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tropes-and-tales · 11 months

Note

Ooooooooooooooh can I request “It’s not a big deal. Let’s just get it over with.” with everyone's favorite cowboy Rhett Abbott?

AN: 18+ only. Smutish.

AN: Wouldst thou like to have some yee-haw angst?

Your face prickles with heat when you finally work up the courage to ask him. It shouldn’t be a big deal—you and Rhett grew up together. Your mothers were best friends and the two of you were born within a month of each other. It shouldn’t be a big deal because you are—were—the best of friends, thick as thieves for the longest time.

It’s a big deal because you’ve drifted apart in the past few years, your friendship faltering in the face of puberty—the line between girl and boy drawn in more stark contrast to the easy camaraderie of childhood.

Still, you consider Rhett a friend, even if not a best friend. Still, you can’t think of anyone else to help you. Still, you think he’ll agree despite his cloying crush on Maria which so far (as far as you know) hasn’t come to anything beyond Rhett casting his big blue eyes on the pretty girl from afar.

“Huh?” he replies when you ask. He pauses in his motion of polishing a leather bridle. You’re in his family’s barn; you sought him out when you knew Royal and Perry weren’t around.

You swipe your sweaty palms along the thighs of your jeans. “I want to lose my virginity before I leave,” you repeat. You will yourself to look at him—it hardly helps to sell yourself as an assured, modern woman bound for college in the big city if you can’t meet his eyeline.

He stares back at you, and you can’t make out his expression. It’s curiously blank but you think you see the gears turning behind his eyes.

“Why?” he finally asks.

You lift your hands, drop them. “Because it’s going to be tough enough, moving away. I just…want it to be over. One less thing to worry about.” You turn your head and gaze at the mountain range outside of the open barn door. “Remember how scared I used to be about breaking a bone, to the point that I obsessed about it? And then I finally broke my wrist and my fear disappeared? It's like that.”

“Sex isn’t like breaking your wrist,” he points out, and you roll your eyes.

“Well, I wouldn’t know, would I?”

He turns away and goes back to polishing tack. “Why me?” he asks, and you can almost pretend you hear a shyness in his voice.

You don’t want to get into your reasoning. You don’t want to make this a thing.

“Why not you?” you counter with a shrug, and he stills again, hitches his shoulders up nearer his ears. He blows out a heavy sigh and tells you he’ll think about it.

-----

He calls you that night. “Okay” is all he says.

-----

The friendship you used to have with Rhett: how you shared your secrets and hopes and dreams. How he cheered you up when your parents died. How you built a secret fort in the foothills on your ranch, how you had a code language that you used to pass notes to each other. That Rhett is long gone, but maybe some lingering remnant of the friendship remains.

You set a date, and you expect Rhett to just take you someplace convenient. His family’s barn. The bluff where people park to make out. You expect you’ll lose your virginity awkwardly, in the cab of Rhett Abbott’s pick-up truck, but he surprises you.

He takes you outside of Wabang. He takes you to the nicest hotel in a fifty mile radius. You follow him to the room and you see that he’s nervous—his hand trembles, fumbles with the key card at the door.

It’s a nice room by rural Wyoming standards. You’re touched at the gesture, touched at his nerves, now apparent—the way he lifts his ballcap, rakes his hand through his hair. The way his eyes dart around the room, settle on your face, then dart away.

“How do you—” he starts, but he stops abruptly.

“However you think best,” you answer, honest. You have no experience beyond one sloppy kiss that a distant Tillerson cousin pressed on you at the winter formal a few years back.

“This is weird, right? It’s weird.” He looks at you, and he’s so wide-eyed that you laugh. Your laughter cuts the tension, and he smiles, then laughs too.

“It’s not a big deal. Let’s just get it over with,” you offer.

“It’s kind of a big deal,” he argues. But he starts to move—shrugs out of his denim jacket, kicks off his boots.

“It doesn’t have to be.” You shrug and hope it makes you look casual.

When you leave Wabang, you want to leave yourself behind. You want to step in a new persona, a completely new you. You want to leave behind the grief of your fractured family, the anxiety and pressure of being the perfect daughter in tribute to your dead parents. You have a picture in your mind’s eye of the type of woman you can be once you leave Wabang: cool, unbothered, effortless.

Rhett nods at you, uncertain, but you take a deep breath and walk over to him. Stand in front of him. An invitation.

He nods again, and then he reaches out. He lays his hands on your upper arms, tentative. He draws you closer to him, and when you’re close enough, he bends his head and kisses you.

It’s better than the Tillerson cousin’s kiss. It’s careful. It’s chaste, at first. His lips are a little chapped, rough from working in the wind and the sun, but he’s gentle.

He eases you into the kiss, curls his arm around your shoulders to draw you closer. He shifts his other hand to your jaw, tilts your head to deepen the kiss. His mouth moves against yours, sucks gently at your lower lip until you gasp, open your mouth to him. His tongue touches yours, and your stomach dips at the sensation.

He eases you into more: his mouth breaks away from yours, and he sucks hot, wet kisses along your jawline, along your neck. You groan at the sensation, the bolt of lust that rockets through you.

You’ve never felt anything like it—so immediate, so insistent. Your desire has always been a vague, indistinct thing. It’s always been abstract: seeing an actor you think is cute, reading a historical fiction novel with sexy scenes. This—Rhett’s searching kisses, his calloused hands working under the hem of your shirt to slide against your skin, the quiet groans he looses—is real.

You try to mimic him. You kiss the side of his neck, you nip against the tendon standing out there and smile at how he groans when you do. You untuck his flannel shirt, the t-shirt underneath, and you run your hands over the hard planes of him, all those muscles forged by ranch living.

He gets your shirt off of you, and his hands are on you immediately. He cups your bra-clad breasts, runs his thumbs over the lace edging along your skin. Then he bends his head and kisses you there: between your breasts, over the tops of them. He hooks his fingers along the cups and pulls them down, exposing you, and your nerves finally kick in. You flinch away, cross your arms over your chest.

“You okay?” he asks. He looks at you, his blue eyes wide with concern.

“Yeah, yeah.” You mutter your reply, feel your usual prickle of embarrassment. “I just need a moment.”

“Maybe we should stop.”

“No, I just need a minute.”

Rhett steps back, leans against the dresser and crosses his arms. “I don’t think you’re ready for this.”

The moment is unspooling from you. The persona you want to adopt once you leave Wabang suddenly seems laughable, a childish fantasy. Of course you’re going to still be you at college—the same insecure, anxiety-ridden mess. Driven to perfection that leaves you feeling hollow instead of fulfilled. The overthinker, the sad girl.

“No, I’m ready—”

“You aren’t.” He shakes his head. “This was a bad idea.”

And just like that, the moment ends. It’s like ice water down your spine, and you feel stupid and immature and a million miles away from the man who used to be the boy who used to be your best friend. You’re standing in front of him with your breasts exposed and you feel so utterly embarrassed that you wish a hole would form under your feet and swallow you.

“I’m ready,” you argue weakly, but he’s already tucking in his shirt.

“You aren’t, and I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, rough, then puts his hat back on.

“I didn’t twist your arm, Rhett Abbott.” His tone stings, and you twist away from him to readjust yourself and pull on your own shirt. “I asked for a favor and you said yes. You called me and said yes. You booked this hotel room and drove us here.”

“I shouldn’t have. Shouldn’t have done any of it.”

“Fine, great.” You spit out the words and stay turned around so he doesn’t see the tears that rise in your eyes. “You made a giant mistake, coming here with me.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Shoulda held out for Maria, I guess.” It’s mean, a low blow, but you don’t care at the moment.

“Yeah, I shoulda,” he snaps back. “Instead of pity-fucking the town orphan.”

You suck in a breath and whip around to look at him, and the look on your face—it must clue him in to what he’s said. What he can’t take back. The thundercloud of anger melts from his expression and it’s replaced by shock, then regret.

“Shit, no. I’m sor—”

“Fuck you, Rhett.” You cut him off and the tears start in earnest, making him swim in your vision. You bend down and scoop up your jacket, your purse, and you pivot to flee into the bathroom.

“Wait—” he says, and you feel his hand on your arm but you shake him off, slip his grasp. You make it to the bathroom and slam the door, lock it just in time to keep him out.

You hear him pleading with you through the door, but you can’t make out the words. Your crying drowns him out, makes him sound like he’s underwater, and all you can tell him is to leave you alone, to leave you, to never speak to you again.

