forgets about you entirely for a second because he’s so entranced by the baby? Also no, since you need a moment to catch your breath anyway. Don’t worry, though, he does eventually pass you your son reluctantly before hovering at your side with possibly the widest grin you’ve ever seen on the man since your wedding day.

The rest of the night is calm from there on, filled with quiet whispers and cooing as you both take turns partaking in skin-to-skin contact with your baby. Will you be doing this again soon? You’re probably going to need a decent break to recover, but just know that your husband is absolutely ready whenever you are. In the meantime, expect to be showered in endless love and affection because you deserve it for the priceless gift you’ve given him.

Your relationship with Warrior has always been ‘slow moving’ if compared to most other couples’. For starters, while he may have a formidable reputation for being a supposed lady's man, all that 'skill' of his would go flying out the window whenever faced with your presence, so it took some time (and maybe a near-death experience) for any confessions to be made. In his defense, you're a very beautiful and strong woman who happened to be one of his superiors during most of the war, so please excuse him for usually being awed into silence whenever you showed even an ounce of interest in ‘lil ol’ him. His brain would literally become a windows error.

Even after Warrior did finally find the courage to ask you out, your respected jobs and heavy workloads have often forced your relationship to be put on the back-burner. Marry you? Hylia knows he’s been DYING to! You’re already wearing the ring and everything, but it's not like you're going anywhere anytime soon and he'd rather wait a few extra years to enjoy the perfect moment rather than rush the whole ‘happiest-day-of-our-lives’ thing during a bad time.

Luckily for him, you've never needed a formal certificate to know you own his heart. He proves it to you in other ways every day from cheesy love letters to overly romantic dates during your rare off time, and while you normally adore being the sole subject of his affection, that's exactly how you ended up in this very situation.

You're both adults and as such you won't pretend to be innocent: This wasn't planned in the slightest. Your jobs can be quite chaotic, as previously addressed, so you just wanted to help your husband-to-be relax and destress a bit - nothing new for either of you in itself, although that particular evening would end up weighing heavily on your mind a few weeks later.

To be honest, when you first entered Warrior's office and instructed him to sit down with a stern voice that could rival Commander Impa's, he thought you must've finally grown tired of being engaged for several years, having come to him then to demand that he marry you sooner. Agreement was right on the tip of his tongue when you delivered the bombshell that you were pregnant instead.

Your tone was serious and expression calm, but Warrior knows you well enough to spot the hidden worry in your eyes. It’s justified, of course. Had either of you even discussed having kids before? He doesn’t think so. It’s not like having a baby is a bad thing, though. The idea of creating a small family with you is a pleasant one, it’s just…happening a lot sooner than preferred. You both would’ve liked more time to plan and prepare…but oh well. What’s done is done.

The real concern is will your jobs allow you both time off to take care of a baby? It's not like a war is currently going on, so Hyrule won't suffer too much from having two of its best captains sidelined, however what happens if that doesn't remain the case? What if war breaks out tomorrow or the day after? Warrior can’t let his pregnant fiancée fight in battles! What kind of husband and father would that make him?! But at the same time, is he just supposed to ask that you sacrifice your career in order to spare his? THAT’S NO BETTER!

...All things considered, you'd say Warrior handles the news far better than some might've. Yes, he begins to ‘slightly�� overthink things, although that's exactly why you had him sit down first. Calmly, you take his hand and tell him how things will be (your own way of offering comfort not only to him, but yourself as well). The bottom line is that if you could successfully fight Ganondorf’s army together, you can raise a child together, too. Really, how much harder can it be? You already have some minor experience being unofficial parents to little Time and Wind during the war. Just don't give your own children any magic masks or wind controlling devices and you should be golden.

Thankfully, many of Warrior’s initial fears are proven to be irrational during the earliest stages of your pregnancy. Everyone else was positively thrilled to hear the news and even Impa gave her congratulations, explaining to your fiancé’s relief that she’ll simply assign you more deskwork until it’s fit for you to return back to your normal duties. All he has to worry about in the meantime is making sure you actually take it easy; only a slightly difficult task considering your headstrong nature and insistence on not being ‘coddled’, but hey, if anyone can handle it, it’s the guy who’s hellbent on marrying your stubborn butt one day.

Warrior will admit that there were still some nights when he would nearly pull his hair out while doubting if he’s actually ready to be a dad, however the moment you officially being showing is the same moment he forgets all about any possible regrets and replaces them entirely with daydreams filled with not only his lovely wife, but also a little one who will hopefully think the absolute world of him. He already knows he’ll think of it of them.

Although you may feel a bit nervous towards the prospect of suddenly being parents, that doesn’t change the fact that you wouldn’t choose anyone else to go through this journey with. One look to your side and you’re certain of it. The way Warrior holds his son for the first time, newborn wrapped comfortably in his scarf and dad, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion after hours of labor yet the proud smile evident on his face nevertheless…You were right before: so long as you do it together, you’ll excel in this whole ‘parenting-thing’.

You had married young - almost as soon as you were able after graduating from the Knight Academy. To everyone else on Skyloft, you have always been the picture image of an ideal couple; the hero and his beloved princess who somehow manage to be completely and utterly smitten with each other even years later. To call Sky your husband is a blessing in itself and you consider yourself lucky every single day. There’s only ever been one problem with your relationship - one single complaint you can think of where neither of you are truly responsible: your lack of children.

When you first married, there was lots of talk, after all everyone was simply dying to know when the first generation on the Surface would be born. Your parents were eager for grandchildren and Zelda, your best friend, had way too much fun teasing you over the matter by expressing her 'surprise' that Sky had yet to give you a baby despite how 'passionate' he’s always been towards you (she would make sure to use those exact words, too).

Initially, you never minded anyone’s curiosity. It’s only natural to expect children from a newly wed couple. It's when that same couple reaches their third then sixth year of marriage without any trace of tiny feet or squealing laughter that those curious and well-meant questions grow quiet with unbearable pity, your shared excitement becoming shuttered sorrow.

At the start there was nothing to worry about. You were both young and not putting that much effort into it, so certain it wouldn't take long for your family to grow. Then the years began to pass and you would try everything the doctor recommended, but every test would still leave you as disappointed as the last. The absolutely worst form of despair came those few times you'd actually get your hopes up only to have them cruelly dashed a few months in.

What were you doing wrong? Sky would always hush your anxieties and do his utmost best to reassure you, however you knew by his own tears that your infertility hurt him just as much, especially when on those quieter nights, you'd suggest that perhaps you simply weren't meant to be parents - that the gods were just trying to tell you both something you were too stubborn to accept.

It's for that reason that you had such mixed emotions once finally able to fall pregnant again. You were optimistic deep down, however after six years of attempts and losses, you were wary to embrace too much joy right away which was shown in the way Sky held onto you for what felt like hours after you told him or how he slept each night with a hand on your stomach even in those early days, internally praying to the goddesses this would be the one.

A month passed...Then two...And three, and four…For once, you didn't feel sick aside from what was considered normal. Maybe a bit of high blood pressure the doctor kept a close eye on, but other than that he’d always tell Sky and you the same thing: they're healthy.

Even then, you’d say you remained extra cautious, not daring to eat nor do anything the doctor so much as hesitated against, however Sky was by far the worst when it came to worrying. As your husband, he considers your physical and mental well-being his personal responsibility, but as the father of your child? His work has doubled!

All chores were to be his alone so that you could rest. Any bout of sickness was closely monitored and tended to. His hand would remain on your stomach from beginning to end, although overtime it would be done less out of fear and more for the sake of bounding, often accompanied by his voice or the melody of his harp which he would happily play for you both whenever you were having a particularly difficult time falling asleep at night.

Now, you didn't dare tell anyone about your pregnancy during the first half, not wanting to deliver anymore bad news should it come, however once the remilit was out of the bag, you became the center of attention much to Sky's conflicted feelings. On one hand, you deserved it for all of your hard work growing a baby, but on the other, that overprotective dad-side of him couldn't help fretting over the vast number of harmful germs your guests could possibly be passing onto you and your unborn child. Did he make everyone wash their hands for ten minutes before visiting? Yes, yes he did.

Beyond being protective, Sky was also very emotional throughout the entire pregnancy maybe even more than you sometimes. He got teary-eyed after every doctor's appointment that confirmed the baby's development, while picking out names together, and even when you were yelling at him for something stupid because as far as he was concerned, you still looked so beautiful standing there with crossed arms and a round belly carrying his child. Oh, but none of that compared in the slightest to the tears that were shed when he actually held his daughter for the first time; that amount of waterworks could put the flood of Faron to shame!

Six years of waiting made you both lose hope. You assumed you’d never be able to have children of your own and even began to look towards other options such as adoption or simply living your lives childless forever…but the day your daughter was born was the day all your anxieties and doubts were finally put to rest. Now, as you cry happily with your husband, you can’t think of a single complaint towards your relationship; it’s officially as perfect as the precious little bundle in your arms.

Wild and you were still practically newlyweds when you gave him the 'thrilling' news. You were so happy to do so, too, barely able to bite back your excitement while watching your husband lift a small pair of baby pajamas out of a gift box. You were absolutely glowing as you eagerly awaited his reaction and all he could do was simply stare into space as his whole world came crashing down on top of him. Did he look horrified on the outside? He must've, because he swears he could’ve pinpointed the exact moment that shine in your eyes died, a frown etching its way onto your lips. What else was he supposed to do aside from fake a smile and embrace you, keeping you close to his chest so that your delight wouldn't be spoiled by his internal nervous breakdown?

Wild has zero right to be shocked. You had both been intimate (as tends to happen when you're married) not to mention you had made it perfectly clear from the start of your relationship that you would want a family one day. Judging on your eagerness towards the topic, it was never up for debate either; no kids would be a dealbreaker for you, so Wild had no choice but to quietly agree, too afraid to dare utter the truth or voice any hesitation because Hylia forbid you get the wrong idea and leave him.

