#the heart of all rhetts beats the same | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

delopsia · 2 years ago

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Dancing Beneath The Moon | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 10,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Brief Summary: How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy? And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you? Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Ghost!Rhett AU (with a twist! I won't tell you what kind but it's a twist!), friends to lovers, Trevor does not take rejection very well (please be advised that he does yell at the reader and scare them), unprotected sex, mentions of violence, and Rhett's 'murder.' Please refer to the user manual and wash your cowboy before sex.

"I-I'm sorry, I need to leave."

"Trevor, wait!" Your feet patter across the floor, struggling to keep up as he lets himself out the door, "I can explain."

Only on the front porch does he stop, ostrich-skin boots clicking against the old wood with every step, "You don't need to," holding up one hand, as if to ward you off, "I just...forgot my Dad asked me to interview our new ranch hand today."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again, gaping like a damn goldfish.

"I'll call you later," and that's all Trevor leaves you with, skittering off the porch and clambering up into that lifted F-150, with its perfect, custom black paint that glimmers a deep blue as he tears down your driveway.

Ugh.

"Rhett!" Your voice echoes throughout the house, punctuated by the slamming of the door behind you. So loud, and yet you can still hear the vicious banging of your beloved cast iron skillet banging on your kitchen tile. A shrill clatter of noise that has you fighting the urge to cover your ears as you storm into the kitchen.

And there he is. The translucent motherfucker, sitting cross-legged beneath your table, peeking out from beneath it. "What?" A big, shit-eating grin lacing his barely there features, so innocent and childlike that you almost don't believe he was the cause of this mayhem.

Almost.

The skillet in his hand provides a pretty damning counterargument.

"I'd kill you if you weren't already dead," fuming, yanking that dented skillet out of his hand; Rhett's grip is strong, but not enough to stop you from taking your cookware back.

"I was playin' with that," he huffs, a cold wind that tickles your ankles.

The skillet lands in the sink with a clatter. "And I was trying to have a date," you hiss, throwing your hands up, "but I'm unfortunate enough to share a house with a ghost who doesn't have any fucking manners!"

"I have manners!" Rhett's up in the air now, a buzzing collection of mist that floats up to the ceiling, no longer human, "I just ain't got 'em for big shots that wanna play cowboy for a day!"

"He is a cowboy," he's not. You know he's not. But god, you are not giving Rhett fucking Abbott the satisfaction of you agreeing with him. "You wouldn't know, being ancient and all that."

The temperature drops. Mist scattering. You can't tell where he is anymore. "I would know 'cause I am a fuckin' cowboy!" His disembodied, roaring voice comes from all directions. "No good-minded cowboy wears a goddamn rolex on a work day, 'cause they know that shits fixin' t'get scuffed!"

"Cowboy or not, you're going to have to get over it," as you reach for the tap, you think you can feel his presence behind you. Some invisible thing that sends your skin prickling, even with the knowledge of how harmless he truly is. "Trevor's coming back, and if you keep scaring him off, I'm phoning a priest."

"Fine!" Booming behind you.

"Fine!"

He's gone for the rest of the night.

The pizza guy scares the hell out of you when he knocks on the door. Not because you had forgotten about your order but because you were waiting on the curtains to peel themselves open. Expecting to hear a deep, half-hearted grumble about how "your date is here" as the fella clambers out of his beat-up sedan.

But it never comes.

Rhett doesn't even bug you about giving him a slice that he knows he can't eat, but you catch yourself putting a plate out for him. You wonder if he's in the room to see you rushing to put it back in the cupboard. Maybe he's out in the field because the television doesn't miraculously change to the Animal Channel like it usually does. You don't catch a glimpse of him lingering in the mirror whilst you brush your teeth.

You're glad.

You didn't want to see his ugly mug anyway.

Strange how such a big presence can vanish so easily, without a trace or hint of where he went, leaving this big farmhouse feeling like a husk of what it usually does. The temperature drops a degree or two when he's around, but without him, it feels like you've set up camp in the Arctic. How can a dead man bring so much life to a place?

But the covers are tucked around you in the morning.

You can't see him, but when you step into the kitchen, sleepy-eyed and yawning, you can feel him wisping around you. That invisible presence seeking for anything to get back on your good side.

The toast lifts itself onto a plate before it can be burnt by that old, barely functioning toaster of yours. On the table, the weekly grocery ad flips open to a discount on new toasters, a lazily written note scrawled beneath it. 'They even have the color you were wanting! :)'

He pulls the chair out for you to sit, and when you defiantly head out onto the porch to eat, he pulls the patio chair out for you too. You hate giving him the satisfaction of helping, but it's hard to avoid him when he's free to roam this entire property.

But the one thing you've forgotten is just how hot Wabang can get, even this early in the morning. Birds tiredly chirp from their nests, unwilling to take flight beneath the sweltering sun; the old wind chime is silent, not even the slightest breeze appearing to help it sing its tune. You've been outside for a mere five minutes, and yet sweat already beads on your forehead.

A cold nothingness wisps past you. Round and round your little patio table, stirring up a breeze that doesn't reach the trees.

"You can come out, Rhett," fighting your laugh is futile because it slips out as you speak, dancing through the air in tune with the wind chime.

The opposite chair scoots out on its own, a pale blue mist collecting in the seat; it'll take him a moment to get settled back into form. "Did ya happen to find my headstone yesterday?"

Your head is shaking before he can get his sentence out. "Are you sure you were buried in Wabang?"

"I don't know where else I'd be," Rhett's face isn't fully there yet, but his scowl is, settled deep into his nonexistent features. "Wabang was the only place my folks ever knew."

Your heavy tongue can't be brought to tell him about the graves you did find. Royal and Cecelia buried together, their son Perry right next to them, and their granddaughter Amy buried in the row in front of them, next to a headstone simply titled 'Autumn.'

Rhett should know. He deserves to know where his family rests, but you can't bring yourself to tell Rhett that his killer was given the privilege of being buried next to his parents. Don't know how to tell him that the Amelia County Sherrif dug up an old newspaper declaring Perry Abbott as not guilty of Rhett's murder.

"C'n I bug you to put a cup of coffee out?" Rhett chirps, and that permanently scruffy face almost looks real. His eyes must have been as blue as the ocean deep when he was alive, for even now, they glow with their color. The only thing off about him is his slight transparency and the rays of sunlight that spear through his body.

"You didn't smell it enough this morning?" You ask, but you're getting up anyway; you'd rather not deny his request and risk him making a mess by trying to do it himself.

His boots click across the old wood, in perfect tune with your step, "wasn't here."

"Where did you go?" You're already grabbing his mug out of the cupboard, other hand reaching for the coffee pot.

He's quiet for a moment, and then, "barn." When you turn around, he's no longer there, a plume of mist once more, but you don't need to see him to know that his eyes are transfixed on the ground. "Didn't think y'wanted me in the house after last night."

Most people would love it if their ghosts would leave the residence; let them live in peace without being heckled by the souls who can't move on. You'd know; you were one of them, once upon a time.

"You don't have to leave every time we bicker, Rhett," it feels strange to say, but those words are spoken directly from the heart, "this is your house too."

He manifests again. Back to his favorite spot beneath the edge of the kitchen table, cross-legged, where he can peek out to see what you're doing. A little too big to fit, but he makes it work.

Like clockwork, his right-hand toys with the cracked edge of a linoleum tile, the one he's pulled up numerous times in the past.

"Please don't tear up my tile," you try to say it as gently as you can; you know why he's so drawn to it, but you really don't want to spend an afternoon fixing your beloved floor again. Wordless, he leaves his spot, content to settle down in a kitchen chair and smell his coffee. The closest he can get to enjoying its flavor.

You wind up back in bed early in the afternoon. Downed by a migraine that refuses to pass, settling deep into your skull, brought on by an unknown cause. You think it may be from the obnoxiously strong air freshener you plugged in; Rhett blames it on your cellphone.

"Care for some company?"

You're fortunate that Rhett Abbott is easy on the eyes because it's difficult to open them. There he is, standing near the edge of the bed, in the same spot you met him three years ago.

At least this time, the two of you aren't screaming, startled by each other's sudden presence.

"As long as you don't hog the sheets," comes your conclusion, and the bed is dipping as soon as the last word has left your mouth. A weight that isn't there settles across from you, a human-shaped indent that by all means shouldn't exist.

Rhett's hair falls into his face as his pretty head lands on the pillow, snuggling against it, and you know he's trying his best to remain as solid as he can. He says he's not touch-starved, but you're starting to think that he's lying.

Your hand wanders out on its own, carefully settling against that misty cheek, trying not to go through him. "You look a little more solid than usual."

"Only took a couple years of practice," the corner of his lip rises with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Oh, why does he have to look so sad when your hand inevitably passes through him?

You don't know if ghosts can cry, but his eyes seem to water as he feels your touch falter. They always do, but it never gets any easier to look at. It never gets easier, watching his smile wobble back into a frown, and his form grow a little more opaque.

Opening your arms to him probably isn't the best move to make. You've both discussed this; roommates is as far as this relationship can ever go because anything more asks for nothing but heartache. Heartache, such as the crushing feeling of feeling him squirm closer and not being able to feel him when you wrap your arms around his waist.

The only sign that he's real is the coldness you feel against your chest as his head settles against there. And, maybe, just maybe, you think you can feel wisps of his hair tickling your skin.

"What the hell is that?"

You haven't even taken it out of the box, and Rhett is already puffing up like a feral cat about it. "What does it look like, Rhett?"

The living room light flickers, his blue mist settling into the corner of the couch, as far as he can get from the box sitting on the floor. Refuses to take any more form than he already has, doesn't know how to react to this new thing that now sits in the same room as him.

"I don't have a clue," he says after a moment.

"It's a video game console," you want to take it out of the box and prove that it's not going to hurt him, but you don't want him getting any more surprised than he already is.

Against all odds, it seems you've got his attention because you can see his face now, head cocked to the side like a puppy. "A huh?"

"It connects to the television," nodding your head toward the flat screen next to you, "you can use it to play games on it."

He perks at that. "You can play checkers on the TV?"

Checkers wasn't what you had in mind, but you're sure it's on there.

There's a lot of fumbling involved. All the various cords and manuals only serve to confuse him more than he already is, and though he tries his best to help, he's not much assistance. There are less than five cords for the system, and he thinks they're all HDMI cables. But he's helpful when it comes to squeezing behind the television, at least.

"So that box...puts the game on the screen?" He asks as soon as you've settled onto the couch together, scooted as close as he can possibly get. "And you use that thing to play?"

For a cowboy who grew up in the days of black-and-white television, he catches on quickly. "For the most part, yes."

You'd won this thing in a raffle held down at the Bison Valley Bank of Wyoming, entered just for the hell out of it while you were down there a couple of months ago. How you won a new gaming console and why it came with a second controller, hot pink in color, you'll never know.

Rhett's simply poking at the joystick, unwilling to pick it up just yet, but you know he'll take to it like he did your television. Later, you'll wish you hadn't, but for now, you'll download one of his favorite board games.

"Monopoly?" He's fighting it, but there's still a twinge of excitement in his tone.

Now he's picking it up.

And within the hour, you regret even bringing the damn console into the house because you lose. Horribly. As soon as Rhett figured out the controls and the slight change in rules, you knew you didn't stand a chance. You can't even be upset about your crippling loss because he's kicking his legs back and forth and giggling.

"One more round?" He pleads, those opaque eyes sparkling with their childlike wonder, and you know he's never going to let this controller go.

"Let me get a drink, and then we'll play another," are you only agreeing because you enjoy the melody of laughter coming from your household ghost?

Absolutely not.

...okay, maybeyou are, but still.

At least he can't see your smile as you head for the kitchen, socked feet pattering across the cold hardwood without much of a sound. Already formulating a plan in your head, the next surprise move that might help you beat Rhett at one of his favorite games. If you can buy all four railroads before Rhett does...

The floor bends beneath your foot. Something crackles.

"Rhett, can you come here for a second?" Frozen in place, afraid to make another move. The lights are off; you can't see what's going on, but something feels wrong.

His presence is there before you can think any further, a chill ghosting over your body as he breezes around you. Circling like he's making an attempt at thwarting your fears before he flicks the light switch on.

And now you see it.

The kitchen floor is beginning to cave in, bowing inwards, right where your kitchen table sits. Beneath your foot, the tile has begun to crack, breaking into smaller pieces that cannot withstand any amount of weight on top of it.

"That floor's fixin' to collapse, doll," comes his voice, seemingly from all directions.

You're moving to step off of it and venture back out into the presumably safe hallway. But the floor crackles even louder. Tiles buckling beneath both of your feet. Sinking lower.

"I don't think I can," your body sways, fighting to remain upright.

Rhett's silently wrapping around you, formless blue mist shaping around you like a hug, tugging you away with a surprising amount of force. Practically takes your feet out from under you as he hauls you out of the kitchen.

"You're stronger than you look," you mutter in the hallway. Where the floor is solid and doesn't threaten to come out from under you.

"Only when I'm wantin' to be," he mutters directly into your ear, and you're suddenly glad that you've never asked how strong he is, as a ghost and all, "Now what kind of drink were you after?"

Rhett's your kitchen boy for the next three days until you can get someone to come and take a look at your floor. Balancing drinks and plastic cups that occasionally end in a tragic spill because he's not as good at balancing small objects. The first person never shows up; the second arrives bright and early in the morning, interrupting your morning conversation with Rhett on the porch.

"Now, like I said before, I don't have my equipment on me, so I can't guarantee you that this is the case," the guy begins, and you really, really hope he doesn't look up and see Rhett's dumbass sitting on the counter, "but my biggest guess is that your foundation has been exposed to too much moisture for too long."

"What's the worst-case scenario for this?" Your attention flickers between him and Rhett; what if it's something that you can't afford to fix?

He pauses to press his foot against the floor one more time, carefully surveying the way it shakes beneath the weight, tile crackling once more, "now it's highly unlikely, but worst case scenario, in my opinion, would be a sinkhole."

Your face drops.

"But that's highly unlikely," and he doesn't seem too concerned as he turns to face you, "I wouldn't worry until we get back out here and tear up the floor this coming Monday."

