#tobacco drying barn

[afrotumble]

Teri Ketchie 📷

Tobacco drying barn in Cuba

[davidnajewiczphotography]

Tobacco barn, with harvest drying ...... Oldham County KY. Unfortunately still a cash crop for some parts of Kentucky

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

here to stay | rhett abbott x oc

Summary: Perry and Rebecca are fighting again, so Rhett takes Amy out for ice cream. But lo and behold, who else shows up with a few of the boys from her work in tow? (wc: 5642)

Warnings: allusions to fighting/arguing, another shameless 90s country music name drop, a little bit of romantic tension goodness, background ocs

✎……PREVIOUS CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || NEXT CHAPTER

For the most part, Rhett didn’t mind grinding cattle feed. It was a long process, usually taking all of the working hours, and the grinder was so loud he didn’t have to talk to whoever was working with him. His father, with quiet but stern questions about what he was doing with his life. Or Perry, encouraging him to keep up with bull riding with that sad look in his eyes like he had lost something.

Rhett knew what his brother thought was gone but he would never bring it up. He would rather save himself the punch in the face it would grant him.

But today, he didn’t have to deal with either of them. His father was out in the fields counting heads of cattle. And Perry had the day off to spend with his family while the weather was still nice. Which left Rhett all alone amongst the store barns out in the east pasture, grinding feed all by himself. 

It was more work for just one person, driving tractors and pulling wagons and making sure the corn was being fed into the grinder, but he really didn’t mind. Beat having to discuss his life everyone thought was going nowhere fast — including himself most days.

There were some days, however, all by himself on his family’s expansive land, when he could see the beauty in Wabang. See past the dust and the grime and the lingering smell of decay. That Saturday in September was one of them. The morning was bright and clear as he rode his horse, Ace, out at dawn. The air cool and crisp, the grass frosted underfoot. By midmorning, he needed to take his jacket off, the sun shining bright amongst great puffy clouds. The mountains seemed to glitter off in the distance, sway in the rising heat of day. Their snow covered peaks like a promise of the winter that was to come.

It was beautiful, but it was just his life. Green fields, far off mountains, infinite blue sky. A postcard existence — but he knew what it was really like. It was being born and living and dying all in one town and never seeing anything else. It was hard work and back breaking labor. It was stiff joints at twenty-three but no right to complain. It was struggling to make ends meet, eating six to a table crammed in a small kitchen. It was dirt under fingernails and sun damaged skin. It was grinding cattle feed alone with a sprained wrist that ached every time he picked up a supplement bag. 

The trailer filled up at about two and a half tank loads of feed. There was still half a tank left in the mixer, but he could come back for it later. It was past noon, the sun was beating down on his back, and he had been working for seven hours straight. Without so much as a water or a snack to munch on as he watched the supplement and ground corn mix together. Once the feed trailer was stowed safely in the dry barn, Rhett untied Ace from the post and rode back to the house.

Hoping to find a quick bite and not get yelled at for not finishing his job.

Pushing a thing of dip tobacco between his cheek and gums with his tongue, he walked towards the front door. His stomach rumbling as he watched his boots move across the dirt path and through the grass. But when he looked up, he noticed Amy sitting out in the yard. 

She was the spitting image of her mother, Rebecca. Eyes bright and blue with thin, pale blonde hair — cheeks dusted in freckles and teeth crooked, just a little too big for her mouth. Everyone expected Perry’s genes to be stronger, but there didn’t seem to be an ounce of Abbott in her. And for that, Rhett was almost grateful. 

Would have been a real goofy looking kid if she ended up anything like his brother. Or him even. 

Amy was braiding clovers together into a crown, weaving the stems slowly with big eyes downcast. Her little mouth downcurved in a frown. 

Rhett spit out his dip as he approached her. 

“Hey, ladybug, watchya doin’ ou’here?” he asked, tugging his gloves from his hands. 

She set the messily braided clovers down with a sigh then looked back over her shoulder at the house. When she met his eyes, she looked like she wasn’t supposed to tell him. 

But she did it anyway: “Mom and Dad’re fightin’ again.” 

Now that he was listening, he could hear the yelling coming from inside the house. Something about space and how this wouldn’t have happened and needing to get over it. Fragments and sound bites. Another of those things about living in an old ranch house. The walls weren’t good at keeping secrets. 

He grunted, put his hands on his hips. For a second, anger flared up in Rhett’s chest. So this was what Perry was doing instead of helping him with the feed? Arguing with his wife about the same old shit and not making any progress because he was too stubborn to actually listen to her? Then a sort of sadness trickled in with it. 

Amy shouldn’t have to hear that shit, either. 

She was only nine, and already she understood too much about her parents’ feelings towards the Abbotts, the ranch, Wabang, and each other. Already saw and heard too much. There was already something too grown up behind those blue eyes and Rhett didn’t like it. He could remember holding her for the first time when he was just fourteen. Everyone made him sit down to do it because they didn’t trust him and he didn’t know why. Not until Perry placed that little baby in his arms, telling him to support her head. He had never held something so delicate before in all his life, and hadn’t since. Fragile, precious, terrifying. New life — only one week in this world. It made him tear up and he didn’t even know why. 

Eventually, he could hold her while standing, while walking, sometimes even while running. Eventually, he scared the shit out of Rebecca by tossing her in the air, her shrieking giggles making him laugh. Eventually, she could talk and he liked to listen, about bugs and horses and sparkling shoes and pretend princesses saving knights from dragons. Eventually, she was mostly grown up and so was he. 

But Rhett didn’t want her to grow up, not yet. She deserved to stay little, just for a little longer. Making crowns out of clovers and giggling and not knowing what secrets the walls refused to keep. 

“Whaddaya say we go ge’ice cream?” 

“Really?” she questioned, popped up onto her knees with a small toothy smile. 

Rhett chuckled. “Yeah, really. Lemme go change.” 

He tapped her on the head lightly with his gloves as he passed her, making her laugh. And it made him smile despite the anger still bubbling in his chest and the hunger gnawing at his gut. 

When he pulled open the screen door, its loud screech and bang as the old hinges smacked it back against the exterior wall announced his presence before he even walked inside. The yelling suddenly came to a halt. He rolled his eyes as he crossed the entry and climbed the stairs, distantly hearing the argument pick back up in harsh whispers. 

Once in a fresh pair of jeans and an old rodeo t-shirt, beat up trucker hat hiding the sweat slicking his hair, he called out that he was taking Amy into town. No one answered him and he didn’t repeat himself. He just strode right back out into the shadeless yard where Amy stood waiting for him with her hands in her pockets. The corner of his mouth ticked up as he took her under his arm and led her over to his truck.

“Ya missed lunch,” she pointed out as they climbed inside. 

“Might ge’more th’n ice cream then,” he said, starting the engine. 

“So Jiffy Treat?”

“Course.”