He thought it would be harmless. Some couples remain married for years before any children follow and you weren't in any big hurry, so he figured he'd have plenty of time to get his act together until the day of your dreams arrived; he didn't think it would happen during your first year of marriage! ...Now he's really dug himself into a hole it's too late to try escaping from…

He’s almost said something - a few times actually. He knows it’s only fair and that as your husband, he owes you proper communication, but each time he opens his mouth, his mind curses him with the image of your sadness. What if you think he doesn’t want this at all? What if you think he hates the baby and hates you for being pregnant? What if you concluded he must want to leave you so you decide to beat him to the punch?!

…Okay, so Wild knows you aren’t going to just walk away. You’ve always been good at listening to his inner demons and acting as his strongest pillar of support, but that doesn’t change his fear that you might be hurt by whatever he has to say and he will not allow himself to ruin your own excitement.

In the years that he’s known you, he can’t say he’s ever seen you quite as happy as when you found out about your baby. He knows he should match that joy, too. Most men do. Hell, Twilight practically sent a five-page essay bragging about his wife's first pregnancy. Truth be told, Wild actually does feel happy. On his better days, he feels that flicker of pride and a hint of eagerness because a family with you honestly sounds wonderful. The problem is, in his mind, it isn't a question as to what he wants, but rather what he deserves.

So much has gone wrong in his past. It doesn’t matter how much you or anyone else assures him otherwise, it’s hard to shake the feeling that he failed Hyrule. He still suffers from so many nightmares and waves of guilt that he can’t properly put into words. You’re still having to shake him out of dazes and smooth his following sobs…How is he going to be a good dad and be there for his child when he can barely stand upon his own two feet like this?

Initially, Wild thought these feelings would go away; that’s why he never spoke them to you. He wanted so desperately to believe they wouldn’t linger, especially after you both got married. He lives in a peaceful world, has a nice home in a quiet village, a beautiful wife who adores him…He should’ve been able to move on from the Calamity already, so why hasn’t he? On his worst nights, it makes him wonder if he’ll ever be okay or if he’s just screwed you and the baby over by tying you both down to him.

These two sides of him - the hopeful and the pitiful - continue to battle for dominance inside Wild’s head throughout each step. Sometimes he’s genuinely smiling with you as you pick out baby names. Other times he’s sitting outside alone trying his damn hardest to remember any piece of his past that might make him feel at least a little better about his luck towards being a dad, preferably a time when he was actually good with kids or even had a family before.

Wild’s internal dilemma comes to a head one fateful night when he’s awoken to the baby’s distressing cries. He had honestly already been awake after a mild case of anxiety, but you on the other hand are tired, worn from nine long months of pregnancy and the early days of active motherhood. The last thing he wants is for you to lose out on precious rest (a rare gift these days), so leaping out of bed, he’s quick to reach the baby’s crib.

Unfortunately, Wild’s natural instincts seem to basically stop right there at the crib’s side. Hands hovering above, he tries his best to calm his daughter through whispered assurances and attempts at cooing the same way he’s seen you do. When that doesn’t work, he awkwardly picks her up, cuddling her close to his chest while quietly pleading at this point. Is she hungry? Does she need a diaper change? Did she have a nightmare? Whatever it is, if you wake up, you’ll take over and he’ll be left to stand aside feeling like he can’t even do the basic task of comforting his own child and -

- To his astonishment, his efforts actually work. It really must’ve been as simple as a nightmare because slowly, the baby falls silent, seemingly forgetting all about her troubles as she finds solace gazing up at her daddy with the widest blue eyes and a stuck-out tongue that can’t seem to keep itself in her mouth. It looks rather goofy, so Wild can’t help but chuckle, although the sound is soft as his heart melts under the attention she holds towards him. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it’s almost like she’s looking at her entire world…

Maybe some would say this moment isn’t necessarily anything special, but for Wild, it’s everything. As if suddenly a pro, he’s able to rock the little beauty gently back to sleep, his pleas turning into words of admiration as he tucks her into bed. There, he continues to keep watch over her until he feels tired himself, all the while thinking: he might be broken from years of trauma, and he might not be the best husband or parent out there because of it, but that's not going to stop him from doing everything in power to be there for his princesses.

#linked universe x reader #linked universe #link x reader #legend of zelda #lu wild x reader #lu twilight x reader #lu warrior x reader #lu sky x reader #reader insert

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pinescent-and-gingerbread · 3 months ago

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hey babe! (if you don't give me a name I'll keep calling you that)

thinking about modern Arthur who takes you horse riding so he can show you what he likes and he just be his normal arthur going all "good girl" and "that's my girl" with his mare and you just go insane for this man because WHY IS HE TALKING TO A HORSE LIKE THAT😭

You can call me babe all you want honey <33 AND FOR GOD'S SAKE. We never talked about it and this blog yet but like MISTER CLARK why did you speak to these horses like they were your fcking partners?? Not that I don't like it... Totally not searching for mares on purpose to hear Arthur praising me... HUM.

Arthur and you had been circling around each other for a while now. A simple customer at your Café at first, you had grown fond of each other as you remembered his habits and likings (always two shots of expresso, black, plus a pile of maple syrup pancakes on mornings, and a hot dog on afternoons). He had begun to come more and more often, always finding some time between his patrols as a Ranger; his steps always bringing him back "unpurposedly" in the area everyday. One thing leading to another, you had shared numbers and started texting, shyly at first than until late at night. Sharing music, dumb photos, witty lines and, when one of you felt bold, flirty ones.

Soon enough, the need for more private time together had imposed itself on you. You were both craving for more, more than just texting, more than just chatting at the Café, in the middle of everyone and every ears of town. Arthur had pushed back all his limits by inviting you to his family ranch. He was eager to share his passion with you.

A hand on your hip, he helped you jump on the saddle of his mare, a beautiful ginger-colored creature named Boadicea. Your hands were uncertain as you hold the reins; it had been a while since you'd last been horse riding. But your anxiety stops all of a sudden when Arthur cooed unexpectedly, sending an odd shiver all the long of your back:

"Yeah, that's a good girl."

Your heart jumped at his words. Not only because of them but the way he had spoken. His voice was even lower and deeper than usual, the rough edges of it diving dangerously into the dreamiest parts of your psyche.

You blinked a few times, realizing as he was patting his mare's head that he had praised her, not you. The first seconds of surprise passed, you actually found it quite endearing. He looked like she really was everything to him; gaze filled with love. You could see those sweet little glittering fireflies in the depth of his eyes when he looked at her. Like when someone looks at what is the most precious thing on Earth to them. Or those tiny sparkles of joy and excitement when they talk to you about their favorite subject, on the verge of shedding a tear. It was pure and utter affection. How could a man taking such good care of an animal could be a bad one? There was something about all his behavior and his relationship with his mare that made you feel even more safe around him, and even more persuaded he was the softest and sweetest of men.

The afternoon passed wonderfully. Arthur never missed any occasion to put his hands on you: helping you getting down or on the saddle, showing you how to hold the reins better, how to position your back the right way... You didn't know if he was doing it on purpose, but you clearly would not complain about it.

Of course, the day ended with a long time spent grooming Boadicea. Arthur had everything needed for her, a huge box filled with a dozen brushes and at least five different types of treats. He gently showed you how to tend her mane while he fed her, letting out once again his low and loving praising:

"Thaaat's ma girl. Yeah, the best girl in the world. Who did real' good, today? Yeah, that's you! That's you, sugar!"

The good girl in question was in Paradise, weighing happily as an answer to his praise, mouth hungrily devouring the treats he was giving her.

You couldn't help yourself and chuckle slightly. Both because it was really cute, seeing Arthur like this, and because something inside you was loving to hear his voice whispering sweet things like he did, even if it was not for you. You knew, you really knew it wasn't. But God did it felt good to hear. Your heart and, you had to admit, your body was craving to hear it again.

"Wha'? You think I'm a fool, don't ya?" He asked you when he heard your little laugh. Your eyes landed on each other's face, and you noticed his cheeks had turned a tad crimson as one of his hands was scratching his neck, his embarrassment apparent and making him even more adorable than before.

"No! Not at all..." A slight grin curled your lips upward. You couldn't miss an occasion for more teasing. "I just didn't know you loved Boadicea that much..."

Arthur laughed frankly and something in your brain turned the whole World into a Paradise when you noticed that his eyes were filled with sparkles. The sparkles. The same glimmers as earlier. The deepest affection, for you, just for you, even if just for a second. His blue pupils are drawn in it, and covering you with it, dragging you in this pure joy with it.

"You jealous or somethin'?" He asks you, his chest still slightly vibrating with the end of his laugh.

"Maybe, who knows..."

"Oh, well I could call you a "good girl" too all you want, darlin'."

The cheeky bastard had emphasized it on purpose, you knew it. This time, he was the one grinning and you, the one blushing. Your ego begging you not to go any further on that road yet, you tried your best to stay cool and composed whereas it was absolute chaos in your chest and between your thighs.

"Yeah, well, don't get too cocky about it." You simply answered, trying to stay evasive about the matter. But the beautiful red sunset painting your face was displaying for his desirous eyes was betraying you.

"Yes, Ma'am!"

Arthur's grin stayed glued to his face until the very last moment you saw him. You didn't know, at the time, but a very long series of praising and sensual whispering was about to begin on that precise day.

#oh guess what I finally got some free time and I'm answer everything in my inbox all at once lmao #pine's inbox 🌱#arthur morgan #good girls fanclub?#rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fluff #rdr2 fanfic #ask #pinefic #arthur morgan x female reader

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delopsia · 5 months ago

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if heaven's a moment | Rhett Abbott x Reader

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

There are too many cars in this damn driveway.

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

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

...on second thought.

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

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

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

Clink.

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

A cold nose brushes against your nape.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A truck engine roars to life. Obnoxious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only he knew how often you think about that.

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

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

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

"Rhett, I'm—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. Rhett Abbott 89.5

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

And lord, does he know it.

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

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

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

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

A lot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...huh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why are you so hungry today?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And what's that sitting on your windowsill?

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

A familiar scent strikes your nose.

Rhett.

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

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

Must have put her around the other side.

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

Don't forget to eat :)

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

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

Still, you eat it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now, here you are.

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

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

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

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

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

It rings.

And it rings.

...and it rings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The screen color changes.