So Monday it is. That will be the day you find out if it's a simple fix or if you'll have no choice but to move out and leave your beloved house ghost all by his lonesome. Rhett seems to catch onto that thought, too. Remarkably quiet for the rest of the afternoon.

You can't blame him. For about forty-five years, this house was occupied by a family of religious folk who used some sort of herb to quite literally render Rhett into a state of unconsciousness. One too many surprise appearances in the mirror doomed him to sleep for all those years, only -reawakening after you moved in and scrubbed this old farmhouse from top to bottom.

He's never known what it's like to be alone. The closest he's come to it is the sporadic vacations you've taken over the past couple of years. None of which have lasted longer than a week, but all of which have ended in him waiting on the porch, tackling you the moment you stepped out of your car.

Unless he can attach himself to you, he'll never be able to wander further than the fields that surround your home.

Rhett doesn't take form again until Sunday night.

You don't know why you've drug these two lawn chairs out into the lawn, past the gravel that eats up the area around the house, but you have. Lounging, gazing up at the moon and stars hanging high above your heads, pointing out all the shapes you find amongst them.

The portable radio drones lowly in between you, stuck on the same old country station, ever since Rhett and his ghostly ways accidentally jammed it last summer.

"Do you wanna dance with me?"

And you don't know if...did you make that up in your head? Or was that just the radio?

"You know I'm not drunk this time, right?" Your head tilts, aiming to get a glimpse of him. He's already looking at you, smiles weakly as you meet his eye. Laying here, cloaked in the silvery light of the moon, he looks...real. If you reached out, you're sure you'd feel the scruff of his cheek scratch at your palm.

He hums, "I know." Pausing, just for a moment, to look up at the stars one more time. Your eyes follow, scanning the speckled sky, delighted to catch the tail end of a shooting star. You should make a wish...but you can't think of anything to wish for. "I just...wanted t' know what kinda dancer you are when you're sober."

"Alright," comes your answer; dry, nothing more to add to it.

And you don't know where it comes from, but Rhett reaches off to the side of his chair and plucks a translucent cowboy hat off the ground. Takes care to dust it off with his scarred palm, even though nothing can possibly dirty it, before carefully placing it atop his head.

He holds his hand out for you to take as if it's something that's become possible all of a sudden, and against better judgment, you do just that. Slipping your palm into the chilly illusion of his, deceiving yourself into believing that you feel his fingers curling around your hand. It's not, but as he leads you out further into the grass, it becomes easy to deceive yourself.

"Whoever taught you to dance, anyway?" You giggle as he spins you around; catches you by the waist when you come to face him once more.

He grins, big and wide, and you think you see his teeth glint in the moonlight. "You give amazin' lessons when you're drunk."

Oh, how easy it is.

Dancing beneath the moon, in nothing but your pajamas, held close by the ghost of a cowboy whose soul fits against your own like a puzzle piece. He doesn't know what he's doing, and if he were human, you're sure he'd be stepping on your feet, but he moves in such wonderous tune with your body that it feels like a daydream. His cold forehead rests against yours, ocean eyes peering deep into the deepest crevices of who you are.

You're drifting away from the grass and into the driveway, feet kicking up loose gravel with each and every step. Sweeping past your car, your shoulder narrowly avoids the passenger side mirror. You should be looking where you're going, you're going to drift too close to the porch and fall, but Rhett's gaze is so captivating that you can't bring yourself to look away.

How is it that your heart only longs for the ghost of a cowboy?

And why do you get the feeling that his heart utters the same for you?

"You're thinkin' awful hard," the hand that curls around your cheek feels so real, the vague callous of a thumb stroking beneath the corner of your eye.

"Just figuring out how I'm going to pack you up and take you with me," your words are a poorly collected lie; you both know it, but he doesn't call you out on it.

Oh, and he's pushing your noses together with all the boldness of a man who knows what he wants. Your fingers are trying to tangle in his hair, and it's of no use, but you do it anyway, uncaring of how your hands sink through that collection of mist.

"Take me with you, hm?" He's slowing to a stop, the arm around your waist drawing you closer to him. "What happens when y' find someone to settle down with? Y'gonna turn me into the ring bearer at the weddin'?"

"Fortunately," your gaze flickers down his face, and you're so, so sure he's real, "I've already found that someone."

Rhett has no need for oxygen, and yet he sucks in a breath of air anyway, a little reflex remaining even after all this time.

One of you should shut this down right here before it goes too far. But your arms are wrapping around those broad shoulders, precariously balanced upon the thick collection of mist that makes up Rhett Abbott's ghost. The hand on your cheek is dropping to cup your jaw, and the world spins even faster as both of you lean in. His cold breath fans out against your lips, your eyes meet one more time, and...

Kissing him is the only thing you have ever needed.

A heart-stopping boom tears through the silence. Glass shattering in hot pursuit. As your eyes flutter open, the kitchen light goes out.

"What was that?" Your feet are already moving, Rhett's form dissolving into a thin mist, following at your side.

"I don't know," his distant voice rings, "please be careful."

You can hardly heed his warning. Sweeping past the front door, not bothering to take your shoes off, as you head for the kitchen. It's too dark to see, forcing you to fumble for the dining room light that you never use. Your hands graze over the switch, flipping it on, and, and—

The kitchen floor is nearly gone.

Replaced by a deep, cavernous hole that seems to reach deep into the earth. Consumes over half of the floor where your table once sat, reaching from your cabinets to your teetering refrigerator, on the verge of falling in.

"I don't suppose you have any ideas on how to get your spirit to attach to a living person, do you?" You hope Rhett can't pick up on the shake in your tone; there's no way insurance will cover a damn sinkhole.

But your question is met with silence.

"Rhett?" You're turning, and...he's not there. The air is unusually warm, not a speck of mist to be found. "Rhett?" Trying again, louder this time, as you head for the door, because maybe he's outside, maybe he's...

He's not there either. Maybe he's upstairs. Yeah, when he panics, he usually hides out in his old bedroom. He's just upstairs.

The door slams shut.

A second crash follows suit; you don't want to know if that was your refrigerator or if the sinkhole expanded even further.

"Rhett, this isn't funny," shaking the door knob. Locked from the inside. "Rhett, open the door!"

He doesn't.

The windows are all locked down tight. Even the one you intentionally leave unlocked. You find your car keys sitting atop the roof of your car, the paint scratched from where they've been thrown from a distance.

Rhett's chilly presence doesn't visit you when you sleep in the car that night.

He's not there to spook the contractor when he and his crew arrive early in the morning. You don't find him sitting on the couch when they kick the door down, and he's not on your bed when you sneak up the stairs, even after you're warned against going to the second floor. He isn't even there when countless faces enter your home to check out just what is going on in your kitchen.

"I've never seen this before," one of them tells you, her brows furrowed as she looks at her clipboard once more, "but it's not a sinkhole at all."

You don't know if you heard her correctly. "It's not?"

"It's a fifteen-foot hole that must have been dug by a past owner," she pauses to flip through her phone, presenting you with a photo of...just a dirt hole. Nothing special about it in the slightest. "They never refilled it, either; it was only a matter of time before the foundation collapsed into it."

Your mind flickers to your seemingly non-existent ghost. Rhett's never told a lot about his murder, but you know for sure that it happened in the kitchen. "Did you find anything down there?"

That seems to give her pause, ink pen tapping idly against her lips as she rechecks her pages and pages of notes. "Aside from your refrigerator and debris from the collapse...," flicking through another page, "it was completely empty! Nothing to worry about."

Well, at least now you know Rhett's not buried beneath the kitchen floor.

Even worse, his spirit no longer lurks within the paper-thin walls of this century-old farmhouse. You call for him in the fields, disturbing the cattle your neighbor keeps, and you beg for him to be there when you crawl out of bed in the morning. But the house remains warm; the only mist you find is in the fog that settles over your home after it rains, and he doesn't come out to mess with the teen boys employed to carry in bags of dirt, to fill the hole with.

Doesn't even appear when Trevor's F-150, with its irritating color-shifting paint, pulls into the driveway one evening.

"And so there was just a hole under your floor this whole time?" He's sitting in Rhett's favorite spot, cheap beer balanced carelessly between his legs. Has already spilled it once, leaving a stain on your cushion, and you'd tell him off if you weren't hoping it would infuriate Rhett into showing his face.

"The going theory is that one of the past owners dug it," glancing toward the mirror as you speak; still no ghost.

"I bet you more than anything that it's related to that Abbott murder," Trevor says, picking his drink up once more.

Your heart lurches in your chest. "Murder?"

"Did the realtor not tell ya?" Why is he scratching his cheek with the edge of his beer can? "That uh...what's his name? Perry, that's right, got into it with his brother and beat 'em to death in the kitchen."

"They told me someone died, but they never really elaborated," you mutter as he scoots a little closer. "Do you know what the argument was about?"

Trevor's heavy arm slings over your shoulder, drawing you near, musky cologne rudely meeting your nose. This is the same man you've been pursuing for months, so why is it that all of a sudden, your stomach churns at his touch? "Think it was...mmm, I think it was over some broad that went missing a couple of months before. Perry's wife, fiance, or something like that."

The alcohol on his breath has your senses reeling, overwhelmed with a sudden onset of nausea. Rhett didn't have much of a scent, but the little he carried was nothing but leather and honeyed sweetness. Your memory of his touch is brief, can count on one hand the amount of times he wrapped an arm around you, but he never dragged you into his chest like Trevor does.

"I'm sorry," speaking gently, you slide out from under his arm, rising to your feet, "I can't do this."

Trevor's face falls; you already regret speaking up, "what do you mean?"

"I'm sorry, I thought I could, but I just..." shaking your head, eyes landing on the hot pink controller that Rhett once played with, "I can't."

"The fuck do you mean you can't?" He's shooting up from his seat, beer can hitting the floor, the golden liquid splashing across the hardwood.

Your mouth is opening, but you don't get a chance to speak.

"You sure could when you were begging me to stay in this freaky ass house of yours last week!" Roaring, face twinging with red as he tries to close the space between you. Your heart is pounding in your ears. Loud bangings that rattle you so hard the house seems to shake with it. "You put me through all this just to tell me no?"

"I didn't put you through a damn thing!" Your voice echoes through the house, tone fierce, yet your feet timidly take one step back for each one Trevor takes forward. The floor seems to tremble beneath you. An earthquake that only you can feel.

Trevor's quiet at that.

You'd rather if he just yelled.

Because now he's got you creeping backward, and there's only so much space you can back up into. Your voice is caught in your throat. Stifled by something invisible. Mouth opening, but nothing comes out. The light in the kitchen goes out. Glitters of gold flitter past your head like tiny sugar plum fairies.

All of a sudden, Trevor lurches toward you.

Your head smacks against the wall. Jumping away from him.

"You think that little of me," he laughs, incredulous, "you think that fucking little of me?"

"Trevor." Your voice bursts past your lips. Shaky. But there. "Stop."

"Or what, huh?" Spit hits your face. His hand slams next to your head. Breaking through the drywall. "You owe me! I didn't spend all this goddamn time just for you to up and change your little fucking mind!"

"They asked you to stop." That's not your voice.

And it's not Trevor's, either.

Heavy boots thump across the floor. Spurs jingling with every step. Next to your head, a dirt-covered hand takes hold of Trevor's wrist. Muscles flex as it tears Trevor's fist out of the wall. Shoves it into his chest.

Trevor's reddened face has gone stark white. Trips over his own boots as a hulking, dirt-coated figure steps in front of you. Broad shoulders, covered by a vaguely patterned flannel; plaid, it looks like. Dark brown curls rest at his nape, unruly hair flowing freely. Suspiciously similar to...

"Who the fuck is this?" Trevor's still backing up, and this vaguely familiar man eats up every inch of space that's put between them.

"The house ghost." And that's...that's...

Trevor runs for the door before you can finish your thought. Slams it shut behind himself, like it'll keep him from being followed. Truck already rumbling to life. Downright roaring as the vehicle tears out of the driveway, sending gravel clanking against your windows.

But that's not what you're paying attention to.

Truly, you should be concerned about your windows being broken. But all you can do is look towards your kitchen because the light flickers back on. Gives you a momentary glance at a bottomless hole that's returned once more. Leaving behind no trace of the dirt that once filled it. Thin wisps of gold dance through it like an aurora, seemingly alive as they move.

You blink, and it's halfway gone. The edges shrinking inward until the hole is no more. Leaving behind that same freshly packed dirt.

Leaving behind...

"Rhett?"

He jolts at the sound of his name. As if he's surprised you're even speaking to him. Has yet to speak; confirm it's really him, but you already know the answer to that. He turns. Slow. And you can't help but wonder if that really is dirt because it seems to be fading away.

Slow, your hand drifts out from your side, and when your fingers curl around his jaw, you don't know if it's you who sucks in a breath of air or him.

Scruffy. Unshaven face scratching at your soft palm, dirt sticking to your skin as your thumb soothes over a remaining patch stuck to his cheek. Warm. He's warm. And he's hesitantly pushing his head into your hand, and, and—

"Rhett." You say it once more. The only thing you know how to say.

Tears well in those eyes. They're as blue as you ever could have hoped they would be. So, so real, not a shred of translucence to their color. One spills over onto his cheek, rolling until it's caught and wiped away by your thumb.

His arms are moving, hesitant to wrap around you, and you know he's worried about getting dirt on you, but the only thing you care about is stepping into him. Wrapping your trembling arms around that big, warm body of his and feeling him squeeze you into his chest. Where his heart beats heavy, thunking against you with the strength of an ox.

"I don't know how..." he whispers, hot breath tickling your neck, where he's buried his face.

"You're still an ass for locking me out of my own house," you're trying to sound irritated, but it's difficult to feign annoyance when he squeezes you a little tighter.

"Didn't want you bein' sucked in like I was," it's so strange to hear his voice like this, no longer a disembodied sound, "I...it just...kept suckin' me in every time I got out."

You're leaning away, and God, you don't want to leave those strong, trembling arms, but you want to see that face of his even more. The wrinkles beneath his eyes, the wobble of thin, chapped lips as they rise into a meager smile.