The local ice cream shop, in business since 1973. It was nothing special. Just a squat building on the side of the road with a walk-up window and a few covered tables out front screwed into the concrete. It was the place to go in the Wabang heat to cool off. Mostly just sad dads bringing their kids to try and make them feel better about whatever was going on at home.

Rhett never thought he would be one of those sad dads — sad uncle really. 

As the truck shook and rumbled down the gravel drive towards the main road and off Abbott land, Amy quickly snatched up the cardboard box at her feet and set it in her lap. The box had water damage healed over one too many times and a missing corner, but it still did the job alright. Holding an unorganized and haphazardly placed collection of cassettes.

“Which one has the Georgia song on it?” Amy rifled through the tapes, plastic clacking together as she threw them around.

Rhett knew which song she was talking about instantly. “Reba McEntire — uh, lady wi’curly hair — black’n white.” 

It took her a minute to find it, but once she did, she held it up and giggled triumphantly. Rhett told her to put it in as he turned left onto the paved road that led into town, cranking open his window to let in a breeze. He still felt like he smelled like ground corn and yeast. But he wasn’t about to make her wait any longer by taking a shower — or let his stomach continue to eat itself any more than he had to.

With a whir of tape and a few skipped tracks, the opening guitar and piano of The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia started to play.

Amy sang along loudly, bobbing her head to the beat and missing a few of the words. While Rhett muttered them all quietly, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Asking once the song was over for her to rewind the tape and let him listen to the album in full.

“You need t’get a new radio, Uncle Rhett,” she said as she pressed the right buttons. “One y’can plug y’r phone into.” 

He chuckled softly. “I like m’tapes jus’fine.” 

“Y’sound like Gran’pa.”

Amy said it with a laugh, and Rhett rolled his eyes for her to see. But she didn’t need to know that stabbed at something inside him he didn’t like. A beast, locked in a cage. Pacing, waiting to be angered enough to set itself free. 

He didn’t want to be like his dad. 

But apples didn’t fall far from trees in Wabang — inevitable and constant. 

There were a few other cars parked in the small Jiffy Treat lot. Kids in swimsuits either just coming back or going to the swimming hole over in Hayden running around the umbrella shaded tables. The parents chatting with cones in hand. 

Amy jumped out of the truck first as soon as Rhett threw it in park. He was quick to follow after her, already fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. The teenager working the window slid it open with a smile as they walked up. 

“What can I ge’for ya?” she asked, finely manicured nails poised with a pen and notepad.

Rhett ruffled Amy’s hair as he looked over the menu. “Go’head, ladybug.” 

“Can I have a scoop’ve bubblegum with sprinkles, please?”

“In a cone or a cup?”

“Cone, please,” Amy said, then backed away from the window so Rhett could step up. 

“N’ll take two hotdogs n’a thing’a onion rings, please,” he said, thumbing the few bills in his wallet. “N’can I get a cup’a water?”

It did not go out of his notice how the young girl looked him up and down, teeth biting into her lip as she wrote down his order. It made him shift his weight to his other foot, hoping to just get away soon. But her pink blush did remind him of someone — and it made the corner of his mouth raise.

“That it?” she asked. 

“Yep.”

She gave the total with his cup of water and he paid, Amy’s ice cream quickly being called from the other window. Bright pink and covered in rainbow sprinkles. Her smile was ear to ear as she took it with both hands and sat down at one of the tables. Rhett plopped down on the bench across from her and tried not to focus on just how hungry he really was. It was nice under the shade of the umbrella, sun no longer beating down on his back. Birds chirped in the yards on either side and cars rumbled past on the road behind him. He could feel the wind they created whipping at his shirt. It would have felt good if he didn’t worry that if they swerved even a little he was done for.

“R’Mom n’dad gonna get a divorce?” Amy asked as she licked at her ice cream. 

Rhett coughed around his drink of water. “Wha’makes ya say that?”

“Lily Stockton n’my class — her parents’re gettin’ divorced.” She shrugged. “She said they fought a lot. Now she goes t’her dad’s house on the weekends.” 

She didn’t seem sad. But she wouldn’t look at Rhett directly either. Watching the swimsuit kids as they got rounded up by their parents or cars as they drove by.

“Shit, I don’know,” Rhett said after a moment to think, pushing his tongue into his cheek despite having no dip to fiddle with.

That seemed to appease her for the minute, and he was thankful. Because there was always the possibility. He couldn’t rule it out and he always had been terrible at lying to his niece. If they did get divorced everyone would probably be happier save his mother, who would just be heartbroken at her son’s broken marriage. His broken family. They would become a constant prayer request to her church group. Though he doubted she brought up their struggles to them now. Keep things in the family until it bursts at the seams for everyone to see. 

His food got called and he muttered a thank God under his breath as he got up to get it. He didn’t even care to put ketchup or mustard on his hotdogs, he just sat down and started eating. It was hot and fried and delicious. 

As they ate, Amy trying to keep up with her ice cream before it melted onto her hand, an old white Jeep with wood paneling on the sides pulled into the lot. Rhett watched it as he finished off his second hot dog, Amy making some comment about how he always ate too fast. It was a nineties model at the least, though it was hard to say without asking. Minimal rust around the bottom and the paint needed to be redone but that didn’t matter much. Every car looked like a junker in Wabang. Old model trucks with longer beds than any of those 21st century Ford monstrosities could offer. Rhett was surprised at how good the engine sounded though, a nice rumble as it slowed to a stop and cut off completely. A rarity for a car that age in a town like this. 

The back doors swung open first, three boys clambering out and into the sun. They waited patiently by the bumper as the driver stepped out. 

Rhett nearly choked on one of his onion rings.

She looked beautiful. Light brown hair falling around her shoulders and the golden chain of her locket peeking out from a quarter zip with the sleeves rolled up. Her wide smile was like its own sun as she slammed the creaking driver’s door shut and gestured for the boys that poured out of her car to get in line. The smallest of them running ahead to go first. She followed behind. Her eyes big and blue as July squinted in the sun, turning them to slits crinkled at the edges, and Rhett smiled.

He really hoped he would see Tessa Abernathy again. It had been nearly a week since he got to apologize in the fluorescent light of the general store. He just thought, and maybe hoped, he would have more control over his heart rate than he did right then; pounding against his ribcage as he watched her walk and dig through her purse at the same time. Would she notice him? Would she talk to him? He nearly wanted to slap himself. He was never like this around women. Especially women he wanted. He knew all the tricks and he knew all the lines — just to feel something, just to get loved for a night. But this was different. She was different. 

Then Amy suddenly gasped. “That’s Jace!”

Rhett blinked rapidly as he looked back at his niece, feeling like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Uh — w-who?”

“He’s in m’class — we sit at the same table,” she said, pointing at the smallest boy bouncing up and down in front of the order window. “C’n I go say hi?”

“Sure, ladybug,” he replied.