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

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

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

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

Hell, if only it were that easy.

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

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

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

...strange.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clink.

Wait a damn minute.

"Rhett?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Stop!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Heat." Is all you can say.

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

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

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

Something that makes the tip of your nose feel numb.

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

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

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

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

Huh.

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

Suppressants for Alphas only 250MG Rut Suppressants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An invisible bolt of lightning fires up your belly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A whine rattles out of you, squirming impossibly closer.

There's a blip in your memory.

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

"Where...?"

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

A shrill beep sounds. Green flashes.

A bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry—"

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

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

Is he trying to take his time? Probably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He groans.

Your vision blurs.

The world might fall apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rhett..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hips snap into you. Pressing hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You think you can cum from that sound alone.

This is so surreal.

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

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

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

He melts.

Falls into you, even.

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

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

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

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

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

Just a little more. Just a little more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But all Rhett does is giggle.

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

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

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

"Mine."

You don't recognize...

was that you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

There are too many things in this damn kitchen.

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

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

Clink.

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

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

A shiver ripples up your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your shirt is gone before you can leave the kitchen.

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

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

Just this one.

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

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marksbear · 2 years ago

Note

Could I ask for 141 with a southern male reader? I’d like to know what the boys would think of a heavy southern drawl (cowboys are all the rage now a days lol)

Wish I could write more, but I don't have much time rn. But I wrote as much as I could and on my blog theres more fics about y'know cowboy/southern reader

141 BOYS X SOUTHERN MALE READER

Price is probably the least bothered by your accent. But he is interested by it. It's not everyday that he hears a southern accent like yours.

He secretly likes the silly nicknames you give him.

Anytime the team has a free day or something you'll take him to see you ride at a rodeo.

He probably knows how to ride a horse so you and him would spend time together riding around valleys and mountains and hike and camp. Like some brokeback mountain type shit.

As you two grow closer one day you'll just plop down your cowboy hat on his head and just walk away like nothing happened. Like your hat would just be a symbol of y'alls friendship when you give it to him.

He's not a messy person, but when it comes to arguing and he hears your accent thickens as you argue with the person, he'll watch from afar only stepping in when it becomes heated.

You teaching him how to use a lasso and how to make a lasso.

He likes to playfully correct your grammar when you say things. "Ain't isn't a word L/n."

He likes to help out on your ranch/farm from time to time.

Likes to call you outlaw.

"It's hotter than a witches cooch ain't it soap?" *Soap stares at you like your were some fucking weirdo.* Your guys first ever conversation.

From that day forward y'all became the most annoying duo inside the whole military.

Steals your cowboy hat and boots all the time.

"Yer got a ol' lady at home or what?" Soap asks in a teasing tone.

Him laughing his ass off if you ever get thrown off a bull/horse.

If you have a ranch and you invite him over he would not help at all with chasing/ hurdling cattle. But he does help you groom the horses and milk the cows.

Him not trying to giggle while you scold him, because your accent is thicker and louder every time you do it.

Likes to poke fun at your accent even though he cannot be talking like at all.

Watching you in awe as you lasso an enemy and tie them up as if they were just some light sheep.

If you like to chew on wheat straw he'll side eye you a couple times as you just mind your business.

At your ranch he'll make a little competition to see who can lift more hay barrels.

Likes to watch you argue because you have a small temper and can be angered easily. So he just likes to see a good southern brawl from you.

He was finally at peace once that he heard a familiar accent from where he was from.

The boy was thrilled to hear an american accent let alone a southern one. He was over the moon.

He probably grew up with people with a southern accent so once he heard yours he knew he had to get you on his side.

He knows how southern people get with their temper and feelings so he tries his hardest for you to not hate him like the others do.

Slowly you two begin to bond.

And once you two become friends y'all begin to hang out. He knows alot about farm animals and etc so he would help out at your farm/ranch. He loves taking care of the crops and all that.

The others on the team call you crazy for trusting him, but with your small temper you shouted at them with your accent coming in full force.

You calling him "City boy." while he calls you "Cowboy."

Him picking up your accent and words.

Since your accent begins to rub off on him he'll start calling you"darling." or "sugar."

Slowly tries to make you betray the team with him. He wouldn't force you, but he'll just go on and on as to why you should side with him.

THE END

#phillip graves x male reader #philip graves #cod graves #graves x male reader #graves mw2 #mw2 x male reader #john price #john price x male reader #captain john price x male reader #captain price #cod x male reader #cod mw2 #x southern male reader #x cowboy reader #x male reader #male reader #the bear club

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bellarkeselection · 1 year ago

Text

Giving Second Chances

Gifs above don't belong to me they belong to their rightful owner

Wattpad request from Silverose365 Reader is a trouble teen the state is having trouble with so after multiple failed foster families the state calls John. The reader accidentally messed up on a job and gets called out until Rip makes a different choice than her previous foster family's.

John and Rip followed Sheriff Haskell out into one of the barns on the ranch. The three stops in the entrance seeing someone peaking their head over one of the hay bails. John slowly walked forward trying to not scare the girl off that looked to be a young teenager reminding him of meeting young Rip. “Hey there, kid. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Do you wanna come talk with us?”

“Where’s the girl from?” Rip crossed his arms looking at Sheriff Haskell.

He responded to John’s right hand. “She’s been bounced from foster home to another. She’s got a bad streak of breaking the law. I got a call saying the foster system was sending her to him until she bolted. Thankfully she ended up where they we’re taking her. Bringing her to John.”

Lifting my gaze up to the older cowboy guy wearing a tan cowboy hat I watched him bend down to her level. “Are you going to send me back to foster care….I don’t do good in that place. They all say I’m too old and reckless.” I had been moved around where I just started running away every time they sent me back in the system.

“I ain’t sending ya back. My name is John Dutton, what’s your name darlin’?” The rancher asked me offering his hand and I allowed him to pull me to stand up with him seeing another guy by the sheriff that was dressed in black with dark hair and hard eyes staring at me.

I nervously responded back to him. “Y/n. My name is Y/n, sir…what are doing now?”

“You come work for me.” John said looking at the man calling his name so I could put it with his face before he left us in the barn together. “Rip, you’re gonna teach her the way I did you.”

It had been a few months since that day and this is the longest that I have ever been in compared to my other foster homes. Placing a dark brown hat on my head I slide my brown boots on heading to the Yellowstone barn. Throwing a saddle on Lioyd’s horse I started tying it on until I heard one of the bunkhouse cowboys coming over to me. I believe Walker was his name. “It looks like a a cowgirl doesn’t know how a saddle goes on a horse.”

“What…what did I do?” I panicked beginning to twist the sterups and the back sinch backwards before I ran my hands through my hair.

Walker came over on his horse. “You put the saddle on backwards kid.”

“Crap, crap.” I mumbled under my breath quickly fixing it until John came over to me seeing that I avoided his gaze mumbling to myself unknown that he could hear me. “How could I put the entire saddle on backwards. That was stupid. I should have known that.”

It wasn’t the first the older rancher had seen her be hard on herself after she made some mistakes or didn’t be s quick as what the cowboys had told her to do something. And she would end up beating herself up over failing. John just hoped the girl saw that she was a good hand like he did. Because she was almost the same way when he found Rip years ago.

Walking through the barn I nodded to my boss Rip Wheeler who was walking with his horse when he noticed me. He climbed up on his horse addressing in my direction. “Y/n, got saddle Mr. Dutton’s horse. You’ll be riding it today with us to learn how to ride.”

Running inside the barn I took the reins of the boss’s horse tying the rope on the side of the wooden fence. Tossing the saddle over the horse I quickly tied it together. Putting me foot in the stirrups up Rip called my name. “Woah you think you’re forgetting something kiddo.” Shifting my gaze down to the ground I hadn’t noticed my hat fell off during the process.

“Ah shit…sorry sir.” Snatching it up I placed it on my head quick climbing back on the horse knowing he didn’t like wasting daylight and I always followed his instructions as fast as he said them.

Rip had me following behind him where I griped the reins in my hands bouncing with the horse watching the others herding the cattle in front of us. Normally he was leading the pack but not today. “Go herd up the ones on the side that get loose. You got that?” He kicked his horse to go when I nodded in understanding.

Running down the valley I followed after one cafe that got loose leading it back to the group. Staying close to the group another one got loose where I grabbed my rope throwing it over it head trying to lead it back but it just picked up sped. I screamed when it managed to pull me off my horse and I fell into the dirt. “No, no,…ah fuck!”

“Woah girl, are you alright?” Lioyd came over on his horse holding the reins of mine since it ran off towards him so he brought my horse back over to me.

Holding my right wrist I winced when I tried to bend it a little. “I think I just tweaked my wrist a bit….I thought I roped it the right way.”

“You roped it around the neck when it should have been around the waist so he wouldn’t run on ya. Climb back on your horse and help us finish this out.” Rip responded sternly beside his older friend.

Scurring to my feet I put one foot in the stirrup using my left hand to support most of my weight than my right. I should have done better, sir.” I apologize when Rip glared at me watching me ride off with Lioyd figuring that she meant well.

Once nightfall had come and everyone had their horses up for the night I didn’t come down to the bunkhouse for dinner since I was staying in the spare room of Rip and Beth’s house. Brushing my hair away from my face I had banded my wrist as best as I could and put everything I had in the duffel bag foster care had given to me. I just needed to wait until everyone went to bed to run rather then wait till morning already knowing what would happen. I had messed up way more than someone my age should. “I’m too old to get adopted….I will be better off just waiting until I’m eighteen. Only two more years left being someone else’s problem..”

“When I said don’t think you deserve this. I meant it literally but I didn’t you’d run from it.” Whipping my head around I gasped through tears seeing Rip was leaning in the doorway of my bedroom.

Croaking through tears I scooted up against the pillow and headband avoiding his gaze. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“Cause you didn’t come down for dinner and you ain’t missed a meal since the day you came here. You want to tell me what’s going on with you?” He presses on with his tone being both stern but went softer when he could hear me lightly crying in front of him.