The callouses of his fingers drag against the soft skin of your cheek as his big hand settles there. Not the misty, barely there touch you're used to, but just as gentle as it's always been. His nose bumps against yours. Don't know who's leaning in. You shouldn't. You shouldn't do this.

This time, you know for sure that it's you who closes the gap between your bodies. It's you who catches this cowboy's lips in your own, reveling in that surprised gasp of his.

If you thought that kissing his ghost was heaven, then this is something else entirely.

Molding together like you were made just for this, his hand on your cheek and yours delving into his messy hair. Feeling the strength of the arm that curls around your waist and breathing in those faint notes of leather and honey and something warm that you can't quite place.

He pauses for a moment, breaks into a big, dumb smile as you meet his eye once more. And then he leans in to kiss you once more, hands cradling your cheeks, like you're a delicate flower whose petals will fall if he doesn't hold you together. His body shudders with something torn between a giggle and a sob, tears rolling down his cheeks, but he's smiling so much that your teeth clack together.

Your name tumbles off of his lips. Then again and again, like he's trying to memorize the feel of it in his mouth. The way it rolls off his tongue and twists through the air, the sound seeming to kiss your ears when it meets them.

"Rhett," mirroring him, and oh, how he perks at that. Has he always reacted so beautifully to you calling his name?

"Say it again," his nose bumps against yours as he speaks, "Please. Wanna hear you say it again." So eager to hear you that he looks two steps away from a puppy, the tears in his eyes shimmering with wonder as you open your mouth once more.

"Rhett," you whisper, like it's a secret shared on the playground, and then, again, "Rhett."

This time, when your back hits the wall, it's because a bright-eyed cowboy is carefully backing you into it, one hand protecting the back of your head as he dresses his body against yours. Smiling too much to kiss you, can't seem to get over the feeling of your skin against his, the overwhelming reality of whatever this is.

"We probably shouldn't be..." Higher thinking rushes back to your head in a whirlwind, thoughts running wild in the darkest crevices of your mind. What if's and why's and wonderings of how this happened, if it's permanent or temporary. "What if we cross that line, and you go back to being a ghost?"

You don't think you'll ever adjust to the sound of Rhett breathing or the way his eyelashes flutter as he thinks for a moment. He's licking his lips, mouth opening, and, "What if we don't cross that line and spend our whole lives regrettin' it?"

One too many kisses may leave you longing for him for the rest of your life, but one too few may leave you carrying eternal heartache. And that's only if he goes back to being a ghost. But he feels real. When you press your palm to his chest, his warm hand covers it, guiding it to rest over his beating heart. Little thumpings that shouldn't be there, full of life and love and all just for you.

He could have come back to life for anyone. But he came back for you.

To hell with it.

Your bodies collide like galaxies. Blinded by a frantic kiss that promises bruises to your lips. Flecks of gold fall from his body as your hands roam, tugging at a flannel, at his hair, at his hands. Legs tangling because you're moving too quickly, and he's still adjusting to walking rather than floating.

Only break apart long enough to tumble up the stairs; Rhett almost trips over every one of them. Struggling to keep his confidence but boosted along by the kisses you pepper to his reddened cheeks and the gentle tuggings of your hand in his.

Your back hits the bed with all the grace of a newborn fawn, Rhett tumbling right along with you, chuckling into the crook of your neck. Under the dim lighting of your bedroom lamp, it's easy to catch onto the deep bruising that scatters beneath his right eye.

"These are from Perry, aren't they," it's more of an observation than a question, your fingers soothing over the marks as if they can somehow heal them.

Rhett's pressing a kiss to your wrist as it roams past, "Don' wanna think 'bout that son 'f a bitch right now."

You can work with that.

Especially when your bodies squirm further up the bed, his hips settling between your legs, forearms bracing themselves on either side of your head, heaving chests against one another. His lips solid against your own, hungry, urged on by the nails that dig into his shoulders for leverage.

"You'll tell me if I'm goin' too far?" He's speaking into your kiss, unwilling to remove himself any further.

Maybe there's a second ghost in this house because something possesses you to roll your hips up into his. Such a faint pressure, the rough bulge in his jeans rubbing against your soft pajama shorts, but it's so much compared to what used to be. "I will," you're interrupted by his mouth once more, "but I'm sure you'll be the one asking me to stop before the end of the night."

Your hand has a mind of its own, wandering down his chest, flattening out to feel the muscles that ripple along his stomach, hidden from view by his shirt. They flex under your touch, a simple thing that makes your head spin. By some method of madness, that shirt is still tightly tucked into his jeans, the material hard to get ahold of.

Rhett shifts above you, unintentionally moving when you feel for some slack in his shirt, something to get ahold of, and your hand wildly overshoots. Palm splaying out against the front of his jeans instead.

"'m not so sure 'bout that, sweetheart," he groans, a deep, guttural noise escaping him as he reaches down, catches your fleeting hand, and guides you to press against him once more. "I ain't had a dick for the better half of a fuckin' century."

These old jeans are thick, but even so, you can still feel him twitch against your touch. This wasn't what you were aiming for in the slightest, but watching him shiver as you massage over the outline of his bulge is a hell of a sight.

"Sensitive," you're only lightly teasing; any more words and you'll be fumbling with his belt buckle.

"You're one to talk," he mutters, head dropping to press his lips to the meet of your jaw, teeth tugging the skin there.

You think your eyes may pop out of your head. "I thought you promised to stay out of my bedroom when I didn't invite you in."

"Wasn't in the bedroom, baby," he's chuckling, breath tickling your ear as he works his way towards it, "When you're a ghost, you hear everythin'."

Then he's leaning back, leaves you feeling cold as he fumbles with his jeans, boots hitting the floor with two solid thunks. An involuntary whine works its way out of you, reaching aimlessly for him.

"Don't wanna get y'all dirty, sweetheart," he soothes, catching your hand and pressing kisses to your knuckles. Pops open his belt buckle with a pinch of his fingers, and soon those dirty jeans are sliding off, revealing milky white thighs, mottled with bright spots of red and deep purples, a badly bruised knee to match.

...as well as a pair of boxers patterned with bright red hearts.

"Y'ain't gonna believe me," Rhett's staring down at them too, teeth worrying his bottom lip, "but I have no fuckin' memory of wearin' these." The tips of his ears have gone bright red. Another quirk hidden until now.

"We'll get them off soon enough, I'm sure," you say, leaning up to let him peel your shirt over your head.

As soon as it's out of sight, Rhett's lips return to your neck, one wandering hand soothing up your side, not stopping until it reaches your breast. Does nothing more than feel you in his hand, sucking at a soft spot beneath your ear that has you fighting the urge to close your eyes.

Your hands wander, one wrapping around a surprisingly muscled bicep while the other delves between your bodies once more. Feeling down his sturdy chest, past his stomach, and not stopping until you can take hold of him through his boxers.

"Fuck," his body jolts, "'re you sure 'm not dreamin'?"

"I thought ghosts didn't sleep?" You're parroting something you so clearly recall him mentioning in the past, can't place the memory yet. Don't really care to, either. The only thing on your mind is the way your fingers wander past his waistband, wrapping around his cock that jumps at your touch.

He's thicker than you imagined he'd be.

Moans prettier, too, for that matter. A little bit breathy and so Rhett.

"Hands of yours are so fuckin' small," he's muttering in between kisses as he works his way back to your lips. Can't kiss you because a jolted grunt interrupts him, a symphony of sounds as you slowly stroke him. Oversensitive, the first touch he's felt in decades.

His hair drops into his face, acts as a curtain when you look down to where your hand is working him. Can hardly see what you're doing, but you do catch a glimpse of precum beading at his flushed tip, hearing his gasp when your thumb swipes over it.

"Y'need to stop that," he huffs, voice nothing but air, "gonna...fuck, 'm gonna cum if you keep..." And despite asking you to stop, he grumbles when you let go of him.

Hands now free, you reach for your shorts, not sure why you feel so shy when he helps you tug them down your legs; it's not like he hasn't seen you naked before. From you forgetting he's there to him accidentally floating into the shower while you were using it.

But these eyes are not the translucent ones you're used to, with their expression hidden by deviations in his mist. No, these eyes darken as they drink up the sight of you, every little thought in his head spoken through his gaze. But even as he kicks his boxers off, shirt going right along with it, you can't help but feel like hiding under the sheets.

"'ve I ever told you that you're beautiful?" His voice breaks the silence, stroking the inside of your knee as he speaks.

You don't have words for that.

He doesn't need them.

You really don't have words for when he takes hold of your wrist, guiding it up and taking two of your fingers into his mouth. Tongue carefully swirling around each of them, soaking them with a content hum. Your eyebrows furrow, to which he raises his other hand. Dirt beneath his nails and caught in the wrinkles of his hand.

Ah.

Reluctantly, you pull your fingers from his warm mouth, and you're pleasantly surprised to find that there's hardly any resistance when you press them inside. Open and already wet, helped along by a moment of fun you'd had in the morning, hoping a familiar ghost may come to help you along.

"How did you know I kept my lube in the bottom drawer?" You can't help but ask, watching as he fishes around for it.

The tips of his ears are red again. "I learned the hard way not to float through bedside tables."

He's the one who uncaps the container, but it's you who reaches out for him to pour it into your palm. Not because you're concerned with dirt but because you want to feel him in your hand again. Twitching when you take hold of him, a thick vein running along the side of his length. He has to stifle a noise with each stroke, squeezing your knee all the while.

"You're sure you're ready for me?" He asks when you urge him closer.

"I'm sure I'll be fine, cowboy," fighting back a noise as you guide him down, letting him push between your folds, some lazy, teasing thing that has his plush head dragging past your clit. Sensitive, almost has you considering making him fuck you like this instead.

But he's catching against your entrance, and you've daydreamed about this man too many times to pass up the opportunity.

That tentative, forward tilt of his hips is enough to make your head spin. Pressure blooming as he pushes into you, careful, like you'll shatter into a million pieces if he's too quick.

"Rhett," you whisper, don't quite know why.

"'m here," he's coming back down, nose pressing against yours in his own little way of reassurance, "I've got you."

Your earlier rendezvous didn't end well for you, but you're so thankful for it in hindsight because his cock stretches you wide. Blunt head dragging against your walls, massaging past the bundle of nerves you couldn't seem to find with a toy, your thighs squeezing his pale hips.

"So tight for me," he pauses about midway, or what you think is midway, at least, "you're sure 'm not hurtin' you?"

Your head spins, loose on your shoulders, "I'm okay."

With a noise of his own, Rhett starts to move again, draws back a little before pushing further, and you can't help but wonder if he's holding his breath. Your nails bite into his shoulders, hanging on as he finally bottoms out, now flush against you. His mouth moves, but he can't speak. Only capable of releasing a shaky breath, lazily catching your lips in his.

He doesn't need to be asked to move, catching on the moment you grind yourself against him. Withdrawing slow, shallow, before pushing back in, and you're so, so full. Clinging to his shoulders to stay in place, feeling like you'll float away when he brushes against those nerves again.

Fuck, he's just begun to move, and you're already biting your lip. Don't know how you're going to keep yourself quiet because he massages past that little spot every time he moves, never lets it alone.

His thumb pulls your lip out from between your teeth, "Let me hear you, darlin'."

His words alone have your cunt fluttering around him, and you're leaning into the palm that cups your cheek, mouth falling open. "Rhett, fuck."

You don't think you need to reach down between your bodies, but you do anyway, fingers pressing to your long-neglected clit. Working in tandem with Rhett's quickening hips, jolting as his angle shifts.

"There?" He says as if he hasn't already found that damned spot. All you can manage is a nod, a whimpered 'uhuh' escaping you.

And he's doubling down, cock head kissing that oversensitive spot again and again. Grins wickedly when you shudder beneath him, nails dragging down his pale shoulders, panting into his mouth.

"Fuck, this sweet lil' pussy of yours feels so good 'round me," he groans, thrusts becoming harder now that he's remembered the ropes. Heavy balls smacking against you, and you really hope there aren't any more house ghosts who can hear the sinful sounds whistling through the air. "'s this what you've been needin', hm?

"Rhett," you don't know how to speak, his name tumbling off your tongue.

"Bringin' home all those dates that could never make you cum," his voice dropping an octave deeper, damn near growling, but the softness in his eyes suggest he wouldn't hurt a fly. "Wouldn't have terrorized 'em if they woulda treated you better."

That's why he chased them all off? God, how many times did you bring someone home, thinking he was gone? And how many times has he daydreamed about having you beneath him, whimpering his name as he fucks you nice and proper.

You should be mad, but you can't. Not when you're falling apart at the seams, hand sliding from his shoulders, barely clinging to his bicep. Bounced by every heavy thrust, can't keep your fingers on your pulsing clit, tightening around him as something warm blossoms between your legs.

And he must be able to feel it because his eyes flicker into the back of his head, if only for a moment. "You gonna cum on my cock for me, sweetheart?"

This is new. Fuck, this is so, so new and so much. No longer able to keep your eyes open, tongue lazy in your mouth, words long forgotten as you try to nod your head. Mind clouded with thoughts of Rhett, Rhett, Rhett.

"Shit, y'got me so damn close, baby," he rasps, hair tickling your cheek as he presses kisses there, "You want me to cum on those cute thighs of yours? Or your sweet little tummy?"

You don't have the answer to that question. Distracted by the crumbling of his rhythm, thrusts growing shaky, in perfect tune with the tightening coil in your lower belly. Almost there. Almost there.

He's still talking. "Or would you rather I cum nice 'n deep in this pretty pussy of yours," you regret opening your eyes. All you see is the sweat beading at his forehead and strong hips working you over. Fat cock disappearing into your wet pussy, elicits a dizzying squelch every time. "Pump you nice 'n full of me, just so you'll need me to fuck it out of ya in the mornin'."

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where's your voice? Where's your voice? "I-inside."

Rhett's breathy "yeah?" is all you fucking need. Your back rises up off the mattress, head tilting back with a silent cry as you cum around his cock.

"There you go," Each pump of his length into you only sends your head higher up into the stratosphere. Whimpering, clamping down around him as a shudder washes over you. "Feel so good when you're clampin' 'round me like that."