-----

It takes a long time to pull yourself together. You curl up on the cool tile of the floor and let yourself cry, and you know that only a little bit of it is Rhett and the entire miserable situation with him. It’s more than that; it’s the grief you’ve bottled up for years, and you bleed it out a little in this hotel room outside of Wabang.

Then you pull yourself together. When you leave the bathroom, Rhett is nowhere to be found.

You swallow your pride and call your uncle. Your mother’s brother has been raising you since your parents died, and you’ll be eternally grateful for him stepping in and keeping you out of foster care.

It takes him half an hour to get to you, and when you slide into the cab of his truck, he studies you without saying anything. You know you look like a disaster, and being stranded in a hotel outside of town…you know how it looks.

Ten minutes into the drive, he clears his throat. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine.”

He nods, keeps his eyes fixed on the road. “Boy problems?”

“I know how it looks, but I promise it isn’t—”

He lifts one hand from the steering wheel, holds it up. “Not my business. I trust you. I just need to know if there’s some shithead that needs a tune-up. I gotta rough a boy up for mistreating you, you let me know.”

You smile. Your uncle has always been awkward in his unexpected role of father and guardian, but he’s always been sweetly protective.

“Seriously….you okay?” he continues.

You sigh and turn to look out your window. “No, but I will be.”

#ask game #rhett abbott #rhett abbott imagine #rhett abbott x reader #outer range #tropes and tales

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jungle-angel · 7 months

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Tie Your Cowgirl Down (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett decide to have a little fun after a victory ride

Warnings: BIG FAT SMUT WARNING!!!!!! MINORS ARE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN!!!! 18+ (same goes for my @auroralightsthesky blog), rope-play, spanking, comedy during sex etc.

Tagging: @sebsxphia @bradleybeachbabe @nobody7102

"Say it again," Rhett grunted.

You shook your head.

Rhett tugged a little bit on your hair, not wanting to hurt you, but hard enough to get your attention. "C'mon sweetheart, be a good girl for Daddy and say it."

"Post," you told him.

"Post what?"

"Post please."

"Good girl."

Rhett very carefully helped you up, your wrists tied very gently as he led you down to the lower level of the barn. "You remember the safety word right?"

He nodded.

Rhett led you to the old concrete hitching post on the other side of the barn, carefully bending you over and retying your wrists to the post, just loose enough in case you needed to wriggle free.

"Oh baby," Rhett groaned when he pushed up the skirt of your white nightdress, revealing your ass to its fullest glory while his rough hands caressed the swell of it. "Can't believe ya'll kept this pretty little ass from me all day long."

You took a deep breath in, biting your lip and trying not to laugh, clenching with anticipation and wondering what he would do next.

You yelped a little when he delivered a good, sound smack to your ass that echoed through the barn, the two of you laughing uncontrollably. "WHAT THE FUCK?!!!!" you blurted out.

Rhett didn't answer. he just kept laughing his ass off.

"Rhett James Abbott, is that all you've got?"

"Don't tempt me woman!" he interjected, still laughing a little.

"Oh I'll tempt you alright," you insisted.

He promptly delivered a sound smack to your ass in the same spot as before. "Oh turnin into a little harlot now are we?" he purred. "Temptin the preacher?"

"Bullshit," you laughed.

Your laugh jumped up a pitch when he smacked your ass again. "Better quit it now ya little brat, Daddy's wrist is gettin fuckin tired."

"Alright, alright, you've got me," you told him.

"You sure?"

"Yes, now get back down here and fuck me properly!"

Rhett kissed your lips and tickled your cheek with his finger, reveling in the smile that was on your face. "As you wish Buttercup."

You heard him unzip his jeans, his belt clinking in the quietness of the barn before that sudden, swollen hotness entered you from behind. Your moans were music to his ears as they rose and fell like the ocean tides, his hands gripping your hips as he drew himself in and out of you and every single thrust throwing you into an unforgettable ecstasy.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x reader smut #outer range

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lewmagoo · 1 month

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Happy Birthday, Leah! Can I request an Earl Grey with a spot of Rhett and fluff - "the way i love you goes beyond description. even those words don’t seem like enough"? 🫖 ❤️ ✨

join my birthday tea party!

he was so beautiful like this. hair splayed against the canvas of the hammock the two of you were lounging upon, his dark lashes delicately fluttering against his cheekbones, shadows cast beneath them from the golden hour light. relaxed. at ease. not a care in the world. you loved watching him melt like this. it was as if, for just a moment, the burden that he carried upon his shoulders - the burden of son, of brother, of uncle - was no more. it wasn’t that those things were chores for him, because they weren’t. if anything could be said of rhett abbott, it was that he was a good son. he took care of his parents. he was a good brother. he looked out for perry, even when the man wouldn’t so much as spit on him if he were on fire. and he devoted so much to his niece, who seemed to be the only one who truly appreciated his love, aside from you of course.

but the thing was, rhett poured so much of himself into others. he gave, and he gave, and he gave. but hardly received anything in return. you didn’t know why he remained so loyal to his family. he said it was because blood was thicker than water. but you saw the way they treated him. they didn’t deserve his loyalty. he was too good. too pure of heart. and you wished, so desperately, that he could see himself the way you saw him. he took care of you in so many ways, big and small. he was selfless, when it came to you. and you made sure to show your appreciation to him, because if you didn't, then who would?

"love you," you murmured, as you lay with your head against his chest, the two of you cuddled on the hammock. "take such good care of me." his mouth curled into a shy smile, even as his eyes remained shut. he snuggled further into you, cheek resting atop your head. "luh you too, darlin'. always gon' take care of you." and you knew he would. it made your heart swell with emotion. how could anyone take him for granted? you lifted your head, reaching your hand up to touch his scruffy cheek. he opened those sleepy baby blues to meet your gaze. "you need to know...the way i love you goes beyond description. even those words don’t seem like enough. i—i wish i could find the words to tell you how much you mean to me. but i just really love you, rhett abbott."

those pretty eyes of his welled with tears. "baby..." he whispered. you leaned in to kiss him. "don't have to say anything," you assured him. "just thought you should know how special you are to me." he smiled a tearful smile, kissing you softly again. his big hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the skin. you always made him feel so appreciated. more than anyone ever had. you saw him for him, not just what he could do for you. your love was not transactional. it was pure and genuine. he wished that he could find the words to respond, but that was never his strong suit. so instead, he simply held you close, cherishing your closeness. knowing how you felt about him, knowing you had his back, was all he needed.

#asks #rhett musings #rhett abbott x reader #leah’s birthday tea party

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malice-ov-mercy · 5 months

Text

See You Around

Pairing: Jolly Karlsson x fem!Reader

Content Warnings: 18+!, oral (male receiving), unrequited love, angst too I suppose

A/N: See??? I promise I still write for Bad Omens. The Will Ramos brainrot is just always present and never goes away. ANYWAY, I binge a lot of Good Mythical Morning, and I heard Rhett say “look at me and open your mouth” and yeah. An idea was spawned.

Word count: 681

Tag list: @circle-with-me @xxrainstorm @foliosriot @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @reader13000 @sammyjoeee

If you would like to be added, please let me know for who! If you tell me everyone/everything, just know that includes anything I may write for Bad Omens AND/OR Will Ramos.

————————————

Jolly Masterlist

————————————

“Look at me and open your mouth.”

Jolly gazed down at you, his eyes filled to the brim with desire and lust. Not an ounce of love was present inside his stare. You were just a fling to him and it hurt. You hated the chokehold he had on your heart. Every time he called, you fought yourself, knowing what he wanted. A constant internal shouting match between your sensible brain and careless heart plagued you. Somehow your heart always won, never being able to decline him.

You peeked at him through your lashes and opened your mouth, eager to please this man who didn’t care at all for you.

“Good girl.” He said with a crooked smile.

You hated the way his praise warmed your skin.

Jolly brought his cock to your mouth and you stuck out your tongue, like a pedestal waiting for its trophy. He slapped his dick on your wet, waiting tongue, a delighted hum rumbling in his chest.

“You look so beautiful like this, on your knees and my dick in your pretty little mouth.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as one of his hands cupped your cheek. His other hand threaded in your hair and gently pushed his entire length in your mouth. He tossed his head back with a low groan. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.

“I love how easily you take me.”

He thrust his hips gently, not wanting to hurt you like he sometimes did when he got carried away. You never complained to him, but the rasp of your voice was always the tell. Even if you did complain, you don’t think he’d care.

Why would he? After all, you were nothing.

Jolly’s soft grunts and whimpers were the only sound in your room as he slowly fucked your mouth. He was taking his time more than usual. By now, he usually started relentlessly forcing himself down your throat, but he was being unusually tender. You knew better than to get your hopes up though.