She didn’t waste a second. Pink ice cream dribbled down onto her knuckles as she raced over to talk to the little boy. He looked just as excited to see her as she was him. Gasping and jumping and pointing to the order window — which was handing down to him a bowl of multicolored ice cream covered in gummy worms. Rhett finished off his onion rings and wiped his hands off on his jeans as he watched them. Happy that Amy was distracted — at least for a little while. That she wasn’t thinking about her parents yelling at each other through thin walls or Lily Stockton or having to spend weekends at her dad’s. That she wasn’t asking him questions he didn’t know the answers to. Instead, she was just being a kid. Talking excitedly with a friend, getting sticky fingers, and eating bright pink ice cream covered in sprinkles. That was what she deserved. To just stay little, just a little longer.

But Rhett stiffened, hot dogs and onion rings sitting like led in his stomach, as he watched Tessa come up to the order window, paying for the three boys’ ice cream. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but her and Amy were clearly talking to one another. Tessa smiling at the two little kids fondly and making big facial expressions that made him smile. 

Then Amy was pointing at him. Tessa turned her head to look with raised brows. She smiled, wide and stunning and full of a kindness he could nearly see and felt undeserving of receiving. Raising his hand, he waved with a small smile — 

And he had to stop himself from cringing.

He was definitely regretting those hot dogs, and not showering, now as Amy and Jace rushed over to sit on the bench opposite him. Amy saying something about him being her uncle and riding bulls. Jace didn’t seem that interested. Rhett hadn’t even noticed the group of teens that had taken over the table next to them until the two older boys came over and joined them. That just left Tessa, carrying a waffle cone filled with some yellow ice cream, to sit with him at his table. Unable to stop himself, he started fiddling with the paper boat his food came in. Why did talking to her now feel like he was sitting on the back of a bull, the gate about to open and his career on the line?

“Hey, Rhett, how’s it goin’?” she asked as she sat down on the bench at his right.

“G-Good, yeah,” he answered, glancing up at her and looking away. “You? How’s it goin’ with you?”

“M’good too,” she laughed, hiding her smile with her ice cream, then she looked over at Amy and Jace, lost in their own world. “Y’r niece’s cute. Her’n Jace seem t’get along.”

Rhett swallowed thickly. Some part of him wanted to smack himself because he knew talking with her was so damn easy. Even though all his life talking to anyone was a struggle he preferred to avoid. Truth and stories and some secret part of him bubbling to the surface because, somehow, he wanted her to see it and know. But he didn’t want to mess this up. Not again. 

“He — uh — he livin’ in the Home? W-With you?”

“Yeah. He’s’re youngest righ’now.”

“Wha’is he? Nine?” he asked, brows furrowed, finally looking her in the face.

She wasn’t looking at him, and that made it easier. Too focused on Amy and Jace as they talked about school and sports and shows they liked. How she was obviously Spider-Man and he was Hulk. There was a kind of sadness in her eyes though that he had never seen before. One he wanted to fix.

Eventually, she nodded, hand raising to cover her tongue peaking out, licking ice cream from her lip. “He’s a foster. Couldn’even get’im t’say a word when he first showed up. Now look at’im.”

Rhett didn’t fully understand what that meant, but he knew enough. A foster kid. Either his parents were out of the picture or he got taken away from them by the state. Rhett hadn’t even realized he was ripping a fringe into the edge of his paper boat until he had finished an entire side.

“He’s go’somebody good takin’ care’a him now,” he mumbled, watching the side of her face as she ate her sweet treat. “Makes’a difference.”

There was that pretty pink blush that made the freckles on her cheeks stand out. Her eyes sliding over to look at him as she licked her lips again. It made him laugh softly.

She chose not to comment as she glanced down at his unbraced hand. “Wrist feel better?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said as he flexed his fingers. “S’alright.”

“Takin’ it easy?”

“Nope.”

Tessa leveled him with a look and it filled up something warm in his chest. She barely knew him, but she cared. Enough to get mad at him for not resting his injury and rolling her eyes when he laughed and said what? No one in his family had yet to mention it. Even when he took off the brace before he really should have. Even when he winced and clenched his jaw doing certain tasks. It was like it wasn’t even there. That something warm was still there, but beside it was something sour. Tart and bitter to the taste.

One of the boys that came with her walked up to their table. He appeared to be the oldest. Long curly black hair and headphones around his neck — skateboard tucked under his arm. Tall and unaware of the fact. Skin cratered like the moon. His face looked permanently pinched up in anger, bushy eyebrows furrowed low over dark eyes. But when he spoke, he didn’t sound grumpy at all. 

“We’re gonna go’cross the street. That alright?” he asked, pointing to where he and his friends wanted to go. 

Rhett looked over his shoulder. It was just an alley between downtown brick buildings. Someone tried to decorate it once with creeping ivy and string lights and metal benches. But the ivy was now brown, the string lights were gone, and the benches were uninviting — save for a kid with a skateboard. 

Tessa nodded easily with a smile. “Yeah, s’fine. Wyatt with you?”

The teen nodded.

“Alright, go’on. We’re gon’leave n’bout thirty minutes.”

A smile broke out across his face. An unexpected expression for him, but it suited him well. Then he jogged off, back to his friends. Rhett couldn’t help but notice Tessa watching them with her brows pinched together. 

“Wha’s that look for?” he questioned as she turned back to her nearly finished ice cream.

“S’just…” She seemed to wrestle with her words for a second, tongue pushed into the roof of her mouth as she thought. Then she sighed as she looked at him with her head leaning towards her shoulder. “Wyatt’s younger than Colton n’all his friends n’I…I don’wan’im gettin’ made fun of.” 

“That’s jus’life. He’ll be fine.” 

“Still hurts,” Tessa said.

There was something in those eyes like July that Rhett couldn’t really read. Something like too much understanding. Something like experience. Something like Amy too grown up. Again, he suddenly was filled with the urge to fix. To make that look in her eyes go away. To make whoever made fun of her pay for it because she didn’t deserve that. To take her out for ice cream to help her forget. Bring back that kindness in her eyes, at least for a little while.

“Uncle Rhett!” Amy suddenly called, “Should I be Mikey or Donnie?”

Rhett stared at her for a second, brows furrowed — then it clicked. “Oh, like the ninja turtles?”

“Yeah!”

Tessa placed her hand on his arm to get his attention. “We’ve got the ole’eighties show on VHS. Jace’s obsessed righ’now.”

“We, uh —” He swallowed thickly as she retracted her hand, watching her soft as silk hands retreat almost sadly. “We watched the nineties movie together —  few weeks back.” 

“Oh, that’s so fun.” 

“Rhett!” Amy cried, exasperated. “Should I be Donnie or Mikey?”

“Mikey,” he answered simply, not even having to think.

Amy immediately hopped up and struck a pose with her fists posed for a fight. “I’m Michelangelo!”

“And I’m Leonardo!” Jace yelled as he sprang from the bench as well, pulling pretend swords from his back. 