And he's still fucking going. Fucking you through it, beating against that bundle of nerves even when you begin to tremble, after-shocks still tearing through you.

"Hang on for me, baby," his eyes are bolted shut, chasing his high, biceps shaking, so, so close.

"Please, Rhett," you whisper, your hand soothing over his hardened face. Those deep blues flutter open, softening at the sight of you, like he's just seen an angel "Cum for me."

A whimper tumbles past his lips, a second one follows suit, and then those eyes are closing once more, hips stuttering to a halt as his orgasm hits him. Tiny noises escaping his chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck, the familiar tune of your name tumbling off his sweet tongue. Filling you with his cum, making good on his promise, jolting as you involuntarily pulse around him.

For a while, the air is silent.

Until Rhett lifts his head and kisses up your sensitive neck, sending you into a fit of giggles. "C'n we take a bath t'gether?" He murmurs, seemingly shy, unable to meet your eye.

"So long as you agree to bubbles, baby." Baby. You don't think you've ever called him that.

You can't wait to do it again.

For decades, the folks of Wabang, Wyoming, have whispered the tale of two brothers. Gossiping about a murder they presumed to have taken place, for they knew that Perry Abbott was a violent man, and it was only a matter of time before his little brother became the next punching bag.

Never have they whispered about the hole that opened beneath the kitchen floor, swallowing Rhett's near-lifeless body up, escorting him to an unknown safety while leaving his lonely spirit behind. They don't know of the decades he spent forced into an unnatural slumber, only to be awoken by another lonely soul with a heart made of the same glass as his own.

Nobody giggles about how a human scared a ghost or chatters about the adventures they've shared in that century-old farmhouse. They do not know of the arguments, and the boyfriends lost because a ghost wanted the best for his friend, appearing in mirrors and whispering their deepest insecurities into their ears. Worse, they don't roll their eyes over the many tales of him banging a cast iron skillet on the tile just to see them run.

But you do.

Only you know of how Rhett smiles, big and dopey, as you take him into town for the first time in decades. You are the only person who gets to explain what self-driving cars are and roll your eyes as some new thing scares him into jumping behind you. Nobody else gets to take him on a road trip, watch him fight with a GPS for the first time, and introduce him to the ocean and the concept of crabs.

"Why are they shaped like that?" Rhett's stumbling after you; not sure if he likes or hates this little creature, only knows that he wants to follow you. "Why is he following me?"

You wish you could see the little bugger, but it's so dark that you can hardly tell where you're going. The only light you have is a dull light in the parking lot and the silver moon hanging high above your head.

"Probably because you've pissed him off," you laugh, holding your hand out when he reaches for it, "are you going to survive two more nights this close to the beach, or do I need to take you back to the pasture?"

He hums, loud and dramatic as he can manage, scratches his freshly shaved chin for added effect, "I suppose I'll survive, but if that crab kills me, I'm comin' back as a ghost and suin'."

From the moment your feet are on the cool concrete of the parking lot, Rhett's spinning you around. It's still the only thing he knows how to do, and his feet tangle with yours a little more than they should, but oh, is it as magical as that night in your driveway.

"'ve I ever told you that I love you?" He smiles as he speaks; knows he says this every time you wind up dancing beneath the moon.

"Never," feigning surprise, as he pulls you in close, noses bumping together, "but I love you more."

And then you're running. Squealing as Rhett sets hot on your trail. He'll catch you before you so much as reach the hotel doors, trap you in his arms, and insist that no, he loves you more, punctuating every word with a wet, sloppy kiss. And you're so excited for it that you think you may let him catch you early.

Perry took away a lifetime from Rhett.

You're more than happy to give him a life worth waiting centuries for.

Even if he does still refer to himself as the house ghost.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #oneshot #outer range #ghost au #ghost! rhett abbott #delgato writes

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rhettabbotts · 2 years ago

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first and foremost! congrats on hitting 1.2k shelby!!! you deserve all of those and so many more followers!

you and i have been talking about dilf!rhett and his reading glasses recently. so i'm here with a request.

the smut dialogue prompt of "how do i look" but it's dilf!rhett after he gets his glasses

wired frames - dilf rhett abbott

pairing: dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

summary: rhett achieves the highest dilf status.

warnings: suggestive language. babysitter’s horny thoughts. pre-relationship. age gap as always.

Rhett hated calling you in on a Friday.

Fridays were always your days off. Unfortunately, it was the only day the eye doctor could get him in and he couldn’t take Grace and Ellie with him. You didn’t mind to come in. Silencing Rhett when he promised that you could leave as soon as he was back.

The girls were elated to see you when they came down for breakfast. Grace demanded you fixed blueberry pancakes because “yours were way better than daddy’s.” Ellie rambled on about her new stuffed bear, insisting Mr. Fuzz-a-lots sat at the table while they shoveled in their food.

They were filled with so much energy, chasing each other with the water hose, trying to stave off the early summer heat. You sat with a book in your hand, catching yourself daydreaming about a certain cowboy - who also happened to be your boss.

You tried to shake the feeling, tried everything to rid your mind of wandering thoughts of Rhett but you couldn’t help it. Not when you had to see him nearly every day. As some sick joke from the universe, Rhett’s truck came roaring up the gravel road. The girls screeched as he stepped out, your heart doing the same.

Wired frames now adorned his face. The silver glinted in the scorching sun and your breath caught in your throat. Holy shit. It’s like they were magic and made his hair appear silvery as well. Your whole body was set ablaze.

You averted your eyes before he could catch you staring but that didn’t stop him from making his way to you, barely escaping the two drenched children.

“So…” Rhett said in a curious tone, causing you to look up to the man standing before you. “What do you think?”

Your mouth dried as he preened, posing and wiggling the glasses that were perched on his nose. His perfect nose that you’d give anything to feel against your-

“About what?” You asked nonchalantly, calmly. As if you weren’t actively trying to beat your brain with a baseball bat.

“The glasses. How do I look? Look too old?” He inquired.

So handsome. Sexy. Like I want to kiss you until they fog up.

“They look good,” you stated, keeping your responses short in order to save yourself some embarrassment.

“They look good, she says. You really know how to compliment a man, honey,” Rhett joked before making his way inside. Leaving you a sweltering mess on the porch.

You ended up staying for dinner - on behalf of Ellie getting on her knees practically begging you. You could never say no to her. Rhett made his “signature pasta” which was just spaghetti but you indulged him. It was rather good.

As he put the girls to bed, you helped wash up. You were drying the last dish when you heard his footsteps descending down the stairs. He wasn’t even in the room yet and your heart rate spiked. Damn him and the unknowing hold he had on you.

Rhett saddled up behind you, reaching up to grab a whiskey glass. His broad chest pressed against your back, heat radiating from his body that you could feel through your t-shirt. You couldn’t breathe. When you did inhale all you could smell was him.

“Want a drink?” He questioned, warm breath washing over you, tightening your throat in a vice grip. All you could do was nod.

He poured two glasses of the amber liquid, his new frames seated on his face once more. You were certain he put them back on just to tease you. Just to make you go mental - if the way his thin lips quirked up at the corner were any indication.

“What do you really think about these?” He asked after a beat of silence.

You were on the spot now. It was just the two of you. You had nowhere to hide. No book to stick your nose into.

“You look - you look very handsome. Smart. They bring out the blue in your eyes,” you stuttered with shaky breath. He hummed in response, a strand of hair falling out of place and onto his forehead. You couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear, pulling away swiftly.

It really did bring out the grey in his hair. You wanted to run your fingers through it and-

“You’re real sweet, honey.”

“I should - I should get going. It’s late,” you whispered.

“Yeah… have a good weekend, Tillerson. Thanks again for sticking around today.” Rhett fumbled with his wallet for some cash, brushing you off when you tried to tell him not to worry about it.

“I’ll see you Monday.”

“Bright and early.”

You couldn’t rid your mind of the image of Rhett in his glasses all weekend. No matter how much you tried.

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

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bobfloydsbabe · 1 year ago

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Back again to share that I just thought of Rhett riding a horse around the property with his little girls sitting in front of him.

Also Denver being protective of Hazel & Olive and always sleeping between the cribs or at Rhett's feet if he's holding them.

My brain has been all twin girl dad Rhett for days now, so I took your second headcanon and ran with it. So, enjoy this cute and sappy 500 word blurb. Love you!

“Hey,” Rhett half-whispers as he picks Hazel up from her crib, holding on to Olive who’s already on his other arm. “There we go.”

Juggling one baby is hard, but twins are a different thing entirely. He manages, though, and after three months, he may even have the hang of it. So picking up both of them, carrying them downstairs and out onto the porch, doesn’t feel all that intimidating anymore.

He sits on a chair, adjusting his hold on each of the girls, and leans back. The weather’s getting colder now, but on this day the sun beats down from a bright blue sky, not a cloud in sight, and there’s nothing Rhett likes more than this view and his daughters nestled against him.

The sound of paws padding across wooden floors comes from inside the house, and the next moment Denver, the black and white Border Collie, appears on the porch. He’s much older now than when he first met Lou and her loyal companion, his muzzle growing whiter by the day.

Denver raises his head, sniffing each of the girls’ hair, and then settles at his feet. Rhett remembers the first time he found Denver sleeping between the cribs, keeping watch over the youngest and most vulnerable members of his pack. His family. He’d taken a picture and Lou cried when he showed her.

Knowing Denver would protect them with his life makes it easier to sleep at night.

He’s not sure how long he sits there. Both his daughters wake up at some point, making Denver shoot to his feet to check on them. He sniffs their heads again and leans his muzzle on Rhett’s thigh, just looking at the girls as they coo and smile. Hazel even grabs hold of one of his ears and yanks hard, but Denver doesn’t flinch–he just places a gentle lick on her cheek.

Eventually they fall back asleep and Denver settles back down. His arms are sore from holding them so long in the same position, but he doesn’t have it in him to move. Not even when Lou pulls into the driveway.

He watches her walk around the truck, taking in the sight of him. A fond smile spreads across her beautiful and tired face as she crosses the drive and joins him in the chair next to his.

“Want me to take them?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Maybe just one,” he agrees.

Standing, she reaches for Olive, who’s closest and once the weight is off him, blood rushes back to his fingers, and he can finally adjust Hazel’s position.

He turns his head towards Lou, who’s smiling down at her sleeping daughter. Rhett feels his heart swell at the sight, and his thoughts drift to the velvet box in the back of their closet wrapped in an old flannel.

They’re doing everything backwards, but Rhett doesn’t mind. It fits who they are. Restless souls who found each other at the right time, and the life they’ve built only makes sense with her.

It will only ever make sense with her.

TWIN GIRL DAD RHETT SUPREMACY. That's it. That's the thought.

#mail #answered #joaquinwhorres #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott #outer range #rhett abbott fic #lewis pullman #otp: rhett x lou #oc: lou kinney #fic: linger #linger blurbs

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vicsnook · 1 year ago

Text

Cowboy Let Me Take You Away | Rhett Abott x Reader

word count: 1874

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, 18+, Fluff

notes: Hi Y’all! I think it was about time I finally wrote a little something something for my Rhett girls. In this universe Rhett and Bob are twins so think maybe Bob Abott or Rhett Floyd 👀? Anyways I hope you all enjoy and please don’t forget to like/reblog (thank you for your previous ones 🫶🏼). I might do Rhett Fridays from here on out so be on the lookout!

Rhett and you had been introduced by his twin brother Bob at a work Christmas party and had been talking ever since, still you weren’t sure what exactly you two were. Yet here you were landing in Wyoming to see him. You spot the baggage claim sign easily as you disembark and head down to the first floor to get your bag. To say that you’re feeling nervous was an understatement. This moment had been months in the making and it was finally here.

Sure Rhett always texted you good morning, sent you letters, gifts on your birthday, and wasn’t seeing other girls but neither of you had taken the step to make things official. You never planned on falling for Bob’s brother right before a 6 month deployment and surely you didn’t expect him to wait on you but things seemed to be working in your favor. Your hands shake as you pull your bag from the carousel and head towards the front door to meet Rhett and even though you’ve imagined this moment a million times over the past few months, nothing could prepare you for how you felt now. He was standing with a bouquet of flowers on one hand and smiled as soon as he saw you.

Your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest as you let go of your bag and jump into his open arms. His head resting on yours as you bury your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of pines and leather that you’d missed so much. Loving never came easy for you but here in Rhett’s embrace, you couldn’t help but want to scream those 3 words. While pulling away, you think of kissing him but are interrupted by him handing you the flowers. Daisies, your favorite.

“I um, got these for ya.” He says with that crooked smile you love so much. His ears have a tinge of pink as you give him a peck on the cheek and thank him. You both sneak glances at each other on the ride home while making small talk and he finally grabs your hand after you set it on the console. When he drives into the town you’ve heard so much about over the past couple of months you feel the need to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.

You take a deep breath as you follow him up the steps to his small apartment. The walls are wooden, various rodeo posters are hanging on the wall, and on the nightstand you spot a picture of you both that Bob took the night you met. The same picture that was your phone lockscreen now. He sets your bag by the bed and you finally meet his beautiful blue eyes but you can’t seem to say a damn word as he takes a step closer to you and his hand grabs the back of your neck.

“Been wantin’ to do this for a while,” he whispers, finally closing the distance between you. Your fingers play with his hair as he kisses you softly and you can’t help the moan that escapes you when he tugs at your hair. Months of daydreaming and crappy phone sex all leading to this. His calloused hands make their way to the back of your thighs and you press closer to him as he lifts you up into his arms and pins you up against the wall.

Your fingers crumple his shirt as he kisses you roughly and passionately now. To feel him hard against you had you nearly begging him to rip your clothes off. He moves on from your lips and down to your neck, leaving sloppy kisses on it. “God, you taste so sweet darlin’. Where’ve you been my whole life?” He mutters against your ear making shivers run through your body.

Your fingers undo the buttons on his shirt and he presses you even harder against the wall as he rips it off, the last few buttons scattering on the floor. Rhett pulls off your shirt and his hands are instantly pulling down the cups of your bra. You blush at his stare but can’t even think about it too much because his mouth is quickly sucking on your swollen bud. “Fuck Rhett, I need you,” you moan as he nibbles on your nipple. He leaves your nipple and captures you back into a heated kiss while making his way to the bed, carefully setting you on to it and climbing on top of you.