You reached for his balls, knowing just how much he loved when you played with them and how quickly and intensely he came. His grip tightened in your hair then forced himself down your throat, making you choke and gag. That’s the Jolly you knew.

“Keep doing that, please.” He begged shamelessly.

Like always, you obeyed, never having the will to deny him whatever he wanted from you. You gently massaged him, turning him into a whiny, whimpering mess. He rarely ever made this much noise. He must be thoroughly enjoying using you.

Jolly picked up his pace, bruising your mouth and throat with his forceful and powerful thrusts, no longer caring about gentleness. You peered at him through tear stained lashes. His face was contorted in pure, unadulterated pleasure. He looked beautiful every waking moment of his life, but especially so chasing his climax.

His hips stilled and held your head in place as he came, unloading a string of profound groans. You hummed, happily swallowing the semen that filled your mouth and leaked down your throat. The bitterness of his seed was a reminder of the bitter cold you would feel in just a few short moments when he left.

He smiled down at you and your heart did a somersault. He gripped your jaw and pulled you to your feet. Jolly towered over you. His once lust filled eyes were now drained, an almost kind glint glimmered in them. No matter how many times you admired his eyes, you could never decide if they were brown or hazel and you weren’t about to ask. That would be a step too far.

You had so much love to give him, but he didn’t want it. He turned it away at every corner.

“Thank you for that.” Jolly stuffed himself back in his pants. “See you around soon, yeah?”

To your surprise, he pressed a light kiss to your cheek—but before you had time to process or ask, he walked away, once again taking your shattered glass heart with him.

#jolly karlsson x reader #jolly karlsson fanfiction #jolly karlsson fanfic #jolly karlsson fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic

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callsign-joyride · 21 days

Text

Hot Blooded | Rhett Abbott

Summary: Rhett to the rescue when a fire alarm in your apartment building goes off and you're taking a shower.

Pairing: firefighter!Rhett x f!reader

Content warnings: One of the other firefighters is an asshole, fluff, I wrote this in like 20 minutes so it's very short

It was late when you got back from having a night out with your friends. You didn’t have much to drink, maybe one or two beers, and you had water when you weren’t drinking, so you were okay to drive home. All you wanted to do was take your makeup off and shower, regardless of how late it was. So, you were standing under the hot water of the shower while listening to a podcast. You were waiting for your hair mask to run its course, and then you’d wash it out. That was the plan until the fire alarm went off. The noise startled you, but it was like you were frozen in fear. You didn’t smell any smoke, which was good. It meant that someone probably burned their food, so it wasn’t anything too serious.

The only problems were that it was snowing outside and you didn’t have time to layer up enough to avoid freezing. You were mid-thought when someone started pounding on your bathroom door. They announced that they were from the fire department, and by that point, the alarm had been turned off. You quickly turned the water off and wrapped yourself in a towel before slightly opening the door.

”Ma’am, you need to leave the building,” one of the firefighters said. His name tag said Smith, so you assumed that that was his last name.

”I’m sorry, I was in the shower.”

”It doesn’t matter. The fire safety protocol says that-,”

”Calm down, dude. It’s freezing out there and she’s obviously okay. This area is cleared,” someone with Abbott on his name tag chimed in.

“The chief won’t be happy about this.”

”Radio him and tell him that this room is clear. She doesn’t have to leave the building. Other apartments need to be cleared. This isn’t our biggest concern right now.”

Most of them left, except for Abbott. He closed the bathroom door and gave you time to get decent before speaking to you.

”I’m really sorry about that. A lot of our guys are sticklers about following the rules, but I wasn’t going to make you go outside,” he said.

”Well, thanks. I appreciate it.”

”No problem. Can I ask why you were showering so late?”

”Oh, I went out with a couple of friends and I got back super late. I normally don’t shower at this time, though. It was more of a one-off,” you said, chuckling.

“Yeah, I understand. I shower at the craziest times when I’m on call. I should probably get back to my team, but can you give me your phone number? You seem really nice, and maybe we could get coffee or something some time.”

”Sure!”

He pulled out a little notepad and a pen, nodding his head as you told him your phone number. When he had finished writing, he showed you to make sure that it was the correct number. Right before he left, he told you that his name was Rhett and that he’d be keeping in touch. Sure enough, when you woke up the next morning, there was a text on your phone from an unfamiliar number.

It’s firefighter Rhett from last night

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @cycbaby @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman @shawty-fenty @littlemisstopgun @rosiahills22 @katieshook02 @justanothermagicalsara @caitsymichelle13 @smoothdogsgirl @adoringsebstan @cherrycola27 @alexxavicry @mrsjaderogers @mak-32 @thefandomimagines @tallrock35 @caatheeriinee07 @bradshawseresinbabe @rosesvioletshardy @anotherr-fine-mess

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott series #outer range #rhett abbott x you #outer range fanfic #rhett abbott fanfiction

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dulcewrites · 11 months

Text

Masterlist

Welcome! You can call me Flower. I am a relatively new writer (fanfic wise). This is my side blog so replies/follows will come from dulcelibra. I write basically anything. Fluff, angst etc. So far the fandoms I’ve written for are: Top Gun Maverick, Outer Range, and House of the Dragon. I am open writing for other fandoms so just let me know if you have any request. My inbox is always open. I try to upload or post regularly, even if it is just posting ideas for feedback. That being said, I would appreciate patience. Also I do have works that are ambiguous readers but as a black woman is important for me to represent that in my writing. Please like, reblog, and follow if you see anything you like 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Ao3

Top Gun Maverick

Good Wife: As their marriage goes through a rough patch, Nia finds her reevaluating her relationship with Bradley, and what she signed up for when she said ‘I Do’. Slight character study based on some lyrics from good wife by Kacey Musgraves (Bradley x oc)

Crush Preview

Outer Range

Despite My Better Judgement: Your eccentric but kind hearted best friend tasks you with the duty of throwing “the best bachelorette party ever” in Wyoming of all places. An unexpected night with a brooding cowboy happens.

New Traditions: As the first holiday season in your new home approaches, Rhett and you start new traditions and make promises

Moodboard*

House of the Dragon

Fool Me Once (multi part - finished): Learning about Aemond’s indiscretions hurts more than you thought it would, and leads you to accepting help from an unlikely source (Aemond x reader)

Finding Common Cause (multi part- on going): A little white lie on Helaena’s part lands both Aemond and Myrah in situation they can’t get out of (Aemond x oc)

Blood in the Water (multi part - on going): Some will say that the deaths of Lady Laena Velaryon and Ser Laenor Velaryon, daughter and son of the Sea Snake and Queen That Never Was, were the first cracks in the long standing alliance between House Velaryon and House Targaryen. But most claim it was sudden union between Ser Vaemond Velaryon's daughter and the King's first born son. (Aegon x oc)

Intrinsically Linked: Love and Pain are two sides of the same coin. Fluid and never ending. Laena and Alicent both know that all too well.

Drowned in Love (multi part): Love in painful and all consuming, and the three of them would not have it any other way. (Aemond x alys x oc)

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back (paused): Sometimes Aegon is sure that the Gods like playing tricks on him. Your reintroduction into his life only proves that further (modern hotd au, Aegon centric).

Acquired Taste (paused): Sometimes the hungry grows too strong. Edith and Aegon know that all too well. (Modern au Aegon x oc)

Unnerved: Being at court is a game is a game, and your favorite player is a certain long haired prince (Aemond x reader)

Fire & Desire: Many sacrifices have been made to get Aegon on the throne. Including ones made by you (Aegon x reader x aemond)

Paparazzi: Loving Aemond is cherry pie (modern au Aemond centric)

Gone… But Not Forgotten (request): Aemond and you always had a great relationship. But as the Dance of the Dragons begins and tensions rise, you find yourself on the outside looking in (Aemond x reader)

Promises and Premonitions (request): Since finding out you’re with child, you’ve been having the strangest nights (Aemond x reader)

For You Always: you always knew Aemond had a soft spot for you, but you always just assumed it was him wanting to look out for his brother’s wife. Soon you find out that his devotion knows no bounds (Aemond x reader)

Oc list

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delopsia · 4 months

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Sleigh Ride | Rhett Abbott x Reader

My cozy little submission for @lewmagoo's Christmas Celebration 🤍 Word Count: 7,500 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, brief food mention, vague mention of somnophilia, Christmas celebrations mentioned but no religious activity tied to it, snowball fights, riding, unprotected sex. A little slice of winter fluff. Brief Summary: Rhett's fixing up the family sleigh to take you on the ride he never got to give you, but not everything goes according to plan when it's finished...