Then they were off. Amy twirling imaginary nun-chucks around as they play fought one another. Weaving around the other empty tables and jumping up onto benches. Rhett and Tessa watched them with laughs on their lips.

“Y’ever — uh — y’ever pretend t’be somethin’ when y’were a kid?” Rhett asked as he looked at the back of her head.

She turned her head over her shoulder, eyes still focused on the kids, as she said, “Used t’pretend I was a fairy. Had a pair’a wings from Halloween I’wore f’r nearly a year.”

Rhett chuckled as he looked down into his lap. He could picture it perfectly. Little girl refusing to take the wings off even if they were bent up and dirty, because she was a fairy. Her parents just giving up and letting it happen. He thought it was adorable — nearly said so but he bit his tongue at the last second.

“I’d wander’round the yard wi’those, uh toy guns? Thinkin’ I’s a cowboy.”

“That’s sweet,” she said as she turned back to look at him with a smile, small and kind.

Her ice cream cone was finished, but there was a glob of yellow on her chin — just beneath her lip. She just looked so pretty. Rhett knew he shouldn’t. After coming so close to ruining whatever was blossoming between them. But before he could really think it through, before he could rationalize, before he could nail down what he should do instead of what he wanted to do — his hand was reaching for her. 

“Oh, you — ya got somethin’...” Rhett said, tucking his forefinger beneath her chin and wiping at the rogue ice cream drip with his thumb. 

Her cheeks turned an even brighter shade of pink, the color going down, down into the collar of her quarter-zip as he made a second pass on her soft skin to make sure he got it all. Eyes downcast as she took a deep, steadying breath. When he finally pulled away, the ice cream was gone, and she looked up at him from beneath her lashes with her lip caught between her teeth.

That same look from that night at the bonfire. Before she practically ran away from him and he was left with a different kind of ache. A different kind of itch. That only she could fill. With her kindness and just right smiles and heart too big for her chest. Regret pooled in his stomach like concrete along with those hotdogs and onion rings. His mouth opened and closed as he wrestled with an apology. But then…

“D’you get it?” she asked quietly. 

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, relief flooding him now, as he licked his thumb clean. “Tastes good.” 

Tessa stared at him for a moment. Thoughts churning behind those big blue eyes and her mouth popped open. Made him smirk as he watched her. She wasn’t running for the hills yet, and for that he was thankful. He no longer felt like he was in the chute, on top of a bull, his career on the line. Instead, he felt like Rhett Abbott talking to Tessa Abernathy. Siphoning off that kindness and maybe giving some out in return.

“It’s, uh — it’s lemon poppyseed,” she finally decided to say and it only made his grin grow. 

“‘Ll have t’try it sometime.”

Then his phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from his mother.

Your dad’s wondering why the rest of that feed hasn’t been stored.

“Ah, shit. We gotta go,” he said, collecting his trash as he rose from his seat.

“R-Really?”

“Yeah, got work t’do.” He fished his keys out of his pocket. “Ladybug! C’mon, we gotta get on home!” 

Amy sighed, but said goodbye to Jace. Once his trash was disposed of, he put Amy under his arm and started the walk back to his truck. Telling Tessa it was nice seeing her and trading reluctant farewells.

Once inside the truck, Amy grinned at him like she knew a secret. 

“What?” he laughed. 

“You like her.”

Rhett felt his face flush. “I — you don’t — I don’t —”

“S’alright. I won’t tell,” she said as she settled back into her seat with a pleased smile.

He started the truck with a huff. “Little shit.”

The ride back to the ranch was easy and quiet. Amy leaning back in her seat with her head tilted towards the window — watching endless green fields roll by. And Rhett caught up in thoughts of Tessa Abernathy with ice cream on her chin and looking up at him through thick lashes.

He supposed he couldn’t deny that he liked her. As childish as the term sounded. At the very least, he wanted to be with her. Get to know her. Talk with her. Pulling from her with such ease that kindness the world didn’t deserve and maybe show her some in return — even if he wasn’t very good at it. It was a foreign sort of urge and an alien kind of weight in his chest. Rhett didn’t like his partners, no matter how long or short they were together, getting too close to him. Seeing all that he was and all that it meant, all the dust and grime and that he was just like everyone else in Wabang. A horse sent out to pasture, waiting to die. Knowing there was better but being too afraid and too caught up in it all to leave. He thought he could leave it all behind once. But then he didn’t, and it brought a shame he still didn’t understand and didn’t want to deal with. He couldn’t get out. And maybe that was why he was the guy that made them realize they wanted to be married, just not to him. 

But then again, Tessa didn’t get out either. And she seemed like one of the only things in this life that hadn’t been touched by the Wabang grime. Shiny and bright and loving this life in a small town.

He might not have deserved a girl like that, but he was willing to try. 

When he parked in front of the house, Amy leaping from the passenger seat and running inside, his dad was waiting on the porch for him. Sitting on the old bench his grandmother thrifted from an antique store. A relic from one of the ancient country churches that closed its doors long ago. His ankles crossed and fingers threaded together in his lap as he watched Amy head inside. Rhett sighed as he cut the engine and opened his door — knowing what was waiting for him once he went up those steps.

He didn’t even make it up one of them before his dad started talking gruffly, “Wen’out t’check on ya ‘while ago…Left all the equipmen’out.” 

“Yeah, yeah — Goin’ back to finish grindin’ now,” Rhett replied, taking one booted foot off the step and putting it back on the ground.

“Where’d y’take Amy?”

“Ice cream.”

“Y’had work t’do.”

Rhett clenched his jaw, ticked it to one side. Adjusted his weight from one foot to the other. Itching to get away so he wouldn’t get in more trouble than he was. But he never had been good at not putting his foot in his mouth.

“Yeah, well, somebody had t’make sure she wasn’t hearin’ her parents’ screamin’ match,” he said, finally looking his father in the face with his jaw set and eyes ablaze. 

His dad stared at him for a moment. Chin jutted out and small brown eyes narrowed. Then he rose from his seat and Rhett straightened, prepared to defend himself. His own fight the walls wouldn’t keep to themselves.

“Just get the feed done.”

Then he turned and walked inside. 

Rhett looked at that old empty church pew for a minute. Mind reeling through everything else he wanted to say. Why does Perry get a day off to have a fight with his wife? Did you even bring any food or water when you came to check on me? If the work wasn’t done would you have even noticed I was gone? 

Prayers to an absent god.

Then he pushed off from the porch step and walked back to the barn.

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[deada55]

Kloktober 2024 day 30: Halloween

A continuation from last year. William’s second stop trick-or-treating.

The trees stared back at them, frozen like deer and bright white as they passed through. The dirt under them was too wet to fly, but Stella stayed clear out of the ditch. They were unthreatened by any other car as they came close to a two-story house with an old tobacco barn and a sparkling silver grain silo. Their sheds and their equipment were working tools, hungry for life to make into neat dead piles. Farming was to rake leaves after death shook them off the branches.