Hugging my knees to my chest I buried my face into them sobbing even more when I struggle to get the words out already sensing what he was going to say next. “I’m a screw up here, Mr. Wheeler. I can’t do half the jobs you give me right…I don’t have great confidence even when I put in as much effort as I can. You see me exactly like everyone else does…a reckless teenager who won’t make it any longer in getting adopted. Cause I don’t follow directions good….so you’re done with me. You’re going to send me back tomorrow.”

“Where the hell did you get an idea like that, sweetheart?” He blurted out raising his voice in shock.

Peaking over my knees with my hair in my eyes I whispered back to him. “That’s what every family I have been with does. Why would you be any different to me?”

“Because you are the hardest working foster kid I have seen. You’ve got good manners and put in almost more effort than any of those bunkhouse boys do. And you ain’t any reckless than most teenagers are.” He came over and sat beside me on the bed removing his black hat when he went to take something out of his jacket. He unfolded a paper and handed it to me. “You are a darn good kid, Y/n. I am hoping to help you improve your confidence in time being here.”

Scanning my eyes over the paper in my small hands I couldn’t hardly believe it. “You want to adopt me..but I….thank you Rip.” Flinging my arms around his neck he was taken back not used to seeing me giving any kind of emotion like this.

“You’re welcome, darling. But promise you will still work as hard as you would if you weren’t gonna be my kid.” He hugged me briefly until he made me look in his eyes when he barely broke the embrace.

Nodding through happy tears I grinned up at the cowboy and lead hand of John Dutton. “Don’t worry I will..uh dad.”

Footsteps came down the hallway where we both glanced over over shoulders noticing that it was his wife. “You better call me mom and come eat this hamburger helper otherwise you’ll face the bear.”

“Yes ma’am.” I jumped off his lap rushing down the hallway making it to the kitchen table almost shoving food into my mouth overjoyed to actually have a place to call home.

Beth smiled at her husband when he stood by her in the hallway watching you. “She’s our kid now, baby.”

“She’s our second change at one and I gotta say she’s a pretty good one.” He responded looping his hand with hers giving her a gentle and the pair joined you at the dinner table.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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mayoonn · 8 months ago

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HELLO I HAVE A REQUEST :3

A cowboy comes to work on a ranch and is set up to live in the barn, at night the farmer sends out his oldest son (y/n) to bring the cowboy dinner, the two start to talk and drink a little, the farmer eventually calls his son back to the main house. The next day the cowboy offers to show y/n how to care for horses and they go on a ride together until it starts to rain and they wait out the rain under a bunch of trees but the two need to be huddled together to stay dry. There’s lightning and y/n is startled (not scared, they just weren’t expecting the noise) and holds onto the cowboy, then after staring at each other for a little they kiss

This makes no sense, I haven’t slept in 2 days

-🎱

Hello, dearest! Oh my, I hope you have your sleep, dear.. Sleep is very important but this is so cute, makes me giggle when I think about it (*>∇<)ﾉ ♥︎♥︎

Sorry , it took longer than I expected though I was sure the story is a little confusing. I was writing this while I went out earlier ꨄ

( Male reader! It can be cis or trans, very sweet fluff, mention of the reader being a tease, flirty reader, smitten cowboy, mention of the reader's father being protective)

You were helping out with your mama, feeding and cleaning the horses while your mama was cooking. You were used to people, specifically cowboys coming in and worked a bit for your father on the ranch for extra money. You heard a lot of their story, all while they're cool but they all had in common, confident and cocky. You huffed in amusement whenever they tried to get to you, flirting and wooing you but your father kept you away from them.

It's funny, really. You're not that handsome yourself like the others said or so you assumed. You're just like your mama, you suppose it's your charm that makes you attractive. Sometimes you entertain yourself, flirt with them back and give them a little hope, only to get crushed when you decline their sweet offers.

One evening, while you're washing the dishes while humming your favorite tune. You saw a cowboy come and talk with your father, at first you thought it was just another cowboy like any other though something about him caught your eyes. You can't look away from him, his horse is so pretty and elegant. It's like it was for royalties, it's odd for a cowboy like him to have a horse like that. You chuckle, it is quite funny. You were caught by the cowboy as he gave you a cheeky grin, of course you looked away in embarrassment as you continued your chores. You can't believe you get caught by the cowboy, you're not used to getting flustered.

You sighed, getting him off of your mind. You should probably finish your chores as soon as you can, your mama doesn't like slacking off. You get up and carefully bring the plates and the cutleries to your mama, tonight is special.

Tonight was the night that everybody took their breaks, whether drinking until sunset, playing bets and gamble. It's the busiest night, full of cowboys and girls all around the town. It's the night you like to have fun with them too. It's the best way you get your tips, sometimes you just want to have fun. You were bringing arms full of plates to the tables and gave them your signature smile with a wink. You were having fun, chatting (more like flirting) with your customers until your father had called you.

You waved them goodbye and giggled when they had this lovesick smile on their faces. Your father had told you to bring the dinner to your guest, you were surprised. You never bring food to your guests,usually it's your younger sisters or brothers. You were curious, who could it be? It wasn't shocking if it's a cowboy or a cowgirl but you were sure you gave them a little extra attention. You wonder if they're fun to play with. You bring dinner to the barn and when you enter with a smile on your face, you see it was him again. The cowboy tipped his hat at you and went to take his dinner. With his grin on his face, he invited you to sit down next to him.

Of course you agreed, you were intrigued by him for no reason, maybe it's because of his handsome face or he's so well mannered with you. "My father won't like it if I'm slacking with ya, mister" you smirked as the cowboy chuckled, continued eating his dinner and thanked you. You kept chatting with few flirting here and there while the cowboy looked at you with glint in his eyes. You actually don't mind, it's like you're slowly felt comfortable with him. It's been a while since anyone wants to talk to you without them trying to win you over.

It's nice, you stood up once you realized how late it was and you need to help your mama and father out before they get suspicious. You waved goodbye at him with a smile on your face, getting flustered that you would rather stay there with him.

ᨏᨐᨓ............................................................ᨓᨐᨏ

The next day, you were doing your chores like usual. It was fun while it lasted last night, you hoped you could talk to that cowboy again. You heard he'll be going off later or tomorrow morning, maybe you could give him something so he can be remembered. You were so focused on what charms to give him that you didn't notice the cowboy behind you. You flinched, surprised when someone tapped your shoulder as you turned around. It was that cowboy again, "hey darlin'.. Uhh I.. You wanna ride with me?" He shyly asked as he averted his eyes, you could see small tinted blush over his cheeks. This was the first, you never had anyone so shy with you.

You smirked, "to where? My father will-" you were cut off by him quickly with his face flushed redder than before. "I already asked ya' dad, he gave me permission.. Would ya'?" He looked at you as if he was trying to be serious and intimidating but he was failing, he's shy and screaming inside as he hoped you would accept his offer. You were shocked, not only from being cut off but your father giving him permission! You were a bit suspicious but you accepted, you don't want to turn down his offer.. It's a once in a lifetime, sure you often get this from the others but this cowboy is different. You walked past him, went to his horse and you swore you could hear him silently cheer to himself. You chuckle and wait for him next to his horse.

It's been a long time since you rode horses, especially when your father won't let you outside unless you were doing your chores. The cowboy helps you sit on his horse while he sits behind you with his hand hugging your waist and the other holding the lead. You didn't want to think about it, people hold your waist a lot whether it's to move you somewhere or to flirt with you so why were you flustered now when he does it?

ᨏᨐᨓ............................................................ᨓᨐᨏ

You were screamed in joy, laughing as you yelled at him to go fast. The hair flew as you shut your eyes, eyes filled with tears as you cheered. Soon, he slowed down as your laugh also slowed down. Your hands were up when you rambled to him about the experience earlier until you could feel the raindrops. You looked up to see grey clouds as the cowboy guided you under a bunch of trees. "It won't do much but at leas' it's betta' than outside in the rain, sugar" he said as he huddled with you, trying to warm you up as you shivered, startled by the sudden lightning. You nodded your head with a smile on your face, that makes him looked away flustered again.

You laughed at him as you leaned your head on his shoulder. Grinning to yourself and waiting for the rain to stop until the cowboy tilted your chin up, staring at you as you both slowly leaned closer. Your eyes slowly shut once both of your lips were together, he kissed you with gentle care. It was more romantic from what you expected to be your first kiss.. He moved away with his cheeks flushed red, he shyly smiled at you. He was smitten as you both huddled together, his horse laying its head down ♡

#bottom male reader #x bottom male reader #cowboy #cowboy x male reader #sweet fluff #ʚanon 🎱ɞ #so romantic!! ♥︎♥︎#for request ♡♡#anon ask #male x male reader #male x reader #trans male reader #oc? maybe #oc x male reader

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spnbangbang · 1 month ago

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Head Over Heels

Author: corrupt_touch

Artist: szelz

Primary Ship: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Other Ships: N/A

Length: 7,382

Warnings: N/A

Tags: Case Fic, Haunted Hotel, Dean and Cas Go on a Hunt, Dean Wears Cowboy Boots, Burning Bones in the Graveyard, Outlaw Cowboy Ghosts, Anal Sex, Sex on the Impala, Oral Sex

Posting Date: November 8, 2024

Summary Dean and Cas find themselves alone investigating a string of suspicious deaths at a bankers' convention being held at a Wyoming Cowboy Ranch with a long history. After linking the murders to a pair of boots rumored to be haunted and burning the bones of the outlaw haunting the halls of the hotel, Dean and Cas find themselves putting those boots to good use in the middle of nowhere. Excerpt This probably isn’t the best idea Dean has ever had, but he’s going to do it anyway. He’s standing in the parking lot of the Urban Horse Lounge, taking off his shoes and throwing them into the back of the Impala. He slides on one red cowboy boot, covering the top with his jeans, and then the other.

“Dean—what are you doing? What if they’re still haunted?” Castiel stands in the shadows of the trees, little hints light from the moon shining on his face.

“They’re not, calm down. We burned the bones.” Dean scrapes the heels of the boots against the ground as he climbs into the Impala.

Castiel opens the door, leans in at first. “Dean, people died after wearing those.”