It's the crash that gets your attention.

A harsh clatter of metal and a heaviness that booms when it hits the ground, thundering through the air like last night's storm. But despite its alarming appearance, you haven't the slightest clue where it came from, the noise bouncing from wall to wall and down to the cellar, never seeming to lose her vicious intensity.

But your feet must have grown ears of their own because they're carrying you out the door within a few seconds. Shoes thumping across hardwood older than you are and down the dirt driveway. On a one-way track to the barn where you last saw Rhett. He's the only person who could have caused such a—

...ruckus.

"Did the ghost of Christmas Past get ahold of you?" It's impossible to stifle the giggle that escapes you; not quite the sight you expected to find when you rounded the corner.

Rhett's eyes roll, hardly visible through the pile of Christmas lights that have fallen on top of him, "help me."

As much as you'd like to do that, you're not entirely sure where to begin. Stepping past clips and oddly shaped tools you don't know the name of, you bend down, grabbing a handful of the cables and pulling them away. Untangling them may take an entire day's worth of work, but at least the mass makes it easy to get them off of him, heavy as they are.

"I thought you weren't decorating the house this year?" Your hands daringly stroking through his hair as you work, tangled from the Wyoming wind and the slightest bit damp with sweat. Should be something you find gross by now, but that grimy cowboy charm has dug its roots in deep.

"'m not," despite being the one tangled up, he's not that much help. Moving a little too slowly, as you nimbly work to free him of his decorative confines.

His pause makes you wonder if that's your cue to speak."No?"

And it must have been what he was waiting for because his head shakes, "Was tryin' t' find that damn drivin' harness."

The last of the lights fall from his shoulders, laying in a heap around his ankles. A trap that he must deal with alone, lest you bend down and wind up on your knees for longer than planned. Instead, you savor the veins that bulge in his forearms as he reaches down to free himself, "Finally, see the wicked ways of big oil and convert back to old-fashioned horse and buggy?"

"Naw," he's peeking at you through the corner of his eye, seems to have caught on to the way your gaze lingers a moment too long, "d' you remember that ol' sleigh? The one my folks used for their weddin'?"

"The same one Perry cracked the frame of?" You still consider yourself fortunate that you weren't familiar with the Abbotts back then, far away from that first newlywed argument. Its hard telling if Rebecca will ever forgive Perry for making her walk through freezing snow that soaked her wedding dress on their special day.

"'ts the one," those spurs on his boots chime like Christmas bells as he steps out from the hoard. Closer to you. "'m tryin' to fix it before Christmas."

Your head tilts to the side. "...you're not planning on a second wedding, are you?" Because as far as you remember, that sleigh has been a wedding-exclusive tradition, carrying every Abbott newlywed through a winter wonderland with their partner. And despite the newness of the rings adorning your ring fingers, you don't count as newlyweds anymore.

Rhett just shakes his head. "Nah," leaning in to press his warm lips to your forehead before returning to the mess he's created, "but it ain't fair that I never got to give you a ride in it."

"I can think of other rides you've given me," and for once in your life, you're thankful he's not looking directly at you, or else he would have caught sight of the way your face dropped. How many more times will your inner thoughts dart off the tip of your tongue?

He sputters, lights falling out of his hands, "I'm tryin' t' be serious here!" But those cheeks of his are red as can be, rosy with something torn between surprise and fondness.

"But I'm fully serious," doubling down; there's no sense in going back now.

His index finger shakes at you, defiant, "I'm takin' you on a sleigh ride even if it's the last thing I do."

Your eyes trail over to Isabella, her fuzzy head poking out of her stall. There isn't a way in hell that she knows what is being said, but her gaze suggests she understands every word. Isn't pleased in the slightest about being downgraded from loyal ranch horse to novelty sleigh puller. But it can't be as bad as that parade sleigh she begrudgingly pulled back in January.

The voice in the back of your head openly wonders if he'll give up on it within a couple of days. You've never seen him quit that easily, but what are the chances that the sleigh is even fixable? The old red paint has long since chipped away to reveal decades' worth of rust and weathering and has long since lost parts of the metal underside. No longer capable of sliding across the snow, no, now its sharp ends dig into the frozen soil like a stubborn mule.

But you wake up the next morning to find Rhett jotting down a plan on the back of some junk mail, and the next, he's out working on it before lunch. When Cecelia approached you two with the idea of staying in the house while she and Royal visited Rebecca and Perry for a month, you'd never imagined this was how Rhett would spend his time.

"And here I'd thought you got lost in the barn," you chirp, only lifting your head to meet him for a kiss, frozen lips melting against your warmer ones like snowflakes.

"'m sorry," and for your troubles of waiting an extra hour, he quiets you with a second kiss. Longer. Lingering with the same fire that got you bent over the counter earlier. "I can't seem t' find them damn sleigh bell straps."

On its own, your head tilts to the side. "You're done with the sleigh?"

"Nah," he makes a face as he peels that hat off his head, seems to have glued itself there after a long day of sweating, his forehead still shimmering with it, "jus' realized there ain't no point in a sleigh ride if there are no sleigh bells."

But the bells...simply do not exist.

They're not in the shed, far out in one of the pastures. Nor are they in the cellar or the measly attic full of all the junk in the world. No matter where you two search, there isn't the slightest hint of a sleigh bell. Coincidentally, every person in Wyoming must be having the same problem because there are none when you venture into town. The bells, once sitting in the front of the tack shop, are now nothing but a memory, not to be restocked until next year.

"Hey, Rhett," you find yourself saying in the middle of the general store, "will this work?"

The corner of Rhett's lip wavers up and down, torn between amusement and mock annoyance at the tiny bell necklace in your hand. Red, green, and silver bells of various sizes, all crammed together to create a gaudy masterpiece with a built-in obnoxious soundtrack.

If his eyes could roll the way into the back of his head, they would have by now. "Yeah, if you're plannin' t' be the horse."

But he's still reaching out to give it an experimental shake as if he's considering it for the briefest of moments.

"I don't mind the idea of that," giggling, you move to set it back on the rack, returning to its equally festive companions.

You blink, and all of a sudden, it's sitting in the cart. Not a word is spoken as Rhett winks at you before disappearing into the next aisle over, boot spurs chiming their taunting chant.

It's only fair that you get him something obnoxious to wear, too—a reindeer antler headband with cheap golden bells on them. Enough to get you a funny look when they cross the scanner in the checkout, but not for him to mention anything about it.

The bells sit on the counter like a taunting reminder of what seems to have disappeared from the ranch entirely. Vibrantly colored metal catching in the morning sunlight when Rhett leans in to catch you with a goodbye kiss as if he's embarking on some lifelong journey and not walking a couple of yards to the barn.

One afternoon you catch him swearing to the high heavens over how much he can't stand that motherfucker, Perry, as he welds two pieces of metal together. Vaguely shaped, seems to match the missing piece beneath the rusty old sleigh. On another, he walks into the house, reeking of paint stripper.

"Did you take a bath in this stuff?" You ask, lathering your hands for a second time, working your way back through those freshly washed locks of hair. Silky soft to the touch, the peppermint of his shampoo nearly enough to drown out the overwhelming scent of chemicals.

"I even used gloves," his nose wrinkles, eyes scrunching shut at the stray bit of soap running down his forehead. Your finger swipes it away just in the nick of time before it can cross his eye and begin to sting.

You're fortunate that washing his hair has become a favorite winding down activity because it seems you spend half of your evening helping him scrub every crevice twice. Washing away the grime from under his nails and not resting until he smells like peppermint and the brisk winter breeze...at least that's what the bottle says. It's more of a dull mintiness that kisses your nose when you get close enough.

But it only marks the start of something else.

Red flecks of paint cling to his clothes and skin like a toddler who has gotten carried away with an unsupervised art project. Unlike the paint stripper, it doesn't carry a scent that makes you lightheaded, but you roll your eyes every time you see him. Red on the edges of his nails splattered up his forearms and reaching up to his cheeks. Ratty old jacket growing to look like it's been involved in a crime.

It reaches its worst on Christmas Eve. Days of paint piling up to join the remnants that stubbornly cling to his skin, making him to look like a Halloween decoration that was accidentally left out when the others were rounded up. But there he is hair decorated with flecks of white as he stomps his boots on the entry mat, shaking free of the clinging snow.

He looks ridiculous.