William was shuffled through a tidy but tight entryway glowing and dark from a deep blue lightbulb in the ceiling. Their sitting room and the skinny hall were only lit by one stained glass touch lamp and the vent hood light. William didn’t look closely at his hostess’ face, which might have been two, now that he thought about it. After saying hello, he was let out the back door to play with the basketball hoop nailed to the tin carport, no ball in sight.

He picked at the dirt. Tiny moths landed on his sleeves. There were tiny pebbles in the gray silt, some ragged and some just blunt. He brushed the dirt in one direction with a stick and found a shred of grass lodged in the smooth powder, but what was there to do once he had dusty fingertips and a free piece of grass sitting on top of the dirt in another spot?

He stood up and brushed his red sweatsuit off. Dry grass stuck to the cotton like Spanish needles. He was just about to go pick the paint off the old sheet metal coal shed when Stella poked her head out the door and called him inside. He didn’t even have time to sit down: Stella urged him forward to another exit that sprung from a more well-lit drawing room painted a very comforting French vanilla where the hostess held a bucket of strange candies and artificial, oppressively fruity wonders too close to him and told him to take more, more, more until his pillowcase had considerable weight.

“Thank you,”

“What was that?”

“William,” Stella cleared her throat, “Did you say ‘thank you’?”

He stood with his mouth open, stuck on who to answer first.

“I think he said it. He did.” She came to the rescue and he smiled as he was shown the door, through that disorienting dark entry again. They’d made a lap around the whole thing. Now, they were back in the car and headed somewhere new, easy.

Nice.

[kimberly40]

Appalachian -What does it mean? What picture comes to mind when you hear Appalachian? To me, it’s a way of life. It’s the epitome of hard work, integrity, and independence. When I see the view of these blue ridges and the smoky mountains, it feels like something spills over inside me and I have to smile. I don't think there is a prettier place than these hills and their hidden coves, their cold clear branches, creeks, rivers and lakes. Old barns that housed the work animals, kept the harness dry, stored the hay for winter, a place for hanging and working the tobacco, a place where Ma milked the cow and gathered eggs, and a vital part of my childhood. Aww old barns, so much we could learn if they could tell us what all went on in them. High foggy blue mountains, hidden coves and valleys, ice cold streams and branches. A land that demanded strong willed people. It’s built in to those of us who were raised in these hills. Places of history, life and loves. I loved growing up in the hills. I loved it then and I love it now. Lordy, don't you wish you could go back one more time and experience those golden years? What does the Appalachians mean to you?

(Pictured is the home of David and Matilda Franklin. David was one of Samuel and Dorcas Franklin’s sons, and married Matilda Carpenter-a sister of Jake Carpenter. Pictured or Lillian, Edith, Lenoir, and mother, Matilda. The cabin was located in upper Three Mile Valley in Avery County, North Carolina)

[blackroseraven]

I am again surprised by how I'm doing LESS riding these days than when I was going to the barn but. The whole 'can't ride outside except during daytime and when the weather is good' thing keeps surprising me.

Like even TODAY the ground was squishy when I rode around, to the point where I didn't want to do too much.

Quattro was... a butt. I think he's mad at me, though, as well as just... energetic because the temperature is in that nice for horses zone.

He was really hard to get on. But I made him stand still over and over again until he finally stopped threatening to buck or pushing on me, and then we rode down to the 'arena' I've squared out. No ropes or anything, just t-posts for now until I figure out what I want to do with it.

He was very cranky at first, but we did some of his old tricks and he calmed down quite a bit. We aren't running or anything because of a mix of wet and slippery and him being high energy and me being post-migraine-nervous, but. We got some good time in. Some good breathing, found a bit of sync at the end, which I was pleased by.

Today I also put in the posts for the gate and laid the cement, which will sit for the next two days before I attach the fencing to them. I had a hard time finding a proper place to dig. Like. I dug into a pane of glass in the ground? I'm starting to think I actually dug in the basement wall of an old house or something from all the bricks and cement and weird stuff I've hit.

I also did some cleaning in the barn. I've got it looking a bit better but... it's still super gross. I want to move the "usable" wood and pipes from the barn to the garage at some point, so the barn itself can be. I dunno, burned down.

It's like a Level 4 Hoarding situation in the barn, ugh. Two inches of wild animal poop, piles upon piles of old glassware and discarded china plates and forgotten toys, all kinds of wood and steel and PVC pipes. I've worked out from the setup of things hanging from the beams and stuff that it used to be a tobacco barn, and all these left-behind bamboo/wood shoots would have been used for drying the tobacco.

Also like at least three old rocking chairs and tool parts that "might" be usable? But might not be worth the time and effort to fix, on the other hand.

So yeah, been busy. Yesterday unfortunately I was in Migraine Hell and literally just. Tried to sleep for 24 hours. Fever dreams. Probably exacerbated from some of the cleaning I did in the barn the day before without a mask because I'm an idiot and also didn't expect it to be THAT awful in there.

Just gotta keep moving, ignore the voice in my head that says I'm never going to be done.

[insipid-drivel]

Hi! Sorry if you answered this already, but can horses smoke tobacco with less health concerns than humans?

Horses do react to the nicotine in tobacco and tobacco products like a stimulant, and "nicotine doping" in horse racing was a real thing for a time - to the point that it is now officially illegal to dope a race horse on nicotine. Nicotine is also be lethal to horses the way it can be toxic and lethal to people; through cardiac arrest, lung damage, and liver damage, among a host of other smoking and tobacco-related diseases.

I don't know the exact lethal toxicity level for nicotine in humans, but I know in horses (depending upon the size, age, and health of the horse), nicotine absolutely is toxic and enters the zone of being life-threatening or totally deadly if a horse is exposed to more than like, 100mLs+ of pure nicotine.

Smoking around horses is generally a bad idea when it isn't wholly banned or illegal - vaping included. Horses can experience the same physical distress as people from being subjected to too much second-hand smoke or vapor, including dry and itchy eyes, difficulty breathing, and lower blood oxygen saturation. Smoking cigarettes in a barn is also just, generally not a good idea, because you do not want anything that is On Fire around dry hay, grass, and piles of fermenting manure that put off their own heat and flammable gasses like methane. Many boarding ranches have a designated spot somewhere around the barn or property where stable hands dump off the day's horse poo, and a lot of ranchers will sell it off as manure and fertilizer to farmers for their pastures. If you're carrying an open flame around it, you're risking setting the entire property and pasture on fire.

The thing is, however, is that horses don't need to be exposed to tobacco smoke to suffer from tobacco toxicity. I've mentioned this in other asks, but a very common misconception among most people is the belief that horses know what's safe to graze on and what isn't, which isn't true. It's the job of the owner of the ranch or the horse(s) to have the animals' paddock regularly inspected for dangerous and toxic plants and removed so the horses can't accidentally eat them.