“Cas, we burned the bones. Get in the car.” And maybe Castiel is right, but these boots feel so damn good right now, the leather brushing against his ankles, that Dean doesn’t even care. “I mean, you liked it when I put on the cowboy hat, so I figured you would like these, too? Or maybe I should wear just these?”

Dean laughs, but as soon as the words come out of his mouth, he knows he shouldn’t have said them. It was going too far. Castiel doesn’t want him, not like that. Not in that way. “Sorry, just kidding,” Dean says, revving the engine and starting the journey toward the highway, the journey back home where everything can just go back to normal again. Where Dean can just go back to burying his feelings for Castiel in silence.

But after twenty-two miles of driving, Dean decides to take his chances. “Before, when we were driving back to the Lodge, you said we could be together however I wanted to be together. What did you mean?”

Castiel doesn’t say a word. He turns away from Dean, toward the vast darkness of a field full of nothing but power lines. It’s all the confirmation Dean needs to realize that Castiel doesn’t, and won’t ever, reciprocate his feelings. So, Dean accelerates, shoves some old cassette in the tape deck, turns Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song” loud enough to drown out his own thoughts.

“I meant that I want to be with you. So, if you want to be with me, then we can be together.” Castiel speaks slowly, and his voice shakes slightly.

Dean tries to keep his eyes on the road. “You mean, like me wearing just these cowboy boots together?”

#spn bang bang #spn bang bang 2024 #spn fanfic #spn bang #spn fic #spn art #spn fanworks #supernatural #spn

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lost-in-fandoms · 4 months ago

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maxiel horse ranch summer holidays where max is sent to the ranch because he can’t focus in school or something and hot ranch hand daniel tells him that he’ll never tame rb19… it just can’t be done… but max and rb19 have a BOND and max goes into rb19’s paddock with daniel running after him but gently touches rb19’s nose and there are sparks and then they win the county fair. daniel kisses max and puts the wreathe over his head. mostly joking but also somehow not?

disclaimer: i never was a horse girl, I don't know much about horse behavior, so I'm just winging this

inspired by this post

Max slides into the stables, looking over his shoulder to make sure Daniel hasn't spotted him. He knows, technically, that he is allowed in here, but he also knows that the one horse he wants to see is the one Daniel told him to stay away from.

Rb19 looks up when Max approaches, stomping a little, tail swishing from side to side nervously. His coat is beautiful, black and shiny, only a white spot around his nostrils.

"Rb19 is such a stupid name," Max says, walking even closer. If he raised his hand right now he could touch him. "They are all so stupid, especially Daniel," he adds after a second.

The horse is looking intently at him, ears slightly pulled back, but he snorts at Max's words.

"Yeah, I know you of course would agree." He takes another miniscule step forward. If Rb19 was to lash out now and try to bite him, he would probably manage to get Max's face.

The horse doesn't look keen to kill Max though, not yet. He's still visibly nervous, but not aggressive.

"They don't know anything," Max says, thinking about Daniel telling him he wasn't ready to take care of the horses alone yet, as if Max was incompetent, or a child. He knows what he can do, he knows he is probably even better than Daniel himself.

Slowly, he raises a hand, holding it in front of Rb19's nose, not pulling it back when he snorts again.

Distantly, he can hear Daniel calling his name. All his attention is focused on the horse though, on the way he can see his nostrils flaring, his ears shifting, his tail cutting through the air, now with a little less power than before.

"You are not what they say, I know it," Max whispers, inching his hand forward. Rb19 doesn't move away. His fingers land on the side of his head, then slowly soothe down his neck.

"Max!" Rb19 flinches at the sound of Daniel's voice at the entrance of the stables, but Max doesn't move, pushing his hand back into his mane and patting him firmly. "What the fuck do you think you're..."

Daniel doesn't finish his sentence. Max can feel his eyes on him, and he almost feels like smiling, happiness and smugness mixing in a bubbly cocktail in his stomach.

"You are such a beautiful boy," he says instead, not ever looking away from the horse, "so well behaved."

"Max..." Daniel is whispering now too, but he doesn't step closer. Max knows, because Daniel told him, that he had never even managed to touch Rb19 without having to restrain him. And yet Max is here, petting him.

"They gave you such a stupid name," he repeats, slightly louder, bringing up his other hand too to scratch along his jaw, up to his ear. "Why 19? Nobody has ever been like you."

The horse seems to agree, lowering his head a little, moving closer to Max. His heart is beating so fast in his chest he's afraid even Daniel will hear it. He's never felt this kind of connection to a horse before. He knows they are destined to be together.

"Good boy," he murmurs.

He wants to unlatch the door, get closer, saddle him and ride away, show everyone how they are meant for each other, but he doesn't want to overwhelm him too soon. He contents himself with more pats. Daniel's eyes are still heavy on him.

"Good boy, Rocky, good boy," he repeats. The horse blinks at him, shaking his beautiful head for a moment before settling back. Max smiles. Yes, they'll be great together.

#anon im giving your brain a kiss #my writing #answered #if there are typos i am on my phone (behated) so forgive me #maxiel #please remember that this is fully unserious

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yourfavoritewitchbitch · 2 months ago

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Badge Bunny - Part VI - Silver Linings

Home was never a place, until it was with you.

18+ Only! MDNI!

CW: Minimal use of Y/N. Read is referred to as "Bunny" or "Bun". Fluff and sweetness. Gator holds onto his insecurities from the past. SMUT AHEAD! Oral (m and f receiving). Fingering. Unprotected p in v. Reader with a vagina. Creampie.

WC: 7.7K

It seemed only natural. The two of you set off with no particular destination in mind, taking only what you could load in your old beat-up car.

The sun was setting low, casting its last rays of the day across a wide open sky as hues of orange and gold danced beyond the horizon. It was a slower change of pace driving with the windows down, your free flowing locks blowing in the breeze, as you chanced glances his way anytime you could.

There was a shift in him. It was small but it hadn’t been there before. He was smiling, tapping his foot along with the music and humming a lyric or two when he recognized the song that was playing on the radio.

Neither of you seem to have a care in the world, but you're struck with the sudden realization that this was the first time that Gator was free to live his own life and do as he pleased without the constant fear or pressure of living under his father's thumb. The weight of the past was no longer a heavy burden he had to carry.

He turned, as if he could sense your eyes were on him.

“What?” His grin widened, as he tilted his head.

“Just admiring the scenery.” You smirked, reaching over to lace your fingers with his. Your answer seemed to satisfy his curiosity as he chuckled and returned his attention back out the window.

You headed west, crossing the rest of the country heading for the coast, finding yourself in sunny California a few short days later. His skin was more tanned than you had ever seen it. Cheeks and nose dotted with a few more freckles in the process, with a permanent smile plastered to his face.

He was happy. You both were.

The money wouldn't last the way you were hopping from town to town but neither of you seemed to care. You'd make it last as long as he was content, saving where you could with dumpy motels and cheap gas station snacks or dollar menu drive-thru meals.

By the time he had been released, the ranch had been sold along with any of his belongings seized by the government. Karen and the girls were off in the wind, somehow weaseling her way out of any implications in the affairs of her imprisoned husband. He knew he'd never see them again. She'd most likely changed her name much like Dot, trying to make a new life for herself.

He left that prison with absolutely nothing, except you, but that's all he needed.

When it was time for that conversation of what you were going to do and where you were going to go, he brought up your parents who were still in Texas, asking if you wanted to visit and maybe stay a while. He'd never been that far south, used to the unforgiving northern winters and mild summers. You thought it might do him some good.

So, you ended up back in your hometown. Your relationship with your parents was still good, always keeping in touch with them while out on your own. They never understood your need for freedom, but they were supportive anyway.

You were a free spirit. Small towns made you feel caged in, yearning for a freedom you thought you needed, especially this small town. Except when you came back with him, you no longer had that feeling.

They owned a small farm on the edge of town, not nearly as large as what Gator was used to in Lehigh, but it had a few horses he could tend to in his free time. He had said he found it relaxing.

Your parents welcomed him with open arms and never judged him for his past. They were simply thankful their little girl had finally come home, certain that he had something to do with that.

You slept in your old bedroom for a few weeks while you sorted out your plans, cramped together in a twin sized bed, nestled cozy amongst your old comforter. It was surreal to have him here. Something you could have never quite imagined.

“I want to take care of you.” He whispered in the dark one night, as a sliver of moonlight through the curtains shown down on the both of you.

“You do take care of me baby.” Whispering back from the spot your head lay against his chest, listening to the soft thumping of his heartbeat.

“No, I mean I don’t want you workin’ in shitty dive bars to make ends meet. If I'm gonna be your husband you're gonna be taken care of.” He huffed, his calloused fingertips softly drawing patterns onto your side and down your back.

“Gator, I hate to break it to you, but that money isn't going to last forever, and you can't go back to law enforcement. Not to mention the fact that you're now an ex-convict.” Sighing out the last part, as you sat up, the old springs squeaking under your sudden movements.

“I'm sorry,” you quickly added as your chin drifted toward your chest.

“Hey, you've got nothin’ to be sorry for.” Rising up to sit beside you, gently lifting your chin to look at him. “You're just sayin’ the truth.”

He gently presses his lips to yours, pulling you back down to lay with him.

“If you—” trailing off a moment, not sure if you wanted to suggest it. “If you wanted to stay here for a while, my uncle owns an oil rig about an hour south. I'm sure my dad could talk to him about a job for you.”

“He'd do that f’me?” He asked incredulously, as if he shouldn't be afforded any kindness.

“Of course he would. You're family.” Saying it so assuredly, as you began to softly trace the moles dotted across his abdomen and chest.

He wasn't used to this. A family that seemed to care about one another without some ulterior motive at work. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought of finally finding a place where he belonged, right here with you.

He tried not to let his thoughts drag him down, but it had been weighing on him since he'd gotten out of prison. Your willingness to stand by him through the entire ordeal only solidified his unending love but he had to find a way to take care of you like he promised.

“I'll talk to him in the morning, baby. Get some rest.” Yawning out, as your eyes began to grow heavy, your hand stilling at his side.

“Okay, sweet thing.” He smiled to himself, kissing the top of your head letting himself drift off peacefully for the night.