"Quit laughin' at me every time I come in the door," he chuckles, not an ounce of seriousness to his tone as he meanders up to you, rubbing his painted nose against your forehead whilst he draws you in. Some big hug that greedily steals away the heat your body has collected over your cozy day in the house, all for the sake of melting your favorite frosty cowboy.

"You would be laughing too if you saw yourself," your thumb squishes his cheek, feeling the soft prickle of his facial hair as you wipe away a few red flecks. Only to spot more above his brow, and in his hair, and clinging to the side of his neck.

No, no, no, you have to look away, or else you'll catch yourself scrubbing him down with the sink sponge. Already in your free hand and drenched in dishwater that you've just run, hadn't quite been expecting him to come in so soon.

You suppose there's the reason why he's here an hour earlier than usual, because he's hooking his thumb into your belt loop and pleading for you to step away from the sink for just a moment. And who are you to deny him when he's grinning at you with paint-freckled cheeks? Soft blue eyes glittering with an excitement that only appears when he's proud of himself.

So off you go. Stumbling down the dirt driveway in your pajama pants and the winter coat you'd snatched off the hook when you were halfway out the door. Not dressed warm enough to escape the wind nipping at your exposed cheeks, squeezing between the fabrics of your clothes and wrapping you up in a full-body chill. Snowflakes drift past like tiny fairies, melting on your skin and clinging to Rhett's hair.

Then you see it.

A bright red sleigh pokes out from around the barn door, paint so pristine that it shimmers. Not a hint of how it once rusted to the brink no return doesn't bear its scars of Perry's fateful wedding joy ride. No, it's wrapped up in a big silver bow, like it's brand new. Brought home from the shop, fresh out of the factory, and certainly not a fifty-year-old family heirloom.

You can see exactly where he painted it earlier; the color a little darker where it's still wet, but it's...perfect.

"Are you sure this is the same sleigh?" Blinking once. Twice.

It's still there. Real as you are.

"Y' can't tell where I welded it?" His shivering hand points to a space in the underside of it, but quite frankly, it all looks the same to you. He could have tricked you into believing that this is a different sleigh entirely.

Your head shakes, a movement that dissolves into a full-bodied shiver, "Not a bit."

It's perfect. The color. The repair. The timing. Only Rhett Abbott can pull together a monumental task at the last moment, all for the sake of a special day. The necklace of bells catches your eye when you meander back inside, dashing for the blankets that have been warming by the space heater. The necklace won't fit Isabella, but they'll certainly fit you.

Who cares where the jingle is coming from? As long as it's there, then you can't bring yourself to utter a single complaint.

Rhett's heated glare at the reindeer antlers resting menacingly on the couch suggests that he could definitely complain, though.

The Christmas tree twinkles in Cecelia's office, just a couple of feet away from the living room, a pleasant golden hue that warms the room with its presence. A tiny addition to the movie playing on the television, only serving to make you nuzzle into Rhett a little closer. His heart beating gently against your ear, scruffy cheek resting against your forehead.

You're snuggled up in bed when you realize you forgot to finish washing the dishes and now soaking in frigid water with nothing but a memory of soap left. But you can't bring yourself to slip out of Rhett's arms to clean up a few measly dishes. It can be left for the morning. Before Rhett gets up to fetch Isabella and works away with all of the mechanics that go into pulling a sleigh.

They're the first thing on your mind when you slip out of bed in the morning.

Well...that and bringing Rhett a piece of butter toast that he so politely held you hostage for, refusing to let you free of his arms until you paid his tax of kisses and treats. The downside of marrying a cowboy too strong for his own good.

But you don't make it to the sink before you see it.

White.

A winter wonderland so bright that it hurts your eyes to look at it. Reaching as far as the eye can see, toppling high in the trees, and coating everything with a thick winter blanket until you can no longer recognize the Abbott property. But that's not the problem. No, the problem is how much of it there is.

At least a foot and a half deep, not enough to block you in but definitely enough to warrant breaking out the plow. Piled up outside the barn doors, packed tight by the squealing wind, and stacked high on the roof of Rhett's truck.

"Rhett!" You call out, voice echoing all across the house. Distantly, you think you catch a grumble that sounds like a response. "Can you take a look outside for me?"

Feet thunk across the floor overhead.

And then you hear it.

A muttered, "Shit." Clear as day, traveling through the paper-thin walls, down the stairs, and straight to your ears.

He's out the door before the toast pops out, swearing under his breath as he yanks his coat over his shoulders; you're surprised he even remembers to lean in and kiss your cheek before he heads out into the world of white.

There's no way that the sleigh can go through that much snow, but one way or another, you find yourself fiddling with the edges of your gloves, walking towards the barn, bell necklace jingling every step of the way. Despite the added protection of all these layers, the wind still works its way in. Biting at every centimeter of exposed skin that can be found, heckling you even when you step into the safety of the barn.

"Rhett?" Calling out into the empty room. He isn't here, and the sleigh still sits where you last saw it, completely untouched. In fact, the only other living creatures in this barn are the horses. Isabella's head pokes out of her stall as if she's confused about this whole thing herself.

Her ears prick forward. Suddenly interested.

Something cold splatters against your back.

"Rhett!" You're squealing. Spinning on your heels. Just in time for a second ball of white to explode against your chest.

Snowballs.

A third whizzes past your head. Smashing into something that goes crashing to the floor. Spooks a noise out of the horses. You'd check. But you're already diving behind the safety of a barn door. Scrambling to scoop up some snow into a crudely formed ball.

...where did he go?

One moment he was darting toward you. The next, he's virtually vanished.

But he's left footprints. Little tracks that cross yours and venture toward the corner of the barn. You see him now. The tip of his hat poking around the corner. Wavering. Like he's about to burst out and pelt you with another ball.

Except you're quicker. Bursting out from your hiding spot. Nailing him in the shoulder with a ball that splatters up into his face.

"Shit!" He's pawing at his icy cheek. Snowflakes sparkling, clinging to his stubble.

"A snowball fight, really?" You giggle, reaching for more snow. Packing it together as quickly as you can. Racing to beat Rhett's quicker hands.

The sound of your necklace jingling washes over his laugh, "scared yer fixin' t' lose?"

This isn't a fight you started, but it is certainly one that you will finish.

Except your shot misses Rhett by a mile. His retaliation narrowly brushes past your leg. He's reaching for another, and so are you. Futilely gathering up bits of ammunition. Scrambling to step away from each other. Fearing the other will charge at any moment. Snow crunching heavily beneath your feet. Powdery and kicking up to cling to your pants.

Again, you're taking an aim at him. And this time, you don't miss. White scattering about Rhett's messy curls. A perfect headshot.

"You little—" He's making a break toward you like a bull out of a chute. So suddenly that your foot slips out from under you in your efforts to escape. Fighting against your pounding heart and the wicked brace of the wind. Snow still clutched in your gloved hand as he yells. "Come here!"

Shit. Shit. Shit. You've nowhere to go.

You're darting into the barn. Boots scuffing against the old pavement floor as you veer left into the tack room. Spurs jingle behind you. Overjoyed laughter like a haunting squeal that adds a little more fire to your step. Bee lining straight for the hay, past the saddle racks, and out the half-open side door.

Turning. Throwing the snowball right into Rhett's chest. But it's only adding fuel to the already open blaze.

"That ain't fair!" He hollers. In the corner of your eye you can see him bending down, scooping up snow. Not even bothering to ball it up before he throws it at you. Tiny snowflakes stabbing at your eyes and cheeks.

You yelp, pawing at your face with the back of your hand. "You don't play fair!"

Where are you going? You have no idea because you're back in front of the barn again. Racing for the house. As if the safety of the mud room will thwart this evil attack from your husband. Feet falling into your old footprints, vying for a quicker escape.

Weight hits your back.

"Rhett!"

The world spins.

"Quit yellin' at me!"

Your bodies are twisting in the snow. Tumbling like two children. The fall cushioned by the frosty ground but melting, seeping through your clothes with an icy vengeance. All of a sudden, you're flat on your back. Chest heaving. Gasping for frozen air as you peek up at the broad frame above.

Rhett's hair hangs in front of his face, puffs of foggy breath falling from his open mouth. Forearms shivering where they rest on either side of your head. Not quite as strong and indomitable as he was just a moment ago.

"Fine," you pant, blinking back up at him, "you win."

The corner of his lip rises. Pearly white teeth glint in the light reflecting off the snow, growing brighter as he leans down. You can see it even as your eyes fall shut; this bright presence that rivals the blinding sun, warming you with the way his lips melt against your own.

Perfection is what it is.