But as your hands make your way to undo his belt, you’re interrupted by a knock on the door. “Who the fuck?” he grunts against your neck and you chuckle at his exasperation. “Here baby,” he says as he passes you your shirt and pulls his back on, not bothering to try and button it up.

“Bob? I thought you weren’t in ‘til ‘morrow?” Rhett asked Bob who was the one that’d been knocking. You mentally cursed yourself for forgetting to tell Rhett that Bob was supposed to come today and you’d mixed up the dates. “Y/N didn’t tell ya? She got the days mixed up.” He replied, making his way inside and waving at you. “Oh shit, I’m interrupting something, aren’t I?” Bob knew the messy hair and swollen lips were indicative of your previous activities with Rhett and wanted to kick himself for not texting before coming. “No shit.” If looks could kill, Bob would certainly be dead thanks to Rhett’s stare.

“Okay okay, my bad, I’ll see y’all at moms for dinner.” Bob said, raising his hands in defense and scurrying out the door before anything else was said. “Now, where were we?” Said Rhett, making his way back to you but was interrupted by the door once again.

“What now?” he asked Bob, annoyed at the continuous interruptions. “Sorry, my truck won’t start. Can I borrow yours? I’ll come fetch y’all later.” Bob said hurriedly, his hands were in his pockets and his eyes looked at the floor like it might just swallow him. “Here.” Rhett said, handing him the keys and shutting the door before Bob could interrupt anything else.

“Come here, baby” You said, sitting up on the bed and pulling him down to you as he reached the bed. He was quickly back on top of you, discarding yours and his shirts. Rhett moved his hand behind you, undoing your bra with ease and throwing it to the floor and in turn you pull off his undershirt, trailing your hands through his chiseled abs. At the action, he pressed his hard cock against your clothed cunt and you rolled your hips forward, moaning at the friction.

Rhett’s lips crash again onto yours and you lift your ass as he pulls off your jeans trying not to break the kiss. “My favorite color,” he muttered as his eyes flicked down to the lacy red thong you’d picked out earlier in the week. “Just for you,” you mumbled into his neck, as he tore the piece of underwear off you and stuffed it into his jeans pocket.

His hips rolled against your bare cunt, making you arch your back while he grinned. You tried reaching for his belt but he was quick to swat you off. “Not yet,” he said, trailing kisses down your chest and only stopping once he reached your thighs. His blue eyes burning into yours as he kissed the inside of your thigh then used his fingers to spread your folds open. He didn’t break eye contact as he began to suck on your clit and your hands instinctively reached down to tug on his hair.

You whine as he pushes his index finger in and out of your cunt. “So wet for me,” he whispers against you, and you try to respond but the words die on your lips as he pushes another finger inside you. Your legs squeeze against his head and Rhett lets out groan against you, sending shivers down your spine. Pleasure washing over you as he increases his speed and soon you’re gripping his sheets, moaning loudly as you reach your high. “That’s it, cum for me honey,” he commands as his fingers work you through your high and you’re pushing him away shakily.

He moves back up and pulls you in for a kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. This time he lets you pull off his belt along with jeans and underwear. The feeling of his cock against your cunt makes you arch your back and Rhett takes the opportunity to press open mouthed kisses on your neck. You feel him line up against your entrance and slowly he sinks his cock into you until he bottoms out.

“Goddamn, you’re so tight honey,” He moans as he begins to push in and out of you, slowly letting you adjust to his length. Your place your hands on his shoulders and he lifts your leg slightly, allowing him to sink deeper into you. “Fuck Rhett,” you moan as he picks up the pace and the head of his cock continuously hits your g-spot. “Feel good?” He asked in between breaths but you couldn’t even reply because he thrusted harder into you.

He could feel you clenching around him as you scratched his back. His fingers played with your clit and you both moaned in unison as his thrusts started to become sloppier. His other hand gripping your waist tightly. “That’s it darlin’” He cooed as you arched your back and your legs began to shake. “That’s it,” he continued, fucking you through your orgasm. His grip on you tightened and you could feel his cock twitch as he spilled inside you.

Rhett leaned in and placed a kiss on your cheek, both of you breathing heavily. “Was it better than you imagined?” you asked, your eyes still closed. “Ask me again, after I fuck you tonight.” He responded, pulling out of you slowly, you could feel his cum pouring out of you and onto the sheets. “Be right back,” He said as he disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a damp towel. He was careful as he cleaned you up then helped you into one of his shirts, finishing by pressing a kiss against your temple.

You watched him slide on his underwear and felt your heart squeeze as you realized how much you didn’t want this week to end. The offer he made you of moving with you to California until your contract was over, now had an easy answer. “I’m so glad Bob dragged me to that Christmas party,” you told him, laying your head on his chest as he rubbed circles on your back. “Yeah?” He kissed your head, pulling you closer. “Mhm, and um, yes.” You replied, smiling against him.

“Yes what?” He asked, pulling back to look down at you. “I want you to come with me to California.” “Wait, really?” His eyes lit up at your statement and he pulled you in for a hug as you nodded. “I’m so glad you let Bob’s aggravating ass drag you to that Christmas party, baby.” You smiled, for once letting love be easy.

#top gun fandom #top gun maverick #bob floyd #rhett abbott #rhett abbot x reader #rhett abbot smut #outer range

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anniesocsandgeneralstore · 1 year ago

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here to stay | rhett abbott x oc

Summary: one not being too focused on carving their own pumpkin because they're too worried about the other getting hurt while carving theirs (wc: 697)

Requested: YES by anon

Warnings: knife and blood mention, protective rhett, background ocs, fluff to the max with these two

✎……MAIN MASTERLIST || FALLTOBER MASTERLIST

“Jace, bud, y’r gonna cut y’rself if ya hold it like that,” Tessa warned as she reached across the table and adjusted Jace’s grip on the knife.

Rhett, on the other side of the table, just stared at Tessa’s other hand still holding her pumpkin on its side. Sharp knife stuck in what was maybe supposed to be an eye-hole, only about a centimeter away from her skin. It didn’t help that she took what felt like a butcher’s knife from the block, a knife straight out of one of those scary movies Colton made them all watch, opting to give all the boys their smaller knives for carving. Rhett hadn’t even started carving his own pumpkin. How could he, when Tessa felt determined to give him a heart attack with just how careless she was being?

She was focused on the boys, he knew that. Making sure they stayed safe and were having fun. But she just —

Rhett flinched and hissed as she just barely missed her fingers finishing out her triangular eye-hole. Poking it out into the hollow inside. When she was done, she looked up at him with a quirked brow and a shrug of her shoulders that said what?

“Just uh…” Rhett glanced around at the boys surrounding the table, none of them were paying that much attention save for Levi, who seemed to pay attention to everything that happened inside those walls. “Y’re makin’ me nervous.”

“How’m I makin’ you nervous?” she laughed, looking back down at her pumpkin and starting her work on the mouth.

Barely even looking at where she was going because she was too preoccupied with what Wyatt was doing right next to her.

Rhett picked up his knife and pretended like he was carving. “By doin’ that. Not payin’ attention.”

“M’payin’ attention,” she assured.

Even as she paused carving her classic jagged mouth, knife still lodged in her gord, and leaned forward across the table towards Jace again. The sharp blade coming closer and closer to her cable-knit sweater and her prescious flesh. Rhett grimaced as he watched for a moment. Then when she didn’t pull back and instead leaned even closer towards Jace and towards the sharp knife, Rhett reached out and slid her pumpkin away from her. Feeling like his heart was about to beat out of his chest and a slight tingle in his fingers — the same feeling he would get after a bull stamped just a little too close to his head.

“No, y’re not,” he chuckled tensly, pulling out the knife and setting it down slowly.

Tessa stole back her pumpkin with a playful glare. “M’fine!”

Not a minute later, her knife clattered to the table and she gasped. Rhett looked up from where Jace was showing him the lopsided grin he had managed to carve, only to see Tessa holding her index finger with a frown. His heart sank. She was hurt — just like he feared she would be.

“Aw, hell,” Rhett sighed as he rounded the table.

When he reached her, Tessa looked up at him like she had just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. But he just shook his head as he took her by the hand and led her out of the dining room.

“Tha’s a quarter in the swear jar!” Wyatt shouted.

“We’ll be righ’back! Don’stab each other!” Rhett called as they left the room.

It wasn’t a large cut, and wouldn't even need stitches. But there was a crimson trail running down into her palm by the time they got into the bathroom and she was running the cut under some hot water. Rhett got down the box of bandaids from the closet.

“I shoulda paid more attention,” she muttered as she turned off the water, patting the clean cut dry.

“Probably,” he replied with that little grin, clearing the packaging off the bandage.

He covered her cut with a delicate hand, and when he was done, he brought her finger up to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss.

“All better,” he mumbled.

And she smiled. “Maybe we can finish carvin’ after the boys go t’bed?”

“Yeah. I like that.”

i no longer have a taglist, please follow @anniesocsandlibrary and turn on notifications for updates

#oc: tessa abernathy #fic: here to stay #fd: outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott fanfic #rhett abbott fic #outer range #outer range imagine #outer range fic #ocapp #rhett abbott x tessa abernathy #lewis pullman #falltober23

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twistedboxy · 1 year ago

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For Robyn as part of this year's mythical secret santa @mythicalsecretsanta . I present

Class Magic

From the blog @dailyau the AU was "We're teachers at the same school and our students are convinced we're pining for each other (we are) AU

Monday

"Hey Mr. M, sorry I'm late." A young voice said.

Rhett looked up from his desk to see his student holding an ice pack to their head. "Hi Tommy, no worries. What happened?"

A third voice spoke up. "Sorry, there was a bit of an incident during gym class. The nurse said he was okay but I wanted to make sure he made it okay."

"I'll make sure to keep an eye on him, Mr. Neal."

"Thanks."

Tuesday

"Hey, we're recess duty pals today." Rhett said.

"We are. It's pretty nice today before break. What are your holiday plans?" Link replied.

"I go to my parents house where I also see my brother and his family."

"That's nice. My parents aren't together anymore so I visit both their houses."

“Oh so you kinda get two Christmases in one.”

Link laughed, “I guess so, it's been like this for so long I never thought of it that way.”

“Incoming!” A childish voice screamed out. A ball came flying towards the two, it hit Link in the shoulder causing him to stumble into Rhett who caught him.

“You okay?” Rhett asked as he helped Link get his balance.

“Yea, I'm good. Surprised me, that's all.”

Wednesday

“Welcome class, I decided today was a free day since the book fair is here this week.”

“Yay!” Multiple cheers from all around.

“Mr. Neal, can we go to the book fair?” A student asked.

“Let me check, but I think we can manage that.” A few minutes later, he came back.

“Alright, we're all set. Who's coming along?”

At the book fair

“Mr. M, check out this book on dinosaurs!”

“That looks like a good one. Are you going to get it, Billy?”

“Yea!” Billy runs off.

“Hey Rhett, looks like your class is having fun.” Link quipped.

“Hey Link, I see you brought your class too.” Rhett said.

Link laughed, “Yea they pretty much begged me to come. I think some of them wanted to visit again.”

The two watched both their classes run around the fair and admire their purchases. Rhett leaned down to tie his shoe, Link noticed something stuck to this back.

“Rhett, there's something on your back, you want me to grab it?” Link asked.

“Sure, thanks.”

“Let's see what this is.” He unfolds the paper reading aloud “I'm stuck on you. From your secret admirer.”

“You have a secret admirer! What a clever way to sneak a note.” The two laughed.

Thursday

Rhett thought he picked a great sweater for Ugly Sweater day. It was a kitten popping out of a present shooting lasers out of its eyes.

“Nice sweater, Mr. M! Did you plan yours with Mr. Neal?” Someone questioned.

“No, why?” He said.

A girl spoke up “He's wearing the same sweater.”

“We have good taste then.”

Friday

Link's day didn't start out great. It was raining and he ended up stepping on gum. The day continued dully. During his lunch break, he decided to work on some grading. He flipped open his gradebook and a boot shaped card slipped out.

“Huh what's this?” The gradebook was put aside for the moment while he inspected the card. Inside the card it read,

“Just like gum on a shoe, I'm stuck on you. There's a matching card afoot, go and find it. From your secret admirer. P.S. Will you be my date for tonight?”

Link felt his heart skip a beat from the notion of someone liking him romantically. His lunch break was almost up and he had class soon but the note instantly made his day much better.

Meanwhile Rhett walked into his classroom to find a similar boot shaped card taped to the chalkboard. “Alright, who put this here?” He asked.

“Mr.M, it was already here when we came in.” One of his students replied.

Another spoke up, “Are you going to read it?”

“Not right now, after class. Let's get started.”

It was towards the end of the day when Rhett got to read his note. His note read “I like your boots. Can you find my partner? From your secret admirer. P.S. Will you be my date tonight?”

Rhett chuckled to himself, someone noticed his boots.

The school was pretty empty as he searched around for his card's partner. He rounded a corner not paying attention bumping into someone.

“Rhett?”

“Hm, oh Link sorry about that. My mind is elsewhere.” Rhett apologized.

“Same here, what's that in your hand?”

“I got this card earlier today. I'm supposed to find its partner.”

Link held out his hand with the matching card.

"I think we were set up." Rhett laughed.

“They're not wrong, I do like you a lot.”

“Same here. What do you say, would you like to be my date for tonight?”

“I'd love to. See you tonight. They're going to get a kick out of this.”

“See you tonight.” The two parted ways until later.

At the dance

“Do you think all the stuff that happened this week was coincidence or was it the grade's elaborate plan to get us together?” Link asked.

“We were definitely part of their plan.” Rhett replied.

“Like I said earlier, I do like you a lot. I'd definitely like to spend more time with you. So what do you say, would you like to go out again sometime again?"

"I'd love to."

Various students nearby started cheering.

"I guess that proves it."