Horses can and have gotten into tobacco fields and grazed on tobacco plants in history, and it makes them very, very ill. Horses can die from grazing on tobacco, while others can deal with severe colic, diarrhea, tachycardia, paralysis, and even go comatose from tobacco poisoning depending on how much they were able to eat.

[eacherptik]

Unveiling the Techniques of the best Cuban Cigars

In the planet of luxurious cigars, Cuban cigars have lengthy been regarded as the gold conventional. Renowned for his or her Fantastic high quality, loaded taste profiles, and expert craftsmanship, these cigars are a favorite amid aficionados worldwide. But just what makes Cuban cigars so Unique? In this particular detailed guide, We're going to delve deep into the secrets of the best Cuban cigars, Discovering their background, creation system, and what sets them other than all Other individuals.

The History of Cuban Cigars

Cuban cigars Have a very storied past that dates back again hundreds of years. The indigenous persons of Cuba ended up acknowledged to montecristo no. 4 smoke tobacco extended before the arrival of European settlers. However, it wasn't until eventually the nineteenth century that cigar creation in Cuba truly began to prosper. With fertile soil and a good weather, Cuba immediately turned known for developing a lot of the finest tobacco on the earth.

Origins of Cuban Cigars

The cultivation of tobacco in Cuba could be traced back to the early times of Spanish colonization. The primary tobacco plantations had been proven within the fertile Vuelta Abajo region, which remains regarded as one of the better tobacco-developing regions on the earth right now.

Influence on Worldwide Market

As Cuba's standing for producing high-quality tobacco grew, so far too did its impact on the worldwide cigar market. Via the nineteenth century, Cuban cigars had grow to be synonymous with luxurious and sophistication, coveted by royalty and elites worldwide.

Impact on Fashionable Cigar Industry

Even nowadays, Cuban cigars proceed to established the regular for excellence inside the cigar field. Their exclusive flavor profiles and meticulous craftsmanship have encouraged many imitators but none can really replicate the magic of a true Cuban cigar.

Production Means of Cuban Cigars

One of the key components that sets Cuban cigars apart from all Some others is their meticulous creation method. From seed to smoke, every single stage is carefully managed to make certain that only the best cigars make it to market.

Seed Selection

The first step in creating a Cuban cigar is selecting the right seeds. Cuban tobacco seeds are noted for their superior quality and unique flavor profiles. These seeds are carefully cultivated in nurseries just before becoming transplanted to fields the place they're going to increase into mature tobacco plants.

Growing Conditions

Cuba's exceptional local climate and soil composition play a crucial purpose in shaping the flavor of its tobacco. The Vuelta Abajo region, located in western Cuba, is particularly renowned for its excellent expanding circumstances - warm temperatures, abundant soil, and just the appropriate degree of rainfall.

Harvesting and Curing

Once the tobacco plants arrive at maturity, They're thoroughly harvested by hand. The leaves are then hung to dry in curing barns wherever they go through a fermentation procedure that enhances their flavor and aroma.

Rolling Process

Perhaps by far the most essential phase in creating a Cuban cigar is rolling. Competent torcedores (cigar rollers) meticulously hand-roll Just about every cigar employing a way which has

[lustcarmen]

mi amor told me thi is tobacco drying in a barn

[bonnieblue727]

Let's see just how country you really are. A little country! Pretty much country! Bonafide country!

Have you ever...

1. Owned pellet or BB gun as a kid? No

2. Owned a real gun? No

3. Shot a real gun? Yes

4. Gone squirrel or rabbit hunting? Yes

5. Gone fishing? Yes

6. Owned or used a slingshot? No

7. Plucked a chicken? No

8. Gathered wild ginseng? No

9. Eaten deer meat? Yes

10. Eaten frog legs? No

11. Fed a baby farm animal with a bottle? No

12. Gathered fresh eggs? Yes

13. Driven a stick shift? No

14. Started a vehicle using a manual choke? ?

15. Shamelessly rode around town in the back of a pick-up truck? Not necessarily in town out in the boonies

16. Shucked corn? Yes

17. Waded barefoot in a creek? Yes

18. Caught fireflies in a jar at night? Yes

19. Tasted wild honeysuckle? No

20. Gathered wild blackberries? Yes

21. Used an outhouse? No

22. Rode a horse? Yes

23. Smelled the scent of cured tobacco hanging in tobacco barn? No

24. Taken the ashes out of a wood stove? No

25. Carried in wood? Possibly

26. Walked barefoot down a gravel or dirt road? Yes

27. Slept in a tent? Yes

28. Been attacked by a rooster? No

29. Eaten raw apple, potato or turnip off the blade of a pocket knife? No

30. Dipped skoal or chewed chewing tobacco? No

31. Eaten homemade snow Ice Cream? Yes

32. Used a pump to draw water from a well? Yes

33. Been on a hayride? Yes

34. Jumped into a pile of raked leaves? Yes

35. Carved your initials into the side of a tree or side of dirt? Yes

36. Sucked on the end of an old piece of a water hose in order to siphon gas out of a gas tank? No

37. Been shocked by an electric fence? Yes

38. Split wood with an ax or tried to? No

39. Hung laundry outside on a clothesline to dry? Yes

40. Eaten fried bologna? Yes

So I’m about 51% country?

Copy and paste but delete my answers & add yours.

[ograbba]

WHAT IS GRABBA TOBACCO LEAF?

Grabba Leaf is a very confusing topic as the definition varies depending on who you ask. We will do our best to give you a quick breakdown of this very popular tobacco leaf.

The Grabba tobacco leaf is also known as Fronto.  It is a premium-grade tobacco leaf and is often used as a wrapper to roll your own (RYO) cigars. This tobacco leaf is very popular among herb smokers who use the leaf to roll their joint, spliff, pot, or blunt. It is a premium-quality leaf that is pliable enough to roll a cigar without cracks, creases, or breaks. Likewise, likewise it is smooth in texture and can bend, fold, roll, and twist. With that being said, these are some of the qualities needed in making a nicely rolled Grabba cigar for smoking.

HISTORY

Grabba tobacco leaf is historically associated with Jamaican herb smokers. Stories have it that the name came from smokers saying “lets GRAB-A- LEAF” of the tobacco plant. The name is now linked with various varieties of tobacco plants such as: 

FRONTO is a tobacco leaf that has been around for decades! There are many name variations such as Fanta Leaf, Franta Leaf, Funta Leaf, Frunta Leaf and Grabba. Fronto usually refers to a dark, not too thick, wrapper-grade tobacco leaf. Although the names may vary due to the curing process and the marketing, the individual smoker will determine their preference for the brand offered.

RED HERRING GRABBA: Also called Hot Grabba, is a dark leaf with a pungent, high, smokey smell as in smoked fish. Red Herring Grabba is one of the darkest, strongest leaves available and is sought by those who like a strong Dark Fire Cured leaf.

RED ROSE GRABBA:  Refers to a dark, thick leaf that is good for both rolling and blending.  Red Rose is an air-cured tobacco leaf and carries a strong potent smell. Red Rose is also one of the darkest and thickest leaves and is often crushed and blended.