His soft inhale never grows old, has been making you dizzy from day one. Delicate at first, a gentle pressure that deepens the moment your gloved hand curls around the back of his neck. Hardly expect him to be the one who gasps into your mouth with this barely-there grunt that the wind carries to your ears.

His body is lowering atop yours with this wonderfully comforting weight that feels the equivalent of a blanket sent straight from the heavens. Your hands gliding down his chest, pressing against rippling muscle, on their way to wrapping around his waist. Pulling him closer, urging him to settle between your parted legs until there isn't a centimeter of space between you.

For a moment, you're somewhere else. Cozied up in bed or nestled in front of a roaring fireplace.

But then the wind is squealing in your ears, and a violent shiver is raking down your back. Suddenly aware of the melting snow, seeping through protective layers and stinging at your skin. One of your hands drops, gathering a loose handful of the powder that has seemingly swallowed up Wabang in its entirety.

"So much for that sleigh ride," Rhett murmurs against your lips, his voice a soft vibration that warms you like sunshine.

Your noses bump together as you lean up, so close you can almost hear the thoughts filtering through his head, "I can think of something else that may suffice."

This close, it's easy to catch the way his eyes flicker, meeting with yours, a hint darker than they were beforehand. He's not on the same page as you, but he's certainly on the right chapter.

Almost makes you feel bad for smacking that palm-full of snow into the side of his head.

He yelps, pawing at his frozen cheek. Opening up space for you to roll and scramble to your feet. Darting for the ice-covered porch and through the front door. Uncaring of where your shoes land as you kick them off.

The door squeals open. But it's not loud enough to wash over the outright giggle that bubbles out of your cowboy.

"That!" Rhett's kicking at the heel of his boot, shoving them off his feet as quickly as he can manage. "Was mean!"

Your feet have glued themselves to the floor. Unable to move or cover up the grin etching its way across your wind-bitten face as he steps up behind you. "But you're laughing."

From over your shoulder, his gaze meets yours. Darker than the first time.

"Yeah," he mutters, in that deep, grumbly fashion that makes your knees weak, "'Cause 'm 'bout to do this." And before he can so much as finish his sentence, his frozen hands dart beneath your shirt. Palms pressing against your warm belly. Firm, even as you yelp. Trapped between his arms, unable to jump anywhere but back into his chest.

"Rhett!" But you can't get away. Squirming, stumbling in his grasp. Strong enough to force your bodies to stumble forward. Not enough to break free of the frigid fingers danging up your sides.

"Jesus, why're y' so fuckin' strong?" The only disadvantage Rhett has is the socks clinging to his feet. Unable to gain a hint of traction on this hardwood floor. Slipping, sliding around. "Y' little bull."

Speaking is beyond you. Breathless as your feet dig into the scratched wood. Pushing yourself backward, Rhett's back thunking into the wall.

He's laughing.

You're at the end of your rope, and he's laughing.

Scowling, you push back a little further. The soft curve of your ass pressing into his jeans, drawing those chuckles into a guttural groan that tickles down your spine. Weakening the slightest bit at the way you wriggle against him, feeling the way he twitches, hardening until he's straining against the material.

Your name falls off his lips. Hardened arms, now soft, hugging you against him, powerless to do anything else. The brim of his hat bumps against your head as he leans into you, putty in your hands.

He doesn't say a word, but the hot breath on your neck tells everything you need to hear.

Slow, you spin, twisting in his arms until you're nose to nose. Your hand free to reach down and slip between his legs, cupping him through his jeans. Drinking in that shaky breath, the way he pushes into it, and how his eyes flutter. A pretty show, all for you.

You know that you shouldn't be tugging on his zipper; Cecelia's van is bound to roll up the snowy driveway at any moment, with food ready to head into the oven and gifts to be opened by the tree, fresh home from their California ventures. There is no time for this, and yet your thumb is popping open his button, too-cold fingers venturing inside.

That pretty mouth falls open. Jolting as your hand wraps around him, remaining still in that helpless sort of way while you draw him out. Until his cock is fully out, in the middle of this hallway, right by the front door. Growing harder in your grasp, only takes two slow pumps of your fist to get him all the way there. Aching. Yearning.

"Why're you so quiet all of a sudden, cowboy?" You whisper a taunt uttered so quietly that it ought to be poetry.

His Adam's apple bobs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. But he doesn't say anything.

No, he's quiet.

Even as you take a fistful of his jacket, haul him off the wall, and back him into the living room. A wordless dance that bumps your noses together but never lets your needy mouths meet. His hands on your hips and yours on his chest, the only sound in the room that of your necklace jingling, an echo of the sleigh ride you were supposed to have.

Fortunately, you can think of a much, much better ride.

The backs of his knees bump into the couch, falling backward with an unceremonious thump. Springs squealing, something nameless popping in a fashion that can't mean anything good.

You don't care.

Neither does he. Too busy leaning forward and hooking his fingers in your waistband, gently tugging your pants down your thighs. All the while, you're unzipping your jacket, dropping it to the floor just as your legs escape the confines of all those layers. Suddenly, all too exposed in this not-so-warm house.

"C'mere," he breathes.

And oh, you do. Knees settling on either side of his hips, his lap the perfect cushion that you settle into, his hard cock squishing between your bodies, the fabric of your sweatshirt rubbing against it. Soft mouths collide. Hungry. All taking. Rough stubble brushing against your chin, with a kind of tingling burn that you've become all too familiar with. A dizzying clash intensified by the jingling of the cheap bells around your neck.

Blindly, your hand reaches off to the side, feeling about the cushion until the texture changes, suddenly running over smooth fabric and cold bells. Light in your gasp, so nonchalant that Rhett doesn't notice what you're doing until you've slid the headband behind his ears.

"Did you just stick them damn antlers on me?" His eyes remain defiantly shut as if it will help him avoid the festive decor now perched on his head.

"I told you I had something else in mind," your reminder doesn't go without one of his grunts, bordering amusement.

That pretty mouth opens, tongue lifting with the beginnings of a word that never makes it out of his throat. Silenced into a gasp, all at the way your hand wraps around him again. Thumb massaging directly under his flushed tip, exactly how he likes it.

"Shouldn't the one wearin' the bells be the deer?" His complaint so weak that it hardly sounds like one at all. Head tilting back to rest against the cushion, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His hands running between your bare thighs, not stopping until his palm cups your sex through your underwear.

For a moment, your resolve wavers, "Do you want to wear the bells, too?" Taunt shaky. Struggling to keep that same tone.

The glint in his eye suggests a strong, absolutely not.

You're rapidly losing ground here. For every stroke of your hand on his cock, his fingers stroke the meet of your folds, separated by that tiny bit of fabric. So close to pushing inside, fucking you nice and slow on them until you whimper for him to stop.

The rational part of your brain expected him to pull the fabric down your legs, much like he had with your sweatpants. But that's not what he does. No, he's dipping a finger into the band and pulling it off to the side, bearing your wetness to the not-so-warm house.

"Fuckin' drippin'," he muses, all to himself, thick fingertips stroking up to your clit, swirling gently, "'n I ain't even done nothin' to ya."

It's hard to think. Thoughts coming to a screeching halt. Only able to focus on the hammer of your heart and the delicious drag of his fingers as they nudge into your entrance. Two sliding in with surprising ease, still open and stretched from how he woke you in the middle of the night. Cock sliding between your thighs until you had reached down to ease him in, drifting in and out of sleep as he fucked you nice and soft.

The memory is as fuzzy as a dream, the soreness your only indicator of it ever happening. Did you ever hit your peak? Did he? You don't remember.

"Fuck," he grumbles, fingers bottoming out so easily that your vision sparkles at the edges, "did I stretch ya out that much, baby?"

"Don't get too full of yourself, cowboy," but your threat is empty, not a shred of seriousness to be found. Even your hand can't muster the strength to squeeze him tighter than necessary, a little warning that would make him jolt.

Instead, you're stuck lazily stroking him, some repetitive movement that hardly keeps your mind off the devilish fingertips running along the inside of your dripping cunt, searching for where you're more sensitive. His thumb lazily pushing between your folds, nonchalantly nudging against your clit.

Your breath catches.

"There it is," Rhett's grinning, rubbing against that soft bundle of nerves in loose circles that damn near make your eyes cross, "'s that feel nice?"

The wriggling of your hips is enough of an answer. Grinding down into him, chasing more of those deliciously thick fingers, can't think about anything else. Just him and the sickly, wet sound he's drawing out of you with every thrust. Thumb working your clit in loose tandem, so good that you can't even move your hand over his cock anymore.

"Wanna," gulping, you try again, "wanna ride you."