#rhink fic #rhink #twistedboxy writes #mythical secret santa 2023

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ironcladrhett · 1 year ago

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(The War Between Brothers)

“And?! We were kids once, little brother. Nobody fuckin’ treated us with kindness, and we’re just fuckin’ humans. Not hurtin’ anyone that wasn’t ready to hurt us first.” He stepped close to Emilio now, getting in his face and jabbing his shoulder roughly with a finger. “You’re askin’ me to leave a monster alone. A beast that’ll only spread its malice out into the world, on unsuspectin’ folk what can’t even defend themselves. I don’t give a flyin’ fuck how old it is, you hear me?” He snarled through gritted teeth.

(Starry-eyed)

“What good will that do ya?” he asked, pacing in the darkness, eyes glinting malevolently with a grin the mare could not see. “Calm down… the lights ain’t gonna kill ya. Probably. Well, that’s what we’re here tah’find out, anyway.” Still he paced, heart beating at an elevated rate, the delight writhing its way up his spine. Nothin’ felt better than watchin’ them fuckers suffer. Nothin’. “My, ain’t you pretty in the light…” he commented in a voice that sounded both saccharine and venomous at the same time.

(Good Omens)

“It wasn’t fair what he did. But he didn’t give you a choice. He wouldn’t have given you a choice either way, don’t you see that? It was always him or mom.” Ophelia stepped closer again, and Rhett flinched. “He was ruthless. Brutal. He tried to put it away for you, but he couldn’t. And he made you… just like him, didn’t he? When he died, you felt like you had to pick up his mantle?” “Stop,” Rhett muttered, shifting his weight again and hissing in pain, slumping back against the tree as he’d been when they arrived. Ophelia moved closer, and he remained still. “No, I won’t stop,” his daughter promised with tears in her eyes, her arm raising as a hand reached for him. “S-stop, I don’t want—I can’t—” The girl’s hand found his shoulder and he had nowhere to go, helpless against her will as she circled her arms around his torso. He wanted to crawl out of his skin, the insect buzz and scratch of being this close to a fae almost overwhelming him, but there was no escape, so he tried to push it down. Bury it like he’d buried his brother. Bury it like he had the truth of his moralities all this time, overlaid by Desmond’s own. Just as he’d been adopted by that hunter community, so too had he adopted his brother’s code. He loved him fiercely, but Ophelia was right.

(The Burden)

“Fuck’s sake,” Rhett snarled, shaking his head at the poor bastard of a ranger with fresh holes in his head. He turned on Emilio, jabbing an accusatory finger against his chest. “This is why ya don’t watch ‘em to see if they’re up to no good, little brother. This is why ya don’t spare ‘em. Ya fuckin’ kill ‘em when I god damn tell you to.” With an angry huff, he picked the sword back up and slipped it into its scabbard, then looked at Owen. “Forgive the idjit. He’s been havin’ a morality crisis fer a couple years now.” Maybe this would take care of that, he thought. Rather, he hoped.

(Do It For Me)

Rhett hated being helped. He hated relying on other people. He was better than that, stronger than that. He was old as hell for a hunter, particularly with one so red a ledger as his own. He was a survivor, and he’d not gotten through it by cowering in fear, by hiding behind others. He hated it, but he was resigned to it for as long as Emilio felt was necessary. And what could he do? Abandon the only family he had left? He needed to, he knew that. He needed to get the fuck away from all of them as soon as possible, to keep his mistakes from bleeding into their lives too. But… he couldn’t. Physically, he couldn’t. He didn’t feel trapped, he was trapped.

#. musing ;#sibling death tw

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the-lil-exorcist · 1 year ago

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Emilio ||Poetry Weaving

"Maybe the people he cared about only died because he cared about them. Maybe it was some divine intervention, some Godly punishment for trying to be something he was never meant to be. If he were better at this, if he were the weapon his mother tried to forge him into instead of the man she couldn’t even pretend to like, maybe none of this would be happening at all. Emilio knew nothing about math, but he was a good enough detective to recognize the common thread between Victor, Etla, and Teddy. The line drawn between the bloody path of corpses was made of his own body, of his stupid, ever-beating heart. Everyone around him died, and he stayed standing. Where was the justice in that?

He pulled his hand back, put it under the table as if forcing distance now would do anything to stop what was already in motion."

From The Simplest of Words

"She was putting it in his hands, and part of him wanted to hand it back. part of him wanted to beg not to be the one to make this decision that wasn’t much of a decision at all. Part of him didn’t trust himself with it. given a choice between saving his own life or forfeiting it, Emilio would almost always choose the latter, because why wouldn’t he? what was left to live for? There was a little girl, and she was his. there was a little girl, and the slope of her nose looked the same on her face as it did on the one in the mirror. She laughed sometimes, she cried occasionally. She woke him up at three in the morning because she was so much like him that she didn’t sleep, either. She used to fit in the crook of his elbow. Her dark hair used to tickle his face when he held her against his shoulder and hummed her to sleep.

There was a little girl, and she was gone, but she was here. there was a little girl, and she was gone, but she was everywhere."

From The one I left behind

(Flora had loved dogs. she’d begged for one. Emilio told himself that when they were on their own, he’d do that for her. As if getting a kid a puppy would make up for the fact that he’d taken her away from everything she knew, taken her away from her mother. There was never going to be a happy ending there, but him and Flora in a shitty apartment with a dog would have been better than this, even if she would have hated him.) From Empty from the Start

"But what chance did Ophelia have without him? if he let her walk away here and she kept at this the way she said she was going to, with that same stubbornness he’d seen in her father for decades now, how long would she last? rhett would manipulate and use her and then toss her aside, and that was the best case scenario. wasn’t it? Emilio closed his eyes. A quick flash of Rhett holding Flora sparked behind the lids, the look on his brother’s face as he’d stared down at her tiny hand wrapped around his finger. he’d loved Emilio’s daughter once, hadn’t he? enough to bury her. couldn’t that still be worth something?"

From Chip off the Block

"It was him or her, and it’s always going to be her. The words rang in Emilio’s head, bounced around between his ears like a physical thing. Didn’t he understand that, better than anything? Hadn’t he spent every year of his daughter’s too-short life choosing her over everyone, too? Over his mother, over his wife, over his siblings and his nephew. And he wondered, sometimes, what kind of man that made him. He wondered if it was a forgivable thing, to love someone so much that everyone and everything else fell by the wayside. If he’d been in Andy’s shoes and if Flora had been in Alex’s, he would have killed that ranger a thousand times over. He would have burned the goddamn world to the ground without a moment of hesitation. When did love become a bad thing, he wondered? When did it shift someone from the hero of a story to something else? Was it the moment that knife slipped between the ribs, or the moment it didn’t?"

From No Mourners

" Emilio stood behind Wynne as they turned to the crowd, eyes burning with the heat of his glare. His eyes met Padrig’s, and he tilted his chin up slightly, expression just as unashamed as Padrig’s had been as he’d talked about murdering children at this altar. He glanced to Wynne’s mother, angry at the desperation in her features, at the way she would defend this, even now. She’d lost both her children to this altar, in one way or another. How could she possibly want to protect it now? He thought of Flora, of how he would have burned the entire fucking world to the ground to keep her safe, of how he’d do the same to avenge her now. Neither he nor Wynne’s parents had successfully protected their children, but at least Emilio would do something about it. At least he was spending the rest of his life trying to make up for his failure rather than fighting for it to be repeated."

From the Final Sacrifice

Writing Partners for @mortemoppetere @eldritchaccident @vanishingreyes @ironcladrhett (Ophelia) @declinlalune @ohwynne @kadavernagh @the-lil-exorcist

Pinterest (x)

#child death tw #sibling death tw #Suicidal ideation tw #just incase on that one.#as a thank u 2 bex for all the fun funky things you made #also because my brain? refuses to stop poetry weaving #a threat

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mortemoppetere · 2 years ago

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TIMING: current SUMMARY: while out doing a little pest control, emilio makes a friend. CONTENT: implications of past animal cruelty

The explosion of dust that came with driving a stake into an unbeating heart was less and less satisfying each time he did it. Once upon a time, he’d gotten something from it. Exhilaration, in the early days, when every beat of his own heart still felt strange, when he was still grappling with the fact that he was alive, he was breathing. In the immediate aftermath of the thing that should have killed you, before the weight of it kicked in, there was a strange sense of thrill to everything. Cheating death was exciting up until the exact moment where it wasn’t, and Emilio had passed it some time ago. Exhilaration had faded to dull satisfaction which had then faded into the endless sea of nothing he felt now.

He watched that explosion of dust the same way someone might watch a drop of rain skirting down a window, the same way you’d watch paint dry. He didn’t get anything out of it anymore; it was just there. It just happened. Most things in life were like that.

The dust settled, a disorganized pile on the floor that blew around as the heater kicked on. Before the massacre, Emilio never would have gone after a vampire in their own home. It wasn’t a sense of respect that prevented any break-ins but rather a sense of self-preservation. Fighting a vampire on its own turf was always riskier. Fighting it in its own home, where it might have contingencies in place that you couldn’t account for, was a stupidly needless thing when you could just catch it out and about. It was an unnecessary hazard, because every vampire would leave their home eventually. Every vampire would be vulnerable sooner or later. Anyone with any kind of self preservation waited for that moment.

But Emilio’s self-preservation died years ago, in a house that should have been safe, surrounded by people who were meant to be protected. He’d left it to rot on the floorboards, left it to seep into the earth. There was nothing left of it now.

He sighed, shifting his weight off his bad leg and telling himself this was a successful hunt. He pushed away the bitter taste of disappointment on his tongue that always followed ‘successful hunts,’ the one that wished for something he wouldn’t say aloud. (It wouldn’t matter if he did say it aloud; he had no one to say it to. He’d made sure of that when he left Rhett behind. He’d made sure of that when he’d driven a blade into Lucio’s gut. He’d made sure.)

Digging into his pocket, he fetched his cigarettes and lit one, closing his eyes and letting the smoke settle into his lungs. Smoking let him give a name to the ache in his chest, even if it was the wrong one. It felt a little better, that way.

Something moved in the corner, and Emilio’s eyes snapped open, hand gripping a stake before he realized he’d retrieved it from his jacket pocket. There were no vampires left here — his senses made sure he knew that much — but there was something coming into the room, anyway. Slow, uncertain. Scared. Emilio was so tense that he was trembling, an ant standing under the shadow of a boot and waiting for it to drop. Did the vampire have a companion he didn’t know about? It wasn’t unheard of for them to shack up with other supernatural creatures, even the lethal, heartless ones like the pile of dust on the floor. Could be a fae of some kind, or a shifter. Or —

It hobbled into the room on three legs, so small he almost didn’t see it at first. Black fur, pointed ears, a wary gaze. It approached him with caution, the growl rumbling in the back of its throat hard to take seriously thanks to the tremble it was doing a bad job of suppressing.

Slowly, deliberately, Emilio slipped the stake back into his jacket. He kneeled down — something his knee protested loudly, creaking and shooting a sharp stab of pain in all directions, rippling throughout his entire goddamn body — and held out a hand. The dog moved forward slowly, eyeing him like it was just waiting for him to lash out. It was afraid, he realized. Given who it belonged to, it probably had good reason to be.

The dog sniffed his hand once, still growling. He moved forward and it snapped, so fast that Emilio barely pulled back in time. It was skin and bones, just fur hanging off a frame so tiny it looked like the dog was in just as much danger of turning to dust as its former owner had been when Emilio shoved that stake into his chest. Missing pieces of itself, terrified of anything that might come close enough to hurt it, and snapping at any sudden move.

Maybe Emilio could relate.

He wasn’t even sure it was a deliberate thing, scooping up that tiny bundle of rage and fear, but it was in his arms before he had time to blink, the growls vibrating up his shoulder and the desperation clear as it wriggled in his grip. “Hey, hey,” he shushed it gently, giving the pile of dust a quick kick as he limped towards the door. “Estás bien. It’s okay. Todo está bien, no voy a hacerte daño.” Growls were replaced by whimpers as the dog seemed to realize it was stuck, and Emilio quickly exited the house. Feeling the dog tremble against him, he weighed the pros and cons of coming back later to burn the place down. He thought the pros category was likely going to come out on top.

An hour and a half later, he was sitting on the floor of his apartment scooping kibble into a bowl. The girl at the pet store had been nice enough not to say anything when she’d noticed he’d brought the dog with him unleashed into the shop, tucked into his jacket and still mad at the world. She’d talked him through what he might need, and Emilio had pretended to be a person throughout, had nodded along and forced himself to listen, had come home with a bag full of shit that cost him more than he’d spent on the damn furniture in his apartment. A bag of food she told him would help the dog gain weight back. A bed that was softer than the bare mattress he had laying on the floor of the bedroom. A harness and leash. A tag with his address and phone number. A little green ball, a few toys with squeakers that would only get annoying if the damn dog ever stopped shaking long enough to do anything with them. Some treats that the pet store girl had sworn the dog would love. Even a goddamn bandanna that was around the dog’s neck, red plaid made of soft fabric.

He wasn’t sure the dog gave a shit about any of it. He (because it was a he) had disappeared under the couch the moment Emilio set him on the floor, the occasional growl the only thing letting the hunter know the dog was there at all. The sound of the kibble hitting the plastic bowl echoed throughout the mostly empty apartment, and it took some effort for Emilio to get himself to his feet and into the kitchen to fill a second bowl with water. He set it near the first, settling back into the floor and just… staring, for a moment. Staring at the bowls, at the bed, at the bag of food with the picture of a dog that looked remarkably similar to the one cowering under his couch, albeit with one more leg. It all felt heavier than it ought to.

(Flora had loved dogs. She’d begged for one. Emilio told himself that when they were on their own, he’d do that for her. As if getting a kid a puppy would make up for the fact that he’d taken her away from everything she knew, taken her away from her mother. There was never going to be a happy ending there, but him and Flora in a shitty apartment with a dog would have been better than this, even if she would have hated him.)

He came back to himself without realizing he’d left at all, zoning back into the room around him as something moved in the corner of his vision. The light coming in through the window had changed enough to tell him that time had passed, and his eyes darted towards that movement. Somehow, it was both surprising and obvious to find the dog had come out from under the couch. The food bowl was empty now, the water dry, and the dog was staring at him. He wasn’t growling anymore. Emilio stared back.