Much to your delight, your dad was more than willing to talk to your uncle. Even going as far as offering to take Gator to talk to him in person the following day.

He showered, shaving the stubble he'd been neglecting the past few days and pulled on a pair of clean jeans.

“Bun, have you seen my… shit…” he called down the hall, as you moved toward the bedroom to help him.

You came to lean up against the doorframe, as he dug through the suitcase with his back to you, continuing to grumble. You couldn't hold back the grin that lifted the edges of your lips, biting down on your thumbnail watching the way his taut back muscles worked.

“Have I seen what, baby?” Finally asking him with a singsong voice.

“That black button up? I used to wear it t’church an’ for special occasions. I could've sworn it was in here.” Huffing out, as he continued shuffling clothes out of the way to get to the bottom.

“This one?” You gingerly replied.

He turned, unbuttoned pants hanging off his narrow hips slightly, as he looked at you.

You held it up, freshly pressed, with a self satisfied smirk plastered to your face. You'd figured he'd want to dress nice, even if he didn't have to, ironing out the wrinkles and making sure the collar was just right.

His lips curled up into a beaming smile as he crossed the room, taking the hanger from where it dangled on your outstretched finger.

“You're the best, baby.” He stated, pressing a kiss to your cheek, and shuffling over to the bed, laying the shirt down gently and pulling on a white undershirt he had already laid out.

He's tense, you could see the worry etched across his face before he turned back around. You came up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade.

“You don't have to be so worried. My uncle always needs help, and you're practically family. There's no way he'll turn you down.” He sighed heavily, his shoulders deflating a bit.

“S’not what I'm worried about.” He mumbled, prying your hands away so he could face you.

He clasps his hands at your lower back, to pull you back into him, his honey hued eyes looking down at you swimming with sweet adoration.

“M’worried I won't do good enough. Fresh outta prison, they'll think I'm jus’ some idiot. Some kinda fuck up.”

His words made your heart ache. It wasn't Gator's words you were hearing; it was Roy's. Something he had heard his father tell him countless times. No matter how much distance he puts between himself and the past he still has trouble shaking those false insecurities.

“Baby, they'll teach you how to do what they need.” You soothed, gently laying your hand to his cheek as you spoke. “I have no doubts you're going to do amazing. Fuck anyone who thinks otherwise, my opinion is the only one that matters anyway.”

He grinned at that, pressing his lips to yours. You immediately card your fingers through his damp locks at the nape of his neck, pulling him further into your kiss, parting your lips for his tongue to glide past.

Under different circumstances, you'd ease him back onto the bed and make him forget what he was feeling but he had to finish getting ready.

He reluctantly pulled back and groaned as if he could read your mind, pressing his forehead to yours. You opened your eyes in time to see him frown, pursing his lips slightly, drawing a soft giggle from you.

“Don't pout.” Placing a quick peck to his lips, as an idea crossed your mind. “How long before you head out?”

“Uh, thirty minutes or so. Why?” He asked, as you looked up at him with a devilish smirk.

“I think you should relax, baby.” Moving your hands to his chest, pushing him back as his ass hit the bed, the metal frame groaning under his newly added weight.

“What're you… Oh.” He breathed out, as your hand reached down to palm him through his pants, pushing his thighs apart with your knee, before you began to sink down to the floor.

“Just relax baby.” You cooed, reaching up to pull at his jeans as he lifted his hips, dragging them and his boxers down at once.

His cock was already half hard, kicking up further when you leaned down spitting directly on his length.

“Fuck, you're my dirty girl, huh?” He hissed, as you wrapped your hand around him, watching through hooded eyes as you began to spread the makeshift lube up and down his hardening shaft.

“Just for you, Gator. Always for you.” Replying with a sultry tone, taking your tongue and running up the entire underside of his cock, kitten licking his tip, catching a pearlescent bead of precum before wrapping your lips around him, humming at the taste.

“Oh fuck!” He groans at the feeling when your mouth fully envelops him, his tip already pressing at the back of your throat, pausing a moment, before hollowing your cheeks and bobbing up and down his length, your hand continuing to work what you couldn't fit.

His hand found the back of your head, fingers tangling in your locks helping you move, watching the way your warm mouth and full lips molded around his thick cock, he was mesmerized.

“Yeah, baby. Just like that.” His praise went straight to your core as you hummed against him, rubbing your thighs together for a little friction but you reminded yourself this was all about him right now.

“I'm… fuck… I'm close.” He blurted out, pushing you further down as you tried to relax your throat, eyes watering at the sudden intrusion as you continued to bob and work your hand in tandem.

He bucked his hips upward, suddenly spilling into your mouth and down your throat as a string of expletives leaves his lips.

You swallow around his shaft, causing him to whine out bucking up once more before your hands pressed his thighs back to the bed, pulling off with a gasp, catching your breath as some of the mixture dribbled slightly out of your mouth.

His chest was heaving as he looked back down at you, muttering a quick apology, running his thumb under your eye wiping at stray tears before running it across your chin collecting his cum. You grab his hand holding it in place as you wrap your lips around the digit, swirling your tongue across the pad swallowing down every last drop.

“Fuck, I owe you one.” He grinned, as you pulled off with a pop, standing back up running your hand through his hair before wrapping your arms around his neck.

“You do.” Grinning back at him. “But right now, you need to finish getting ready.” Kissing his forehead, hugging him into your chest before reluctantly releasing him to finish getting dressed.

You were in the kitchen watching the horses in the field lost in your thoughts when you heard his heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and subsequently walking up behind you. His hair slicked back into that usual style you hadn't seen in a couple of weeks.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Leaning your head back against his shoulder, the scent of his woodsy cologne and freshly laundered shirt surrounds you, bringing you a sense of comfort.

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout, sweet thing?” He hummed, lowering his chin to your shoulder, looking out across the same field.

“Nothing.” You giggled, causing him to lift his head.

“What’re you—” He began, before the back door swung open as your dad walked in.

“Oh, good.” He smiled seeing you both standing there. “Ready to go, Gator?”

“Sure, Mr. Y/L/N.” Leaving you with a kiss to your cheek. “We’ll be back soon.”

You watched them go, eyes lingering on the outline of the truck as it left the driveway. You already knew Gator would have a job by the time he left, so you thought you should celebrate when he returned home.

Your mom has gone into town earlier, bringing back everything you needed for a celebratory picnic. A small surprise that would surely bring a smile to his face.

Fresh fruits, along with a couple of sandwiches and his favorite chips were loaded into the old wicker basket before you went back upstairs to get yourself ready.

Heading straight for your closet, you had hidden a dress away just for the occasion, finding it exactly where you left it.

You produced a mid-length floral milkmaid sundress, that you knew would drive Gator absolutely feral, pairing it with your favorite cowboy boots.

They made it back around dinner time, and he would surely be starving.

You watched as they rounded the rusty pickup, your dad clapping a hand to Gator's shoulder as they walked to the house, both smiling.

“Hey pumpkin! Lookin’ pretty as a peach.” Your dad beamed as he entered, giving you a quick hug and kiss to the cheek before heading to the living room to find your mama.

Gator stopped and gaped at you. Only his wildest dreams could conjure up an angel as pretty as you standing before him now.

“Hey sweet thing! What'cha all dressed up for?” Eyeing you up and down before finally landing back to your face.

“Well, handsome.” Taking a few short steps between you to stand in front of him as he continued to pour over your curves. “I thought we could celebrate.” You smiled, throwing your hands around his neck.

“How'd you know I got the job?” He narrowed his eyes at you, while moving his hands to your hips, pulling you into him.

You shrugged, feigning innocence.

“I just had a feeling.” You giggled, nails scratching his scalp at the back of his head.

“A feeling, huh?” Raising an eyebrow in question.

“Yeap.” You simply stated, moving out of his grasp to take his hand, pulling him back out the door. “Now come on Mr. Tillman, before it gets too late.”

You'd already loaded the basket and a checkered blanket into the car a few minutes before he arrived, adding a bottle of white wine your mother had stashed away in the pantry.

“Wait, where we goin'?” He asked, obediently following you out.

“You'll see.” Looking over your shoulder as you rounded the car.

His hand was on your thigh as you drove, with the windows down and the radio up.

“So, you gonna tell me where you're takin’ me?” He finally asked about twenty minutes in. You'd been unusually quiet, just letting the music fill the comfortable silence.

“Nope.” You said with an over exaggerated pop and a small giggle.

“Fine.” He sighs, feigning annoyance but loving the sound of your excited laughter.

The car turned down a gravel dirt road that eventually turned into little more than a dirt path with the trees closing in around you.

“Uh, Bun?” He said with a little hesitation to his voice as he turned back to you.

“Trust me, baby.” You assured him so casually. “Look, it opens up ahead.”

His eyes looked out to where you had pointed. Sure enough, it opened up to a clearing, with a creek to the right of the small field.

The creek was picture perfect, just as you remembered it as a kid. An old swing was tied off to the big tree to the right, surely dry rotted by now but you can still remember using it during those hot summer days to stay cool.

On the other side of the bank, it was an open prairie. A few cows were grazing nearby, paying no attention to either of you as you began to spread out the oversized tablecloth.

You chatted as he helped you set out the food. It didn't go unnoticed the way he turned his nose up to the fresh fruit.

“Don't worry, I brought you plenty of chips and cookies.” You laughed, as he planted a wet kiss to your cheek.

“That's my girl.” He hummed, sitting down beside you, stretching his legs out, taking in the scenery as you handed him a sandwich and bag of chips.

He scarfed it down without a second thought, as you leisurely plucked berries from the Tupperware, popping them into your mouth.

He got distracted as soon as you stretched out beside him, kicking off your boots, legs on full display beneath your billowy skirt. The breeze catches it here and there, lifting it just enough for more of your plush thighs to be on display.

“You ready for dessert?” Reaching into the basket beside you pulling out some of his favorite cookies, handing it to him.

“I do want dessert, but I had something else in mind.” His eyes trail your curves, licking his lips, crooked grin on full display as he leaned in. “I think it's time to return that favor.”