His smile widens, already beginning to draw his hand away, "All y' had t' do was ask, darlin'."

Your knees ache as you move to sit up, digging into the broken-down cushion of the couch, a poor cushioning that's remedied by the nudge of Rhett's cock against your cunt. Blunt, dripping tip dragging through your wet folds, kissing your weeping entrance.

His palms settle on your hips, fingers tracing loose circles into your chilly skin, a soft guide that leads you down onto him. An ache blossoming as you stretch to take him. Can never seem to grow used to how thick he is. Engorged veins and dripping like a goddamn faucet, so good that you don't mind the waddle this will surely put in your step.

"Fuck," his breathing growing heavy, squeezing on your sides. Sweat already beads at his forehead, loose strands of hair sticking, a beautiful sight that ought to make you faint.

That fat tip finally slips inside, dragging against your walls as you sink down onto his lap. Has you pulsing and fluttering around him from the fullness alone. Filling you until your chest feels too tight, panting for breath that you can't hold onto for more than a second. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, head dropping down until it knocks against his.

Eye to eye, panting into each other's mouths in the golden light of the Christmas tree. Sinking lower and lower until your ass meets his thighs, pussy so full of him that it's almost too much to handle.

"God," he grunts, "y' take me so goddamn good."

The bells on his antlers jingle as he shifts his weight, leaning back to get a better look at where he disappears into you. Two thick fingers dip between your shivering thighs, feeling the space he's spread you the widest. Absolutely enthused.

Your first movement is marked by the sharp jingle of bells. Chiming their song as you lift your body about halfway, only to sink back down. Eager to feel the caress of his cock against those spasming nerves, so good that you have to remember to shut your mouth before you begin to drool.

It's not quite as rhythmic, but it sounds like the bells Isabella was meant to wear. Punctuating the motion of your body as you work up a comfortable pace. Leaning forward into Rhett's warm chest, your arms still looped around his neck, mouths clashing in a too-messy kiss that leaves your lips shiny.

"My cock feel that good in you?" He's speaking into your mouth in between wet kisses. Already a thin trail of saliva connecting your tongues before they can even meet, tangling with a lewdness that ought to make a sinner blush. "Talk to me, doll."

You're not even thinking about what he's saying. Already have an answer resting at the forefront of your mind. "Always."

The cushions are digging painfully into your knees. Hasn't been meant for this kind of activity since the early 2000's. But you're powering through, desperately chasing the fullness of every meet of your hips. Sucking in your own sounds in favor of drinking in Rhett's sharp inhales, faint little noises that send a wave of heat between your legs.

So good, so good, so good. You want more, but your thighs can't keep up. Aching worse than your overstretched sex, protesting the rise and fall that you can't get enough of.

"Look at you," he marvels, nose bumping into yours, nudging impossibly closer to your bouncing frame. "Already outta breath 'n ya just started."

You don't know if it's his voice or the twitch of his cock that sends a shiver up your spine, spasming involuntarily around him. Rips any shred of annoyance from your words as you pant, "Riding you isn't a walk in the park, cowboy."

His hips jerk up. Snapping into your pussy with a wet smack, downright smug as he drinks in your cry. Too sinful of a noise to echo through the halls of his childhood home.

"'s that better?" God, you could wipe that wicked smirk right off his face. But he's doing it again. And you're helpless but to shudder and take it. Sucking in a breath just before he punches it out of your lungs. Bells jingling like a proper fucking sleigh ride.

Your head feels too heavy for your shoulders to carry, falling into the space between his neck and collar, weakly hanging on as he fucks up into you. Running your burning tongue across the protruding vein there, drinking in his breathy moan.

But just the slight shift in your position has him striking something new. The kind of thing that makes your vision sparkle and your body spasm.

"Right there," whimpering into his ear, barely audible over your necklace, "please—Rhett!"

"Yeah?" He's trying it again, but he barely misses. Feet slipping across the wooden floor, struggling for the leverage he needs to buck up into you. Falling into weakened rolls that grind his cock in your pussy. Gentle rolling of hips that leave your nails biting into his shoulder.

All of a sudden, the room is spinning. Rhett's weight surging up to swing you to the left, your back bouncing against the ratty old couch. Impossibly remaining deep inside of you, his hips never once slipping from between your warm thighs. Necklace singing its shrill tune in your ears as he refinds his rhythm.

Now, he can hit those frazzled nerves. Drilling into it with a fervor that makes you worry about how you'll get up the stairs later. A price you're so, so willing to pay. Back arching off the cushion, legs squeezing those muscular hips as he fucks you deep. Long strokes that squelch with every inward thrust.

"Oughta ruin this lil pussy," he's growling into your ear, a threat he's certain to follow through on if the squealing springs are anything to go by, "fuckin' droolin' 'round my dick."

Drooling is an understatement. You're drenched. A slick mess that has run down your shivering thighs, staining the front of his jeans and glistening on his cock. An obscene sight for every withdrawal of his hips, and that alone is enough to have your skin prickling. Crying high in your throat as your head thumps back against the couch, nails biting into his shoulders until you're certain the material may rip.

You're close. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you're close, but it's not enough. No, it's not, it's not—

Rhett's rough thump presses against your throbbing clit. It's hardly even moving, and yet your mouth is falling open with a stuttered moan. You're right there. So close to the edge that your heart stutters in your chest, and your head is beginning to spin.

"This what you need, hm?" Rhett's egging you on, no doubt, can feel the way your pussy pulses around him, fluttering like a butterfly as he works you closer and closer. "Come on, sweetheart, cum 'round my cock for me."

You don't need any further coaxing. Orgasm hitting you so hard that you've barely got time to register it. Spine arching off the couch, heels digging into Rhett's ass, squeezing him so close that he can hardly draw out of you.

"That's it, baby, that's it," he's talking you through it, lips brushing against your cheek, but you can hardly feel it. Too wrapped up in a spiral of bliss. "Just like that, shit."

Weak, your legs loosen, freeing him to start moving again. Jerkily thrusting into your pulsing heat, moaning low in your ear as he works himself closer and closer, and all you can do is hang on. Biting down overstimulated squeals in favor of gasping into his ear.

"Cum in me, Rhett," you coax, shaking fingers clutching the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. "Please."

Those deep noises spur up an octave, pitchy as he whimpers, eyes squeezing shut. He's almost there, so close that he's begun to shiver from head to toe, erratic breath fanning out against your skin. Weak, you clamp down around him.

And that's all it takes.

Hips snapping into you one last time, cumming in you with a fractured nose, torn between a grunt and a desperate cry. Twitching deeper inside, punctuated by short little groans that nearly make your eyes roll into the back of your head. His spasming cock filling your pussy until you become vaguely aware of the new wetness. Marked from the inside out, sure to run down your thighs like a symbol of what belongs to him.

For a moment, the room is quiet—nothing but heaving breaths and indescribably faint noises, your cheeks squished against each other. Until you find the strength to tilt your head and press a kiss to his jaw.

Even this close, it's hard to miss Rhett's smile as he leans over to reciprocate the peck, "I love you."

"I love you more," you giggle, squeezing him a little closer now as if the centimeters of space between your chests is too much.

He could argue with you. Hell, you're certainly expecting for him to, and it seems that he gives it a moment of thought, before surrendering to the after-glow and letting you get away with it. He'll surely get you back for it soon. Start a contest you're rarely able to win.

But for right now, all you can do is snuggle into each other, his comforting weight settled on top of you. With wordless kisses and nuzzles of cold noses, his big hands roaming beneath your shirt to stroke the soft skin there, stubble scratching your cheek in the softest fashion he can manage. There's an ache blooming in your legs from being wrapped around his hips for so long, but the idea of him pulling out feels even worse.

"'m still takin' you on a proper sleigh ride," he grumbles into your ear, some soft-spoken promise that fills your belly with frosty butterflies.

But you don't get to formulate a response because all of a sudden, his phone is ringing. Cecelia, ten minutes out from the house, her careful voice backdropped by Royal's snoring from the passenger seat. She's wrangled a friend into plowing the quiet strip of road leading to the house, making room for the old car to crawl past.

You're cleaned up and on the porch, before the drive is even plowed. Snug under Rhett's arm, feigning clinginess to disguise the wobble in your knees, sore between the legs, and waddling like a festive penguin.

Nobody notices, too thrilled with the idea of presents and warm dinner to look into the finer details. Except for Rhett, that is. A smug, irritating grin plastered upon his pale face for the entire afternoon. Proud of his handiwork.