After a moment, the dog moved forward. He pushed his nose against Emilio’s hand, sniffing it. Then, never taking his eyes off the hunter’s face, the dog stuck out his tongue and delivered a firm lick against the back of Emilio’s hand before retreating back under the couch, moving unevenly on his three legs.

Emilio stared after him for a moment, his throat tight. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely, “okay. You’re welcome.”

His chest still ached, but at least he’d have a reason to wake up in the morning. After all, he’d have to take the dog to the grassy area behind his apartment building if he didn’t want it pissing on his damn floor.

#empty from the start #self para #animal cruelty tw #wickedswriting #s1 writing #season 1

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serendipitous-mythicality · 1 year ago

Text

With ever-lasting madness Gazing through empty, flashing eyes Golden wheat sounds fill my head Over something seldom sung Wandering with broken feet Over hills in distant sands While white birds battle black In thunder-strewn winds Drunken mercies shattered, From screams, escape desperate times Still, outlawed hope beats with heavy wings Amongst tombstone-blackened minds Winding maze concealed With parting drifting seas Finds poets’ dying whispers Over abandoned love’s remains Buried deep without compassion Crazed within the storm Lost without redemption Will it all be mourned?

Years ago, I used to write poetry. I keep meaning to pick the habit back up. It's been somewhere shy of twenty years now since it was a regular habit. Couldn't even begin to guess at how long it's been since I've written anything. The first one on this post was completely outside anything I'd ever done. I was inspired by Paul McCartney of all people. This was when I was really researching The Beatles. I used to come home from school (high school and college) and listen to music, write, and play solitaire. All day long, I'd fill notebooks full of my favourite lyrics and write story ideas, poetry, etcetera. Been going through various past writings of mine looking for loose papers I wrote in regards to the novel that has been in my head for most of my life. It's funny that I thought I had majorly changed the plot as I finally sit down to write it instead of only researching mythological lore. Instead, I'm finding scraps from many, many years ago with these same plotlines in them. It's been with me for a long time. I'm been finding various things as I go. Such as: Butterfly playing skip rope with the dog's tale A wrinkly hound With a long nose of butterscotch And: A day without days is like a moment without moments. Broken wings flutter sobbing on the wind while lopsided suns salute frivolously from a grey-bent sky. All the while, tears well within the dusty cracks of civilization proving to be too much for the sinner to hold fast in trembling hands. You can't escape them and the moments become moments as the grains of sand join the tears. Sighs lament over lost words and broken hearts as brooding trees echo the wind's rage over being left to face the truth. Really not sure WTF was going on in my head as I wrote some of this stuff. The first line makes no sense.

Then there's this:

THE BLACK ROSE

Faded yet vibrant Its beauty cuts like a knife A haunted, forlorn quality Its darkness shimmering Like the water's reflection Reflecting nothing Its thorns hold a sacred price Forsaken life A single cut rose - in black Mistaken Wild darkness A commitment made unaware Beware

I was certainly moody back in the early 2000s on. It's an interesting time capsule. Really got going on haikus and their 5-7-5 form for a while there too. Should pick that habit back up as it's a simpler way to be creative throughout the day.

The only writing I've done since is Rhett and Link fan fiction. Was reading some of it today (a couple of years old now) and was tempted to tinker around and fix them up better. Still have a chapter to go on the one. However, this is how I always lose track of my novel. Not pausing it. Need to get a good schedule going.

#Poetry #Writing

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totallyrhettro · 7 years ago

Text

Another Me, Chapter 7

Word Count: 2114 Rating: PG-13 Warnings: None Summary: This time, Rhett was really going to do it. He had tried maybe a thousand times over the past thirty-odd years to tell Link how he really felt, but this time he was finally going to actually succeed. At least, that was the plan, but when another version of the six-foot seven bearded internetainer appears out of nowhere during their weekend getaway, Rhett’s carefully laid plans are quickly pushed aside. Notes: AU, Present day, Rhett and Link aren’t married

Also available on ao3!

First Chapter Previous Chapter

Rhett started to feel like he was going on vacation with a twin brother he never knew. One that was more excited about this vacation than he was. It’s not that Rhett wanted to be the sour grape in this bunch but he was having a hard time getting into the sight-seeing mood. Every time he turned around Link and the other Rhett were laughing about some other story shared or joke told, or patting one another in some friendly way. He continued to tell himself it was just in his mind, that if he was alone with Link it wouldn’t be much different, but he knew something the other Link didn’t. He knew how the new Rhett felt about him.

“I can’t believe you got Jimmy Fallon to eat edible underwear,” his doppelganger was commenting, as they walked up to the fallen gates of Old Sarum. His words turned a few curious heads. Link giggled at the memory, recalling it fondly.

“I can’t believe Rhett thought they tasted good,” Link replied, motioning to his lifelong friend.

“They were good,” Rhett admitted, slightly embarrassed. “They just tasted like fruit roll ups.”

“Underwear are not made to be food, man.”

“The edible kind are,” the Rhett duplicate agreed, pursing his lips.

“You guys are crazy.”

The three men walked up the gentle slopes to the main ruins with both Rhetts flanking Link. In the center of a field was a strangely-shaped hill with a low ditch surrounded it, once used for a moat but now devoid of water and lined with thick grass. A modern day bridge took the trio over to the actual ruins which began with twin gate houses, or what was left of them. Every wall that once stood in the ancient settlement had been aged by time, some worse than others. Many were semi intact; the handcrafted bricks that once covered a mortar and flint core were all but gone on most of them, leaving a perforated stone look behind. Others were all but gone save but what appeared to be stone paths in the soft dirt.

Unlike Stonehenge, less than ten miles North of it, Old Sarum wasn’t bustling with huge crowds. Instead a few people here and there wandered about the ruins as Link and the two Rhetts made their way inside. It was also a much bigger space than Stonehenge, the structures spread out instead of mostly all in one place, leaving a lot of room to walk about. Plus, other than climbing on the walls being prohibited, the rules were a bit more lax on how close to get to the ruins. Not that Link or either of the Rhetts were keen on doing that any time soon, given what happened at the last site.

“We should get a map,” Rhett noted, looking around, unsure where to begin their self-guided tour of the ancient settlement.

“We should get some b-roll while we’re here, too,” Link suggested, stopping to adjust his camera bag. “I’ll try not to get both of you in the frame at the same time.” Looking up he fixed his glasses as his eyes darted between the two Rhetts before him. “Too bad you guys didn’t wear the same clothes today.”

“We can always say we visited this site twice,” the doppelganger offered. “Or maybe season three should be about the return of Link’s hallucinations come to life.” He smiled over at the original Rhett. “Or maybe I’m your long-lost twin.”

“I’m going to get a map,” Rhett told him, stepping away. He didn’t relish the idea of his alternate sticking around long enough to be in a GMM let along in the third season of Buddy System. The fact that this new Rhett was making plans for how he was going to fit into this universe was beyond unsettling. It was almost like he didn’t want to go back to his universe and while Rhett understood why, he wasn’t about to let this new guy take his place.

While Rhett was gone, his duplicate leaned against one of the more intact brick walls next to Link, watching him fuss with his camera bag and it’s numerous contents. The brunet was rather oblivious to the other man’s gaze, his green eyes looking Link up and down, slowly and deliberately. When he looked up the duplicate’s eyes snapped to Link’s haircut before looking away with a chuckle.

“Sorry to stare,” he apologized with a shrug. “I’m still not used to the new hairstyle.”

“Rhett had the same reaction,” Link remembered, taking out his camera. “I caught him staring a number of times. I think he liked the old style better.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” alternate Rhett told him, raising an eyebrow. ‘He probably thought you looked hot,’ his brain added, but that he kept to himself. “If he’s anything like me -and so far he is- he just wasn’t used to it. Personally, I love the new style; it suits you.”

“Yeah?” Link grinned crookedly, sparing a hand to run through his greying hair. Complements had always been his weakness. “Even with the grey?”

“It’s distinguished. I’m glad you stopped dying it.” Link couldn’t stop grinning, choosing to look down at his camera than at the Rhett staring so intently at him.

“You should tell your Link to stop dying his,” he proposed, fingers feeling a bit shakier.

“He wouldn’t listen. He’s a lot like you, Link, but I don’t think he’s exactly the same.” Another sneak peek all along Link’s form. How he had missed just looking at his Link in the other universe. He would give so much just to have him nearby, like this.

“How so?” Link wondered. The more time he spent with this version of Rhett the more he was convinced that the two Rhetts were identical. The way they looked, the way they moved, even the way their eyes sparkled with they laughed. Hanging out with this Rhett just felt so comfortable and familiar. How could this Rhett be so similar to his and yet the alternate Link be so different from himself?

“Just slight differences,” the duplicate began, holding out his finger and thumb very close to one another to demonstrate his point. “I don’t know. Nothing I can accurately describe. Subtle, it’s- it's subtle.”

“In a good way, I hope,” Link quipped, finally looking up.

“Not to put my Link down but I’m not sure he would have come with me to Stonehenge just because I had a random whim to shoot video one day.” Definitely not these days. “That’s pretty amazing, Link.” ‘You’re amazing,’ he amended in his head. “And he certainly wasn’t brave enough to get such a modern haircut,” ‘Just when I thought you couldn’t look any more gorgeous…’

“The grey makes me look old,” the other man lamented frowning again.

“I think the technical term is silver fox.” Rhett’s duplicate definitely thought the phrase was apt. A fitting description for Link but he seemed completely unaware what it was supposed to mean.

“A what?”

“Never mind,” the duplicate backpedaled, worried he had said too much. “I think you look good. Are you single in this universe? Because the ladies like a bit of grey.” In truth Link hadn’t even gone on a date in years, focusing on his work with Rhett, on his YouTube career. A few times he’d experimented with dating apps but either found them too confusing or none of the women they found for him worth his time. If he had to say, he’d say he was biding his time, waiting for the right woman to show up, but given the unlikely nature of that happening, it was a weak excuse.

“Rhett and I have been pretty busy lately,” he pointing out, hoping his reason would stick. Then, turning the tables on his new friend he asked “What about you? Or my other self? Anyone in your lives?”

“If Link has a girlfriend he hasn’t told me,” Rhett’s alternate quipped. “As for me I don’t have a lot of free time, actually. I’m not on a very clear cut schedule and I spend most of my days off resting up.” Sighing deeply he squinted as he looked off into the distance, the sun getting brighter as the clouds that had been previously covering it drifted away. After a moment he looked down at his shoes, kicking at the soft dirt. “Sort of the reason I’m here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nick didn’t bring me on a vacation just to ‘get away’,” the blond man admitted. “He wanted me to get over someone. Thought flying halfway across the world would help.”

“Dumped?” Link guessed. It was close to the truth.

“And hard, too,” the Rhett duplicate clarified.

“Well, hopefully this weird trip to another dimension has at least kept your mind off her,” Link hoped. “Until I brought it up. Sorry.” The duplicate smiled, reaching over to pat Link on the shoulder. Link didn’t mean any harm; there was no way anyone could begrudge him for making small talk. There was also no way this Rhett was going to correct the assumption that he’d been dumped by a woman.

“You didn’t know,” Rhett’s alternate observed, waving Link’s unneeded apology away. “I’m glad I’m here. It’s the closest thing to hanging out with my Link that I’ve had in… a long time. We both been too busy with our own lives to get together.”

“Next time you talk to me, over there,” Link began, gesturing wildly with his hands. “You tell me to get off my butt and come visit or somethin’.” The alternate smiled at that, though he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Link always had a way of cutting to the easiest solution, at least what he thought was the easiest.

“I’ll definitely try.” It was a lie, but Link wasn’t listening anymore.

“Dang this wind.” The change in subject was rather abrupt but the Rhett copy understood Link’s frustration. Maybe with the city walls up the wind would have been tolerable but with little to no protection it blew harder here than at Stonehenge. Both of their carefully sculpted hairdos were having a tough time with the intense breeze. Link’s fingers brushed through his hair and his annoyed expression melted with one of confusion. “I think I have a twig in there. I can’t get it out.”

“Here,” Rhett’s alternate offered, standing straight and heading over. “Let me see.” Link didn’t move as the taller man approached, but he wasn’t scared or nervous. It didn’t feel weird or out of place for this Rhett to help him with his hair. It felt like… like if his Rhett was here. It felt normal, it felt expected, but this Rhett’s touch was not the same. There was apprehension as his hand grew closer to Link’s head, as his fingers tentatively reached for the offending twig. For a brief moment Link second guessed letting his man, basically a stranger, touch his head. That moment past in an instant; the instant this Rhett’s fingers stopped moving.

Looking down at Link, the Rhett before him stared down into his eyes. His aqua-green eyes looking exactly like Link’s Rhett, but Rhett had never looked into his that way. Never had Rhett… except, wait… At the cathedral, when they had been so close and Rhett had his hands on his arms. That was the look- the same look that had made Link’s heart stop and his breath catch. The same eyes, the same look, and the same strange desire to-

“I got the map guys,” came Rhett’s voice around the corner. His duplicate didn’t miss a beat, finally taking hold of the twig in Link’s hair, pulling it out and flicking it to the ground. It was casual, as if he hadn’t just been looking into Link eyes… at his lips…

“It’s about time,” he joked, stepping over to take a peek. It took Link a bit longer to recompose himself. He coughed off his awkwardness and looked down at his camera.

“You guys, okay?” Rhett asked, not wanting to voice the real questions on his mind.

“The wind blew a twig into Link’s hair,” his duplicate replied, smooth as ice. “I was just getting it for him.” Rhett glanced at his friend for confirmation.

“Yeah,” he affirmed. “The wind’s brutal.” An uncomfortable silence fell over three, all of them felt it but none wanted to admit it. Finally Rhett shrugged it off. This was neither the time nor the place to discuss anything, but he resolved to speak with both of the men before him privately, and definitely not at the same time.

Next Chapter, coming soon!