He captured your lips, hand trailing up the inside of your thigh reaching the hem of your dress and sliding further still, expecting to find the edge of your panties but was met with your soft, bare skin instead.

“Bunny, you been walkin’ around without any panties on?” He asked, not waiting for a reply brushing his thumb across your slick lips before pressing in a little further finding your clit, eliciting a breathy moan from you.

“Not all day,” you managed to get out before he began to rub slow, torturous circles to the already puffy nub. “Mmphm… just… just took em’ off right before you got home.”

You whined, as he pulled his hand away.

“S’okay, I've got you. Just lay back and look all pretty f’me.” He hummed, as you lowered your upper half to the cloth below.

He crawled over, placing himself between your parted thighs, pressing his already hard cock against your needy core for just a moment with his lips to your neck before he began trailing kisses lower to any exposed skin he could find.

Down the column of your neck, across your shoulder, the top of your breasts as he trails lower still, relishing the feel of his weight, lips wet and warm against your skin. A hand to your thigh, pushing your skirt up as he lowers himself down, breath suddenly fanning across your exposed cunt.

You chance a glance down at him, eyes blown dark and wide with lust. He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, nipping the tender flesh drawing a small squeak from you as you drag the hem of your dress higher. His hands wrap around the tops of your thighs, nose nudging the seam of your slit breathing in your earthy scent.

His tongue darts out, dipping his head down, licking a fat stripe upward nudging your lips apart just barely grazing your clit, moaning to himself as your scent and taste overtake his senses.

Your back arches for him when he suddenly delves back in, tongue prodding at your aching hole making you clench around nothing, so worked up from earlier this morning already teetering along the edge.

“Ya’ taste so fuckin' good.” He mumbles out with a moan, grinding his hips down, searching for friction as his tongue finds your clit once more, circling it deftly before his lips close around you to suck harshly.

“Oh, Gator!” You moan out, fingers combing through his gelled locks, tugging when his ministrations didn't let up, undoing his styled mane.

He continued to switch between sucking and flicking or swirling his tongue, every little movement sending you hurtling toward the edge, as the heat began to build in your core.

You cried out when he added a finger, curling it expertly to find that spot on your frontal wall, then adding another to fill your aching pussy as it fluttered around him.

Your hips chased the feeling, as he drove his fingers in and out, working in tandem with his mouth guiding you further to your impending release.

“Gator, please—ahhh,” losing all coherent thought as your mind went blank.

“C’mon sweet thing,” popping off, letting his thumb replace his mouth so he could watch you properly fall apart. “I want t’feel you let go. Cum f’me.”

His words send you careening over the edge, as white hot heat pools at your midsection, your gummy walls contract around his fingers, squeezing and spasming around them.

“That's it… fuck…” He hissed, watching the way your hole pulsed around his thick digits as he worked you through your high.

Your legs felt heavy, falling further open as he finally removed his fingers, placing them in his mouth, sucking them clean.

“Mmm, so fuckin' sweet.” He laid his head against your thigh, watching your chest expanding and falling, trying to catch the breath he'd just helped take away.

Your face held a blissed out expression in the afterglow, a small smile tugging at the edges of your lips with your cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of pink.

There was no doubt in his mind he was staring up at the face of an angel. He didn't need to enter the pearly gates when his time on earth was over, not when he had heaven right here with you.

Finally coming back to your senses, your hand moved to shield your eyes from the sun as you squinted down at him, your ring catching the light and reflecting back toward him.

It weighed on his mind daily to ask you properly just as he'd promised. He'd been trying to find the perfect time to get down on one knee, do the whole shabang but suddenly in the quiet of this moment it just felt right. He was suddenly overcome with an idea.

“Whatcha thinkin' bout, handsome?” Your sweet voice cuts through his train of thought, your southern drawl that you hid so well beginning to sneak through the more time you spent in Texas.

“You. Us.” Replying without hesitation, as you lift your hand to card through his hair, pushing it back from his face. His eyelids fluttered closed with the tender touch.

You had similar thoughts running through your mind. Lucky you had found something in Gator, when no one else took the time to nurture and see his potential. He was strong willed and fiercely protective, showing you a love like you could never have imagined.

“C’mere baby.” You murmured softly, fingertips tracing his jaw. He laid a kiss to the inside of your thigh before he slowly pulled the hem of your dress back down, crawling up the length of your body, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose laying next to you. You rolled onto your side to face him.

He didn’t say anything at first, but he was suddenly looking at you with such adoration it made your heart ache.

“Marry me?” He blurted out after a moment, sporting that lopsided grin you’d come to love when he has some mischievous plan.

“What?” You giggled, furrowing your brow at the small outburst. “I am marrying you, Gator.”

He sat up then, taking your hand in his, warm and calloused pulling you to sit up with him.

“Bunny, ugh, fuck… I mean Y/N.” Clamping his eyes shut momentarily while internally scolding himself for already fucking it up. “There’s no reason we should wait, we can drive to the courthouse right now. I just want you to be mine forever.”

“Gator, we– are you sure?” You asked hesitantly, making sure this is what he wanted. You’d never pressure him into anything. You would have married him ages ago, had he already suggested it. The two of you were practically attached at the hip as it is.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I don’t need nothin’ else, as long as I have you. I should’ve wifed ya’ up a long time ago. So, whaddya say sweet thing? Marry me? Make me the happiest bastard in the world?” He smiled, big and bright as he searched your face for the answer.

“What’re we waiting for then?” You shrugged, with a smile mirroring his own. His eyes lit up, as he leaned in pressing his lips to yours, his hand coming to rest at the nape of your neck pulling you further into him. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, but you giggled again, pushing him away.

“Wait, baby, we need rings. We can’t just go get married without them. C’mon.” You quickly pulled your boots on. “I’ve got the perfect idea, but we need to hurry!”

The two of you packed up the picnic, in between kisses and laughs, rushing back to the car. The courthouse closed in roughly three hours. Plenty of time to get what you need.

“You sure ya’ wanna do this?” He spoke up, after you got out onto the road. “I mean, we can wait. Do the whole church thing, invite your family.”

“Gator, when have we ever done anything the traditional way?” Eyes cutting to him briefly, before looking back to the road, reaching over the console to intertwine your fingers with his.

“Yeah, I know. I jus’ didn’t want ya’ to feel like you’re missin’ out on somethin’ because a’me.” The last part came out a little quieter, overthinking the situation.

“Baby, if you’re sure. I’m sure. I’ve just been waiting on you.” A grin lifted the edges of your lips as his head whipped back around.

“Is that so?”

“Yeap! So, Gator Tillman, let’s go make it official!”

Your first stop was a small pawn shop on the edge of town. The place was a little dilapidated but the guy who owned it was pretty trustworthy. It had been around for as long as you could remember.

“Bunny, isn’t there a jewelry store ‘round here?” He asked as you pulled into a space out front, shutting off the ignition, turning to fully face him. His expression was a little crestfallen. “You deserve somethin’ better than some second hand ring.”

“Gator, baby, I would wear a paper ring if it meant being your wife. Just think of these as placeholders if you want to.”

A grin split his face at your admission.

“I love you.” He leaned over the seat, kissing the apple of your cheek.

“I love you too, so come on handsome.” You pushed your door open, rushing out leaving him to hurriedly catch up to you.

Luck was on your side, finding two simple gold bands that fit you both perfectly. You had called them placeholders, however they were anything but. Rings to signify the union that was about to take place. They would forever hold a special place in your heart.

You and Gator had endured so much misery and grief to finally come out the other side together. No, they were much more special than you had led him to believe but you didn't want him overthinking again.

“Hey baby, pull over.” He said, knocking you from your train of thought.

“For what?” Quirking your brow. “Cold feet?”

“Just right over here. Hurry!” He pressed, ignoring your little jab.

You hit the turn signal, coasting the car to a stop to the side of the road. He hopped out quickly without another word.

“What the hell are y—” The words die on your tongue as you watch him reach a small patch of wildflowers. He bent down and began gingerly picking the delicate stems one by one until he had a small bouquet worth.

Raising back up, he dusted himself off and walked back grinning ear to ear.

“Can't get married without flowers, right?” He said, sliding back in and setting them neatly in the cup holder.

It never ceased to amaze you how utterly tender and thoughtful this man could be, regardless of his rough exterior he outwardly shows to others. This gentle side that was never taken for granted, saved only for you.

“Yeah baby.” You replied, smiling as you looked down at them, the simple gesture making your heart swell.

“Come on, Bun.” He softly said, pulling you back to the present, grasping your hand in his as he placed a kiss to your knuckles.

You pulled back out into the highway ready for the next adventure.

Hand in hand, the officiant went through the small ceremony in his office at the courthouse with his secretary to bear witness to your union. Neither of you thought of changing, you still in your sundress and he in his button up and jeans. It was perfect just the way it was. Just the way you were.

“Gator, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you honor and cherish her; love, trust and commit to her, through joy and pain, sickness and health, and whatever life may throw at you both, until death do you part?”

“I do.” Searching your eyes as he says it with no hesitation or waiver to his voice. He’s never been more sure of anything in his entire, miserable life. With you by his side, there’s nothing he can't do. You’re his rock. The one person who has never let him down.

The officiant then turns to you speaking the same words. Vows you plan to uphold the rest of your life because you couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone else. He finishes as you respond with the same, simple “I do.”

“And do we have the rings?”

“Oh, shit, yeah.” He drops your hand momentarily to dig through the front pocket of his jeans, pulling a giggle from you as he produced the two newly purchased bands, handing you his with a slight tremble to his hand.

He wasn't nervous to get married, ready to give you the world if he could. He was worried one day you'd finally come to your senses and leave him, just like everyone else he'd loved but when he looked back up into your eyes he saw the pure adoration and unwavering love you held for him.

You smiled and mouthed “I love you” as he finally slid your ring on, as he did the same when it was your turn to slide his on.

“You may now kiss the bride!” The officiant finally uttered those last few words, as Gator wound his arm around your waist, with his hand coming to cradle your jaw, pressing his lips firmly to yours.

Any lingering trepidation melted away with the warm glide of his lips across yours, pulling you in tight to his chest. That tiny bouquet of wildflowers long forgotten, crushed between the two of you.