Read more on Grabba leaf vs  Fronto Leaf. 

GRABBA LEAF BLUNT: 

A “grabba leaf blunt” refers to a type of cigar that is made from a herbal blend of cannabis, pot or marijuana and wrapped in the leaf from Grabba tobacco. These cigars are often marketed as a “natural” alternative to traditional rolling paper. Because the grabba tobacco leaf is thicker than traditional paper many new smokers often ask How to roll a Grabba leaf blunt. For the seasoned smoker Grabba tobacco leaf is regarded as one of the most desired and best blunt wraps available. SEE out tips on “How to roll a Grabba blunt”.

SHOP NOW

QUALITY MAKES A DIFFERENCE

We choose only the finest hand-picked tobacco leaves to guarantee the quality of our cigars, as a cigar is only as good as its tobacco. The leaf is the crucial ingredient in delivering a premium product. It must exhibit characteristics such as a thick body, flexibility, and the ability to stretch. Central America and the Caribbean, known for their premium tobacco-growing tradition, provide the location for the growth of most premium tobacco.

The Original Grabba whole-leaf tobacco is handled with care by expert growers and master blenders. These experienced cultivators grow, cure, and produce the best all-natural leaves. Additionally, the leaves are dark, unblemished, rich in color, and without harmful chemicals. As a result, this high-quality leaf burns slowly for a mellow and enjoyable-tasting smoke. Due to the demand, it is available in different sizes and by various companies. It’s purchased by the pound, as a full leaf and also a smaller-sized precut wraps.

FIRE-CURED GRABBA TOBACCO

People typically cure tobacco by drying the leaves in a controlled environment using several methods, such as air curing, fire curing, and flue-curing. In fire curing, they expose the tobacco leaves to smoke from burning hardwoods, giving the tobacco a distinct smoky flavor and aroma. This method is commonly used for specific types of cigars and pipe tobacco. People hang leaves over fire in a barn for proper curing through smoke exposure They closely monitor the temperature and humidity to ensure proper drying and curing of the leaves.s

PURCHASE GRABBA WHOLE LEAF AND WRAPS

GRABBA CRUSH

In addition to using the leaf as a wrapper, it is sometimes crushed and blended with the herb of choice. This mixed blend, considered by many to be the ultimate smoke, provides an amazing head high. Original Grabba, is of exceptional quality, provides customers with the very best leaf. Above all, this leaf is for the user seeking an elevated smoking experience. 

In conclusion, Grabba leaf tobacco is a safe and enjoyable product. We remind consumers that tobacco contains nicotine and nicotine is an addictive chemical.

https://originalgrabba.com

[oer4]

Here's a sneak peek of my upcoming story, "Born Again Boston"... ~ #oer4

Thick plumes of smoke billowed high into the air, escaping the heavy fog settled on the ground, fueled by a combustible mixture of kerosene, dry-rotted wood, and huge stocks of tobacco leaves, previously hung high above the floor from old frayed hemp rope.

The structure engulfed by the raging fire a tobacco barn, owned by one of the most prominent agrarian entrepreneurs of the day. In the dead of night, two outlaws were desperately held up inside the burning curing house, frantically weighing their options as twenty-six armed men surrounded the structure under cover of darkness, ordering them to exit and surrender or risk being burned alive.

The heat from the blaze grew so intense, it evaporated the heavy, rolling mist that previously surrounded and obscured the structure, singeing the grass around it, threatening to spread to nearby hay bales and grow totally out of control.

The dense smoke within the structure began to choke the two fugitives, who scrambled to find an undetectable escape route and quietly make their way back into the thick woods, where they had previously successfully hidden for the past few days.

But, no way out presented itself and their only choice was to break through a wall and run for it. Pressing in vain against a weak spot, they managed to create a small gap, but one far too narrow to pass through – only large enough for a single hand to protrude.

Outside, a detachment from the 16th New York Cavalry regiment and a pair of detectives stood, far away from the heat and flames of the blaze, anticipating the men inside would soon come out with their hands up. Any alternative was unthinkable. In mere moments, the outlaws would be incinerated in utter agony, far before smoke inhalation could render them unconscious and peacefully suffocate them.

Meanwhile, cornered with no way to evade capture or death, was none other than…

[quickwitter]

Tobacco Drying Barn Central France 2000 #tobacco #drying #barn #centralfrance #france #europe #©lauraquick #travel #travelphotography #originalphotography #2000 #brick #old https://www.instagram.com/p/ByvaooLHSQA/?igshid=1w54ch4215mgx

[equatorjournal]

[navegandoaciegas]

A long way

Kinktober 7/31: creampie

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: trucker!bucky, hitchhiking, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, creampie, biting, hair pulling, one slap on the face, oral sex, alcohol consumption, degradading praise kink.

Summary: A broody and rough truck driver stops for you when no one else does. What happens when you spend a few days together?

A/N: day 7 of @itgetsdarksometimes35 spooky challenge + Kinktober. Thank you @buckycuddlebuddy for inspiring this and helping me out, ily baby!

You suppose he’s a nice guy under all the brooding, frowning, glaring; there must be some gentleness buried underneath all the roughness, some kindness hiding behind his steely eyes.

He’s got a hard exterior for sure, with his burly body and intricate tattoos, but he’s the only one who’s pulled over for you, all soaked, crying and alone on the side of the road, while other drivers sped past you, hitting potholes and splashing even more water and mud over you.

You have to admit, you would have done the same, because who the hell stops for hitchhikers in the middle of a thunderstorm? Bucky the trucker, apparently. At the same time, who in their right mind hitchhikes in the 21st century? Someone desperate enough. You.

The 70s and the Santa Rosa murders haven’t taught either of you much, it seems.

So either he’s a serial killer, or a sullen good samaritan.

“I’m gonna pull over in a couple miles, I need to rest a little.” he announces, voice flat, tightly gripping the steering wheel of his truck.

You have a feeling he doesn’t particularly like you. Nothing specific about you, just that you’re in his space, in his clothes, breathing his same air, and he can’t sulk on his own like he’s probably used to.

“It’s okay for me.” you mumble, fidgeting with the sleeves of his thick, grey sweatshirt. It wasn’t a question, but what else were you supposed to say?

He doesn’t acknowledge you.

Despite his murderous looks and apparent annoyance, you trust your gut feeling.

The guy could split your skull in half like a pistachio, but he doesn’t seem like he’ll actually go through with it, unless you change the frequency of that radio channel he’s listening to, or move around the pictures on his dashboard. Both of which you don’t intend on doing.

You observe his side profile, the delicate slope on his nose, chiselled jawline, high cheekbones, buzz cut chestnut hair, the tattoos snaking from his arm to the side of his neck, ending just below his ear.

He’s hot and menacing, and the idea that he could bang you like a screen door in a hurricane and kill you with his bare hands makes a shiver go down your spine and straight to your core.