More Fics

#rhett #link #rhink #fanfic #fanfiction #another me #the heart of all rhetts beats the same

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sebsxphia · 2 years ago

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bestie seb. i present to you my first thought dump for mr rhett abbott:

you were rhett’s first real relationship. he was so happy with you the first few weeks and then his feelings started to get bigger. he started to feel so many strong emotions and he realized he cared about you so much that it scared him, like a lot. so what did he do? the only logical thing in his brain. put on his stoic and cold exterior and breakup with you.

the part that hurt the most about the breakup for you was the rhett that ended things with you was not your rhett. your rhett spoke softly and his words flowed freely. the rhett that ended things with you talked to you with an icy demeanor and heavily calculated statements. yet here you are, six weeks after your breakup, your friends have finally dragged you out to the bar.

the same friends were on high alert because not long after y’all had made your entrance so did the man who broke your heart. they had been working tirelessly all night to keep him from crossing into your line of sight to preserve the happy mood you’ve finally settled into.

“i need to pee i’ll be right back.” they do a quick sweep to ensure rhett is not going to enter your peripherals on your trip to and from the bathroom and then say they’ll order you another drink in the meantime.

your self proclaimed bodyguards had clocked the way that rhett’s gaze rarely had left you since he came into the bar. the second he stepped in and his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit bar his eyes were like magnets drawn to you. yet he had kept his distance so they let their guard down with you gone in the bathroom, taking this time to just chat with each other without keeping their heads on a swivel. this, however, was their biggest mistake. rhett was very aware of the game of protector your friends were playing and when he saw them relax as you made your way down the hall to the bathrooms he knew this was his chance. he stood slowly, both out of caution of alerting your friends of his movement and as a response to the countless whiskeys he had consumed while watching you.

when rhett deemed he was in the clear, he did his best to quickly and swiftly follow the path you had taken.

you were just exiting the bathroom, having just spent the last five minutes crying because even though you were having a good time your heart was still aching and then trying to make it look like you hadn’t been crying, when rhett entered the hallway to the bathrooms and your gaze snapped up from the floor.

“hey sweet girl” rhett softly spoke with a tell tale slurring together of his words. he was drunk. but your heart fluttered after he spoke. his soft tone, it was your rhett, again. but you’ve listened to too many hours of breakup playlists to give in at just that, you couldn’t give him any special attention, it was your turn to turn cold, so you put on the best act you could.

“rhett.” that was all you could get out without giving yourself away. you spoke his name in a tone dripping in disinterest but your throat was hoarse from the sobs you just let out so there was your telltale, the gravel that shows up in your voice when you’ve been crying.

he noticed it. when he heard it, he took in your appearance carefully, your eyes were slightly puffy and no longer were framed in the mascara you had on when you left your friends. the two of you were at a standstill in the hall, rhett staring intently at you as he stood with a slight sway and an occasional shuffle, and you were avoiding meeting his gaze, arms folding across your chest, an attempt at closing you off from anymore heart ache from him.

“my sweet-my sweet girl, i miss you.” he spoke with a hiccup.

an immediate scoff passed your lips at the audacity of the man in front of you or at the audacity of your heart to skip a beat. that was it, you needed to get out of this hallway before your limited resolve crumbled.

“okay rhett, tell me that when you’re sober. now, if you’ll excuse me.”

not looking to stick around any longer, you push past him and walk quickly to your friends at the bar, you hurriedly tell them to close the tabs and then start filling them in once you are on the outside of the bar. ever the good friends, once they get you home they ask if you want them to stay with you for the night but you insist you’re fine and just want to go to sleep. which you did. until a knock at your door woke you up promptly with the sunrise.

you begrudgingly trudge to your door, not bothering to check who it is and expecting it to be your friends bringing coffee and breakfast to watch the sunrise and debrief. you were instead met with rhett. he was freshly shaven and showered, dressed in your favorite shirt of his, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and looking at you with the uneasiest eyes. you open your mouth to hopefully find words to say to him but promptly shut it as he speaks, his voice has a nervous shake but is soft. your rhett speaks.

“i’m sober and i miss you.”

AAAAHHHHHH WHAT OMG MY HEART

AAAAAAH WAIT YOUR HEART??? WHAT ABOUT MINE??????? IM DYING OUT HERE BESTIE

that paragraph above had my whole heart flutter and then shatter to pieces in seconds because that is so painfully accurate to how rhett could be. but then on the flip side, when rhett realizes what he’s lost he knows he can’t loose anyone else so he’ll be there with a fresh shave and flowers in his hand to apologise. you bet your ass i’m gonna make him grovel though.

also, this whole piece is insanely written and i still cannot believe you send me this stuff, for free!!!!!!!! i love this and your writing so much and i’m so honored that i get to receive rhett thoughts now too <33

thank you so much for this bestie!! i could kiss you!! 💌

#💌you’ve got mail #rhett abbott #bestie gforgeneive <33

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hugespace · 3 years ago

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Prompt: van, thunderstorm, link is scared and rhett is there for him and gives him hugs and kisses

Thanks love 😘

There you go! 🥰 I ended up writing some high school Rhink - lots of fluff with a dash of angst. Hope you’ll enjoy it!

*** (~2k words) ***

"How the crap did you miss that, Rhett?!" Link rapidly turned his whole body in the passenger seat, making his bleached blonde locks flap around on the top of his head. "How are we even out of gas-? Didn't you just say, like yesterday, that you'd fill it up?!" he threw his hands in the air, staring with disbelief at his friend who sat quietly behind the wheel.

Rhett muttered something in response, his head downturned and eyes focused on his own lap.

"Rhett!" Link exclaimed impatiently, not having gotten a clear answer out of the other boy.

"I thought we'd make it, okay?! I was gonna buy gas with some of the money we'd get after the gig!" Rhett repeated his explanation in a raised voice this time, finally looking his friend in the eyes and shrugging in the process.

Link only returned the look with wide eyes.

"Are you serious-? You're so irresponsible!" he answered even louder after a few short seconds of processing Rhett's words. "You're telling me you wanted to buy gas with the money we won't even get now because we won't get to the damn concert- because. You didn't. Get. Gas. In the first place?!" Link continued thought clenched teeth. "What the crap, Rhett?!"

The taller boy felt his face grow warm. Sure, perhaps Link was right, it wasn't the smartest decision of his life, or even of just that day, probably – electing to risk not reaching their destination in a borrowed van full of equipment for the two of them and the other members of Wax Paper Dogz just to be able to spend the last of his cash for the week on snacks. But he certainly wasn't going to give the other boy that, or the full reason for getting them stranded in the middle of a road on the way to the farm they were supposed to play at, for that matter. Truth was, Rhett didn't do well with criticism. Not even when it was earned.

He opened his mouth and got ready to match Link's tone, when a powerful crash of thunder resounded directly above them all of a sudden, immediately preventing the shouting match that was surely about to ensue.

"What was that-?" When Link's voice reverberated to Rhett's right again, it was remarkably smaller and less filled with anger than just seconds ago.

"Shit" was the only response the older boy could muster as the sky opened up, letting thick and heavy drops of rain fall onto the world around them, drumming angrily against the van's roof.

"At least we don't gotta worry about the gig-?" Rhett tried for a reassuring smile after a few beats of silence between them ticked by, interrupted only by blaring sounds of the summer storm they’d apparently gotten caught in. "It ain't gonna happen now with that rain-" he conceded, hoping it won't anger Link any further.

The younger boy was silent, the unexpected arrival of thunder seemed to have not only taken away his temper, but his voice as well.

"Link?"

A pair of blue eyes, still wide open, met Rhett's. The fire that burned in them just moments before the first loud crash fizzled out completely, giving way to a cold shade of fear, and the face they belonged to quickly became visibly paler, taking on a greyish colour only intensified by the sudden lack of sunlight.

"I don't like this-" Link whispered, clutching the edges of his seat with such force that his knuckles soon matched the paleness of his face.

Now, Link didn't exactly suffer from a deadly fear of thunder, not to Rhett's knowledge at least, which after more than a decade of being best friends meant it could as well be equalled to a fact. On the other hand, he wasn't especially keen on those either, and the aspect of being trapped in a metal can in the middle of a country road with absolutely nowhere to go to seek refuge only added another dimension to that.

Instinctively, Rhett reached out a hand and rubbed the other boy's shoulder soothingly.

"Hey- Hey, look at me. Link-?" he leaned forward trying to catch his friend’s eyes again and grasp his attention, temporarily directed towards the sky where bright flashes of lightning cut through the dark graphite clouds one after another. "Hey"

Link finally directed his attention back to Rhett, gulping loudly, almost comically, if it weren't for the entire situation. "We're gonna be fine. The car's safe, we're better off here than anywhere outside probably, just don’t touch the doors. We'll wait till the rain passes a bit and then I'll go get us gas, okay? The station's not that far. We'll be good." Rhett added in a calm voice, still keeping his right hand on Link and gently rubbing his upper back.

"Okay" the boy replied, still in a weak voice, and drew in a deep breath, only to be startled by another instance of rumbling thunder and hastily clasp Rhett's other hand.

"Sorry..." he cleared his throat and tried to compose himself once the sound of thunderclap died down, leaving them only with the deafening banging of raindrops against the van. Link went to retract his hand but was stopped by Rhett's before the taller boy could think about it.

"Ssh, don't. S’okay, brother."

The split-second decision to comfort Link and hold him like he hasn't since they were kids came from the feeling of guilt for getting them in that situation in the first place, he told himself. And sure, he did feel responsible for making Link endure the storm in a car stuck in the middle of nowhere all because of his stupid idea. But it wasn't just guilt; the vulnerable look on his friend's pale face combined with the fear in his big glassy eyes made him look like the boy he was when they were still in grade school - small and innocent, and it tugged at Rhett's heart in a way he didn't fully comprehend, awakening an instinct to protect Link no matter what.

"Do you... Maybe we'd- Should we...?" Yes, Rhett did make a decision but was suddenly struggling to articulate it. The scared boy next to him wasn't really listening anyway, his whole attention focused on the sky again and his free hand grasping Rhett's sleeve and trembling. Rhett cleared his throat and tried again. "We should move to the back."

"Whaa...?" Link started but was cut off by his friend gently removing his fingers from the fabric of his shirt and swiftly moving to the row of seats behind them.

"C'mon. It's gonna be more comfortable. The stick's poking my leg when I lean over like that." the older boy offered from the expanse of the middle row, gesticulating to the gap between Link and the now empty driver's seat.

If Link was hesitant to join him, another growl of thunder must have been enough to persuade him because suddenly, he was clambering to join Rhett, inadvertently nudging his thighs and elbowing him in the process.

"Auch! Okay, okay- Com'ere" The older boy grabbed the other's shoulders once he was situated next to him and moved his body even closer, encircling it with his long lanky arms and squeezing hard, making Link's head fall onto his chest.

To his surprise, his best friend didn't protest, he only burrowed his face deeper in the front or Rhett's bunched up flannel and breathed in deeply, obviously trying to relax.

"Good, good" Rhett praised absent-mindedly and slowly stroked Link's smooth hair, temporarily stunned by the feeling of warmth and peace holding the other boy so close gave him. After a couple of minutes of stillness, he felt Link's arms move, too, and wriggle in between the backrest of the seat and Rhett's lower back, finally hugging him back around the waist. It made the taller boy instinctively seek even more contact, and he lowered his head, positioning his face on Link's hair and eventually, before he could rethink it, leaving a kiss on top of it

Link froze and tensed up again, though this time there was no crash of thunder or flash of lightning to blame it on.

Oh no. Rhett's action caught up to him. This was weird. He was being weird. They never kissed each other, not even like that, not even when they were kids. His heart sped up from embarrassment and he was sure his friend could feel it, with the way he was still clinging to his chest. But he wasn’t letting go- In fact, he seemed to hug Rhett even tighter now, nuzzling his face into his body, left cheek smushed against his sternum.

Shyly, Rhett risked another smooch to Link's head, this time as close to his forehead as he could reach in the position they were in.

In response, the boy let out what sounded like an appreciative hum, or maybe even a tiny whimper, and a warm breath against Rhett’s skin, making his heart pick up the pace again. Continuing the pattern of acting before we could talk himself out of it, Rhett gathered his friend and tried to pull him even closer, not even sure if it was possible at that point, and was rewarded with Link landing almost entirely in his lap.

The face of his best friend was now nearly level with his. It was blushed, he realised, the earlier sickly tone of his complexion gone almost completely. His hair, equally blonde as Rhett's though significantly longer, was dishevelled. The sight was endearing, there was no other word to describe it, and the look in Link's eyes, blue as ever and soft now – not as filled with fear anymore, only made the effect it had on Rhett more intense.

Blinded by the affection that flooded him all of a sudden, he leaned in again, now able to kiss Link's forehead, and left another peck there, keeping his lips pressed to it for a bit longer. Before Rhett could really get used to the new sensation, Link straightened his back, making himself taller in Rhett's lap and as a result, bringing his own lips to the same hight his friend mouth was at.

The taller boy flinched slightly and almost recoiled on instinct, seeing how there were no more than two inches of tense air filled with petrichor separating their faces, and nothing else.

Almost.

Instead, he gathered all of his courage and closed that gap, planting his lips square on Link's.

They were incredibly soft, almost cushiony, and oh so warm. And they were moving against his! He realised, stunned, as the other boy's hand reached up to his face and gently cupped his jaw.

Rett felt his own lips form an involuntary smile, soon matched by the lips he was kissing. As they started to separate, both beaming and searching each other’s faces with sparkly eyes, he took in the near silence that surrounded them.

The rain stopped, there was no banging on the roof of their van and no rumbling of thunder above. It was like the clouds dissipated the moment they kissed, giving way to sun again, Rhett thought not caring about how silly and romantic at the same time that idea was.

Divine intervention or a simple coincidence, he didn't care. The sky was clear now and so was the fact that he just shared a kiss with the person he loved most in the entire world. How he hadn't realised that earlier was unimportant. It might have taken being stranded in the middle of a road, surrounded by nothing but trees and crops and a thunderstorm worse than any other time that summer to get there, but they did, in the end - that was all that mattered.

And with that thought, Rhett embraced Link trying to put all of his love into it, and went to kiss him again.

#Rhink #rhink fic #my writing #jonesy84 #thank you so much for the prompt Lovely!

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