“Alright kids,” the officiant cleared his throat before it got too heated, as you broke away from each other grinning ear to ear and a little out of breath. “I've got to get back to some clerical work. But you're officially Mr. and Mrs. Tillman.”

“Thank you!” You rang out, grabbing the certificate and dragging Gator out the door.

He drove you home beaming the entire way.

“Gator, do you feel any different?” You asked timidly, wringing your hands in your lap. Somehow nervous and excited at the same time.

“I feel— well, I don't know. I just know I love you, Bunny. A ring or certificate makes no difference. I knew you'd be my girl the first time I saw ya’.” He genuinely smiles, leaning over to take your hand in his.

“Is that so?” You smirk, with a lift of your brow.

“Prettiest thing I'd ever seen in Lehigh, hell in all o’Stark County. And the way ya’ blew me off. I knew you were gonna be a handful.”

Gator was never one to express his feelings so openly. It has taken a lot to get him this far to be able to open up to you. That first meeting had been memorable.

“Well, I remember a very handsome but very arrogant deputy blowing his vape right in my face as his way of flirting. Who wouldn't blow you off?”

He scoffs slightly, feigning offense.

“It worked though.”

You laughed out, causing him to follow with his own laughter.

“Do you feel any different, Mrs. Tillman?” He asked, lifting your hand and planting a kiss close to your new jewelry.

You smiled at the new last name, matching the man you loved but your smile fell for a moment. It seemed there would always be a feeling of something lurking in the corner, hiding and waiting to come out and ruin your happiness.

“I feel happy and nervous, but— I feel like something bad is waiting around the corner. This is the first time we've had peace since we've been together and I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

You didn't want to admit it. Since you've been together you have seen more drama and heartache than most people see in a lifetime. It was hard to somehow imagine a peaceful life ahead of you.

It's not something you could easily put away. It was always in the back of your mind, fearing it would never be put at ease.

“Bunny, it's ok. That's all behind us. We're out of that state and Roy won't be able to do anything behind bars.” He squeezed the hand he still held and you hoped to whatever higher power that was out there he was right.

Your parents weren't surprised when you told them the news. You were and always has been their rash, wild child. Though you didn't take things lightly, once something was made up in your mind there was no changing it.

They were happy for the both of you. And suddenly questions and comments were thrown around the room.

Are you staying here? Where are you going to live? You need a house, and permanent roots to settle down.

Very politely, yet firmly you told them that Gator had just gotten a job, and you'll figure it all out. They understood and also let you know you could stay with them as long as you needed to.

When the day had finally started to wind down and draw to a close you both got ready for bed.

You showered and neither of you bothered to redress, laying as close as possible, skin to skin. His heartbeat was in your ear as you laid your head on his chest, listening to his breathing even out before he began to softly snore.

You suddenly envied the way he could fall asleep so easily. It would be one of those long nights of tossing and turning before sleep would find you. Rolling away from him woke him immediately.

“Where d’ya think you're goin’, hmmm?” he hummed with a groggy, sleep ladened voice turning over to press his chest to your back as he draped his arm around your waist.

“Can't sleep. Didn't want to bother you, baby.” Replying, as he placed a soft kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into your neck.

“Mmmm.” He hummed, pressing another kiss just below your jaw. “I can help with that.”

His hand trailed its way down the soft plains of your tummy, before slipping a calloused digit between your folds that made you gasp his name and grip his forearm when he brushed past your bundle of nerves igniting your core.

You spread your legs a little further apart, letting his fingers slip lower to your entrance, already beginning to grow slick with arousal as he slowly traced the outer edges.

“That's it, Bunny. Just relax, let me make you feel good so you can turn that little brain off for th’night.” He knew you far too well.

He dips his finger in slightly, your chest releasing a heavy sigh as it drifts back up to your clit where he began drawing lazy circles. There were no hurried movements, no reason to rush. You had all the time in the world.

He drew torturously slow patterns, continuously kissing up and down your neck and jaw until your breathy moans and pleas turned high pitched and whiny.

“What is it, sweet thing?” He whispered, withdrawing his hand from you completely.

“Please.” Replying with a pout, rolling over to your back. You could barely make his face out in the dim moon light streaming in from the gauzy curtains but it was enough.

You found the nape of his neck pulling him in to meet your lips. He moved, lowering his body to drape over yours, laying in between your parted thighs, leaning on his elbow to keep from completely crushing you, wrapping your arms around his neck keeping him there.

“Need you s’all.” You hummed, licking into his mouth eagerly, before sucking his bottom lip and releasing it with a slight pop, rolling your hips up into his for emphasis.

His cock suddenly kicked up with excitement, pinned between the two of you, growing with the eagerness you both shared.

He places soft kisses to the underside of your jaw, as you wrap your legs around his waist. His arousal now very evident, pressing up against your core, his velvety shaft against your soft, sensitive skin.

“Gator, I need you, please.” You rushed out, rolling your hips against his once more, loosening the grip around his neck.

He lifts up slightly, never breaking away as your hands trail his sides.

He hisses, pulling away when your hand wraps around his aching cock but he quickly replaces your hand with his to line him up with your entrance. His tip catches a moment later as he pushes himself in with a slow, fluid motion, your pussy giving no resistance from how he had worked you up.

“Fuck… always so goddamn tight.” He says, moaning out when he's buried himself completely, your pussy flutters at the feel of his thick, long cock sitting snugly against your inner walls.

“I love you, Bunny.” He whispers out, lifting his face to look at yours.

“I love you too.” You reply softly, all breathy and wanton, your hands trying to search and find purchase to pull him closer.

“Love you more than anything, baby. You're fuckin' perfect.” He says, removing himself almost entirely before plunging back in, somehow feeling deeper than before, taking your breath in the process.

Moans push past your lips, as he moves languidly, taking his time to work you up, watching all the subtle movements of your face contorting with pleasure. A pinched brow and slack jaw, eyes closing with unshed tears, each thrust of his hips pulling small gasps from you as he pressed you into the mattress below.

He reaches back, pulling your hand from him as he threads his fingers through yours, connecting and grounding you both.

“Can't believe I get to call you mine. Make you the happiest housewife out there… mmph… fuck Bunny. I felt that pussy move. You like that? Wanna be a little housewife?” He continues to thrust slowly, unbothered with changing the pace, relishing the way you feel wrapped around his cock.

“Yeah, Gator. I… ahhh… Always yours.” You moan out, when his tip grazes that sweet spongy spot as your eyes roll back from the pleasure. He buries himself impossibly deeper on the next thrust, pubic bone grazing your clit on the upward drive.

“Fuck! Right there.”

“Yeah? That it, sweet thing?” He coos, driving in and out, a pleasurable but unhurried pace. Grinding his hips with each thrust, working you toward climax.

You nod, suddenly rendered speechless, gripping his hand a little tighter as he pushed you toward the edge.

“Can't believe you're my wife. I'm fuckin’ my wife.” He rushes out, in seemingly disbelief but utter delight.

You couldn't help the laughter that bubbles up at his statement, that he paid little attention to as he continued to mumble, stilling his hips.

“My wife. My beautiful—” pausing to place a soft peck to your lips. “Sexy, way too smart for me, adorable—” another peck to your cheek. “Spit fire, sometimes crazy—” a peck to your nose.

“Hey, watch it.” You chide.

“You're amazing, Bunny. I love you.” Mumbling against your lips, pushing his hips back into yours with a groan.

“I— mmmm— I love you too.” Managing to breathe out before he sits up and pulling your hips into his, fingers digging into the sides of your waist to set a now brutal pace, chasing both of your highs.

“Ahhh— Ga— Gator!” You scream out, before he pushes your knees into your chest. His cock plunging in and out of your soaked pussy, hitting so deep, practically folding you in half with his weight pressing into you.

“Gonna— mmph— fuck. Gonna fill this tight little cunt until she can't take anymore.” His filthy mouth always did you in, pussy fluttering at his words.

“Then I'm going to fill it up again, fuck it back into to that tight hole.” He lets go of one of your legs, suddenly toying with your now aching clit making your hips jolt at the contact.

“Cum on my cock, baby, so I can fill this pussy full.” You clench around him, unable to control the way he was affecting you.

“That's it baby. Want me to fill you up? Go from housewife to stay at home mommy?” He chuckles, when he feels you clench again.

“Mmmhmmm… Ba—baby I'm—” You couldn't get the words out before you were coming undone. Unraveling beneath him as he continues to work you through your orgasm making sure you felt every inch of him, as he was hanging on by a thread to make sure you were satisfied.

You screamed his name, throwing your head back against the pillow as his thrusts became more erratic, the feeling of you wrapped around his cock was too much as he spilled inside of your tight channel.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he hissed, trying to catch his breath as he stilled and collapsed on top of you, letting himself slide free as his legs stretched behind him out on the bed. He wound his arms under you, laying his head to your chest listening to your heartbeat steadily decrease as you came back down to earth.

“Are you trying to kill me?” You finally asked, running your fingers through his hair.

“Just tryin’ to show my wife a good time.” He says, placing a kiss between your breasts before looking up at you, laying his chin there lightly. His eyes had returned to their shade of muted gold and green, unhindered by the pure lust that was there moments ago.

“Mmhmm.” You hum. “My husband really knows how to drive me wild.”

“Yeah?” His grin grows wide, as he starts shifting to move beside you. “Say it again.”

“What? You drive me wild?” You ask teasingly, pulling the sheet up over the both of you before he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

“No baby,” he huffs, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Oh,” You release a giggle. “My husband likes his new title?”

“Mmhmm,” He mumbles into your hair, placing a soft kiss there. Sleep was already starting to pull him back under.

“I love you, Gator.” You softly whisper as he faintly hums his acknowledgement.

A year ago, the thought of being exactly where you are now was nothing more than a dream that always seemed out of reach. Laying here, safe and content in the arms of the man you loved was almost overwhelming.

As you finally drift off to sleep, the many thoughts of what is yet to come wash over you with a sense of comfort. No longer dreading what tomorrow may bring, instead looking forward to what possibilities life had in store because no matter what happens, he'd be by your side.

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