You squirm in your seat, clenching your thighs, cursing you and your horny brain for the dirty images you’ve conveyed.

“You alright there, sugar?” he asks, and you think you see a little smirk dancing on his plush lips, “You seem a little bothered.”

The endearing name and the teasing are a new development, one that you don’t mind.

“Never been better.” you grumble, shooting him a glare of your own.

10 hours in his truck, and his mannerism is rubbing off on you already.

-

It’s a long way from Oregon to Florida when you have no money on you and you depend on a trucker’s route, a trucker you’ve been bickering and flirting with for hours.

45 hours later, you find yourself at a truck stop a long way from home, your feet propped against the dashboard, the seat reclined slightly.

It’s not the best setting, you’ll be honest with yourself.

Take out containers are littered around you, and Bucky keeps digging in the fries propped on your lap. You smile lazily at him, tipsy but still conscious on your second beer.

45 hours together is a long time when you spend it with the same person, in a small space. He’s still brooding, just looser. And drunker.

“So I said, fuck you and that two faced bitch, and spilled a wine bottle on his suit.” you hiccup, a hysterical laugh bubbling in your throat, “Red fuckin’ wine.”

Well, maybe you’re not as sober as you thought.

“No way.” he deadpans, taking a sip out of his beer. “Is that why you looked like a drowned rat hitchhiking in the middle of the night?”

“Mean, but yes. That cheating asshole. I hope his dick falls off. Not like he knew how to use it anyways.”

That seems to catch his attention.

“He didn’t?” he hums thoughtfully, with all the seriousness a drunk man can muster.

“He never got me off. Had to lock myself in the bathroom and do it myself.” you slur, “Never ate my pussy either.”

“God, suga’, that sounds tragic.”

Your lips twist in a disgusted expression, but you giggle when a thought stikes you.

“What about you? When was the last time you got any?”

He winces when he thinks about it, the frown on his forehead permanently etched there.

“A while ago.”

It’s silent for a moment, and maybe it’s the sexual tension that’s been building for a while, or the heat in his steely eyes, but you feel yourself grow warmer.

Your itch to touch him, taste him, feel him inside you. On your tongue, in your cunt, everywhere.

“Tragic.” you mumble, eyes boring into his.

It’s a rebound, or maybe it’s just that he’s hot and you’re both adults who can do whatever the hell you want.

It doesn’t make sense, the way you jump on him, slanting your mouth against his like you’ve never done before. The way his lips mold against yours, his tongue moves in sync with you, his hands on your body leave you feeling scorched. Your clothes and his sweater are discarded somewhere.

He tastes like beer, and tobacco, and his beard grazes against your skin, making you feel ticklish and giddy.

You’re drunk, and not on alcohol.

His touch is bruising, possessive, controlling. His teeth bite on your skin, he pulls on your hair, kneads the flesh of your ass, rolls and pinches your nipples.

Rough, just like him, and if the slick leaking out of you is any indication, you like that a lot.

“I’ll fuck you all the way to Florida babygirl, fuck you so good you never want to leave this fuckin’ truck.”

It’s embarrassing the way you’re panting, debauched already. Heat is pooling in your lower belly, and you want nothing more than for him to go feral on you.

“God, Bucky, I need you so much, need you inside me.” you whine, palming his cock through his denim jeans, feeling how hard and throbbing he is for you.

“Fuck.” he groans, quickly undoing your belt, freeing his cock.

It springs out of his briefs, standing against his stomach. He’s thick, and leaking with pre cum.

You bite your lips, shooting him a mischievous smile as you lower your face to his groin, ready to suck him off.

“No, I want to be inside you now.”

He grabs underneath your arms and lifts you up, maneuvering so that you’re straddling his lap.

You’re tipsy, about to let a man you barely know raw you in his truck, surrounded by containers of junk food.

It’s trashy, maybe, but who cares. Fuck trashy, and fuck your ex too.

You feel like all your breath has been knocked out of you when he pushes inside you, his cock stretching you out almost painfully.

“Fuck, you’re so big.” you whimper, steadying yourself on his broad chest, nails mapping out the outline of his tattoos.

“God baby, you’re so tight, I can feel that pretty pussy of yours squeezing me.” he moans, hands tightly gripping your hips, “Why don’t you show me how good you can ride my cock, yes?”

You grind yourself on his groin, rolling your hips in circular motion, feeling his cock hit all the sweet spots inside you. He suckles on your nipples, sending shivers down your spine.

Your pussy flutters around him, clamping down hard each time a wave of pleasure hits you.

“Look how good you’re doing, taking my cock so well like the little dumb slut you are baby.” he grunts, and his words shoot straight to your cunt, “Pretty cockdrunk whore, aren’t ya?”

You feel lightheaded.

Bouncing your ass up and down his cock, you feel yourself get closer.

“Fuck Buck- I’m-”

He cuts you off, swallowing your moans as you cum.

Your body shakes, your head spins and every nerve ending on your body is on fire, but he doesn’t give you time to come down from your high.

You slump against his bare chest, and he starts pounding inside you, holding your waist.

He pummels into your abused cunt, pulling one orgasm after the other out of you, until you’re sobbing. His sweaty skin slaps against yours, his balls against your ass. It’s so lewd it’s driving you crazy.

Tears and drool stream down your face.

“Look at you, messy girl, so eager for my cock. I can’t wait to fill you out with my cum baby, watch it drip out of your cunt.” he groans, balls getting tighter, thrusts messier. You feel him swell inside you. “I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Being filled with my cum to the brim.”

You’re lost in your own pleasure, and don’t answer until he slaps your face. Hard.

“Yes, please Bucky, I want you to fill my pussy, fuck-”

He bites down on your shoulder as he cums, painting your walls with his hot load as your pussy milks him dry.

“You did so good.” he hums, holding you close to his body as he comes down from his high, “Think you can give me one more?”

You nod, and lie on your back on the seats.

He watches entranced as his cum drips out of your cunt, and pushes it back inside with his fingers, smiling at the small noises you make.

He surprises you, latching his mouth around your swollen, overstimulated clit, sucking hard. He delves in your folds, circling his tongue on your bud, slurping up your juices and his, enjoying your taste mixing in with his as he keeps pumping his thick fingers inside you.

You’ve never felt this amount of pleasure before, and when you cum, your vision blacks out for several seconds, and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or just the best orgasm of your life.

You clamp down on his fingers, your release gushing on his mouth as the pressure in your cunt finally snaps.

He looks up at you, face covered in your slick.

“Don’t think I’m done with you baby.” he smirks, “I’ll never get enough of this sweet pussy.”

You grin, and pull him down on you, ready to start all over again.

It’s a long way to Florida, and you’re not sure you ever want to reach your destination, after all.

—-

Not proofread bc i like living on edge like that. Please leave some feedback!

You can add yourself to my taglist on my pinned post 💓

[spyder160]

Tobacco drying. You can always tell a tobacco barn. There are gaps in the walls.