The sleigh bells were in Cecelia's trunk. Had accidentally landed there when she had taken the harness to the tack repair shop back in October, and in her rush to get everything packed for the trip, she forgot to take them out.

As the sun begins to set and you're helping Cecelia put away the dishes, Rhett's head pops around the corner. Snowflakes clinging to his hair, nose red as can be, asking to steal you away for the rest of the afternoon.

And outside the house stands his beloved mare. Her mane was braided, and her bells chiming proudly in that festive fashion exclusive to Christmas. She's rusty at first, taking a moment to remember what Rhett's asking of her, but she's perfect. Content to make her way down the snow-white driveway, jet black tail swishing from side to side.

"Is this the sleigh ride you've been dying to take me on?" You giggle. Your chin propped on his shoulder, peering over at his grinning, wind-bitten face.

"Mhm," his head tilts to rest against yours, "but I think I liked your idea a little better."

It takes an hour longer than usual for you two to return from the barn that night.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #oneshot #outer range #x reader #a lew magoo christmas

130 notes · View notes

valhallaas · 1 year

Text

Lonely Boy Far From Home

pairing: Bob Floyd x Memphis!reader

word count: 5k

warnings: SMUT (18+ minors dni) some fluff (if you squint), oral (female receiving), p in v, creampie (wrap it up pals)

summary: you danced around the idea for weeks, but now it’s down to one night.

a/n: here it is! the anticipated bob floyd fic! This is for you, @glen-powells Godspeed because i don’t want it anymore lmao i hope ya’ll enjoy it and let me know what you think! (I know the gif is Rhett and not Bob, but the cowboy hat is important. Go kick rocks)

What was I supposed to do Standin’ there lookin’ at you

The soft smile never leaves your lips as you glide around the reception. Every problem you and Adam, the best man, take in stride. Today wasn’t about you. Looking over from the bar your eyes latch onto the newlyweds. It’s almost sickly sweet how in love they are, but it is beautiful too. Fingering the sage green of your dress, you sit on a stool, waiting to catch the attention of the bartender.

The Rikki Tikki Special. You’re not sure what’s in it, but it gets you tipsy faster than anything from some fancy bar. You’re positive that it has more to do with Rikki being the drink maker—she mixes with her heart. It’s a warm Saturday night. The slight summer breeze swishing the skirt of your dress, keeping it from sticking to you. Everything is going as planned. You are thankful for the break, these heels are killing you. The music changes and you hear a sharp gasp from the head table. Rikki is up out of her seat, pulling her husband, Ben, with her, while her other hand is clutching her drink. She’s always been handsy when she’s drinking. Always wants to cuddle or hold your hand. You didn’t know how Benny dealt with it. Her hips sway wildly, making you giggle, her drink nearly spilling over the rim. If there’s one way to Rikki’s heart, it’s the Spice Girls.

Shaking your head, you turn back to the bar and take a sip from your drink. It’s a special night. It’s the first time you've been back to Tennessee in years. The Navy lets you travel. Even when you are on leave you still never stop moving. California, Hawaii, Montana. Your lips tilt up thinking of your stop there. Why you never pieced together that’s where Lieutenant Robert Floyd was from, you’ll never know. It was a nice surprise to see him, and made you more sure of your lingering feelings after top gun. Even after the death mission you’d all been called back for. Your fingers trail over your lips, barely a taste was all you got when you said goodbye. But you’re home now and you hadn’t realized how much you’ve missed it. You’d stopped by the family farm. Tummy full of your mama’s best meal, and cheeks tender from your papa’s calloused fingers pinching them. The party goes on without you as you sit unnoticed. One drink turns to two, and two drinks turns to three. You are definitely feeling it. Warm and loose. You really want out of this dress, but that involves walking back to the hotel, and you aren’t ready for that yet. Sitting at the bar isn’t so bad. Not for a people watcher like you. It’s easy to spot your aviator friends among the civilians. Something about the way they carry themselves. Makes you wonder if you carry yourself differently too, or if you blend into the crowd.

Just when you have found someone doing the moonwalk across the dance floor, your drink spills onto your bare legs, as someone knocks into your back.

“Jesus, sorry.”

You turn quickly, eyes catching the familiar blue staring back at you. His gaze widening as he takes you in. You bite your lip watching as a deep blush ran up his neck and invaded his cheeks. It's the sweetest thing you have ever seen. But that’s Bob, he’s sweet. He looks good in his tux—an all black three piece suit. It’s the black cowboy hat that sits on top of his head that really gets you going. It’s like he knows; you watch him take it off, running a hand through his hair before settling the hat back on again. He didn’t have his glasses on either, that threw you for a loop, but you weren’t complaining. Out of all the places to find him standing in front of you, Nashville, Tennessee was not on the list.

“Memphis?” by the complete shock on his face, it’s like you were sitting there naked.

“Hey Bobby,” you smile, reaching down with a bunch of napkins to dry off the fruit punch and vodka now trailing down your bare thighs. He watches as you blotch up the drink before setting them on the bar.

“How do you—how are you—”

“I’m best friends with the bride.” you gesture to the bridesmaid dress you were wearing.

He nods. “Uh, cousin of the groom.”

That makes your smile widen. Of course he’s related to Ben. It only made sense. Sweet, gentle, but you could see it. You could see the mean streak hidden underneath a mile away. While Rikki got to play with Ben’s, you wanted your chance with Bob. It was not something you would be dismissing twice. Your head tilts as you watch him. He’s moved in closer to you—you don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him. No, that wasn’t true. You had clung to him, tried to press him inside your body so he would never do that to you again. You never wanted to feel the way you did when he and Phoenix went down. The knot that had formed in your chest, Mickey had to help you breathe when it happened, half carrying you to the infirmary just to make sure they were okay.

Shaking your head, your gaze lifts from his mouth to his eyes. They’re intense. Desire and lust swirl in the pretty hues. You try to bite back your smile, looking around you. There has to be a way to escape. Rikki would understand, right? Would the newlyweds even notice if you were gone? Sliding off the stool, your hand reaches out for Bob’s arm, making sure your feet are firmly planted on the ground. You wait for the world to stop spinning, a bright smile taking up your face when you look up at him.

“All good,” you say to his questioning gaze.

“Are you?”

“Mhm. Need to pee, though.” He nods and points to the bathroom, but the crowd of people around the bar blocks your view. “I don’t see it.”

“C’mon, follow me.” He grabs your hand, leading you through the crowd. When you get to the single-room bathroom with a ladies sign hanging above it, you thank him before pushing open the door. It’s a tiny room with a toilet and a dirty mirror. You look back at him before closing the door. He’s leaning against the wall, one foot crossed over the other. Waiting, as if you’d lose your way back to the bar.

You don’t have to use the restroom. But you needed a breather. Walking over to the sink you gather some water before dabbing at your exposed chest and the back of your neck. It was more than just the summer Tennessee heat making you feel this way. You haven’t felt like this since the last time you were in Bob’s presence. It made you a little unnerved. It’s soothing, washing your hands, getting the sticky aftermath of beer off your hands. You watch the bubbles go down the drain and when you glance up you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. You laugh at the slightly glossy sheen in your eyes. Goddamn Rikki and her stupid drink.

You huff, turning to grab a few paper towels from the dispenser, but the lever doesn’t give anything when you tug. Staring at it blankly, you grumble a few curses before smacking it. If you were wearing jeans you could’ve simply dried them that way, but as you glare down at your dress it just isn’t a possibility.

The call of your name causes you to look at the door. It sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. You frown, as if he can see you standing there glaring at the paper towel dispenser. “You okay in there?”

“No,” you reply flatly.

You give one final glare to the dispenser before unlocking the bathroom door. Bob gives you an amused look before offering you his hand. When his skin touches yours, there’s an audible gasp and you can’t be sure of who it came from. You squeeze your fingers in his grasp, biting into your cheek when he squeezed back. His eyes are already trained on you when your gaze lifts.

Your gaze drifts to his lips for a beat too long before looking back up at his eyes. You’re very aware of how close his body is to yours, the humor dancing in his eyes slowly melting into something darker as he steps into you.

“You’re drunk, Memph,” his voice is low, nearly a whisper. It sets you on fire as his gaze freely devours your body, taking you in from head to toe.

“Not that drunk,” you defend yourself. “Tipsy, perhaps.”

“You’re only looking at me like that because you’ve been drinking.”

Your heart sinks. Did he honestly believe that? He didn’t know how you felt? All your life you’d always been told that you wore your heart on your sleeve. Your heart had been dragged through the mud more times than you could count. You were on the verge of locking it up tight where no one could ever reach it again when you met Bob. Sweet Bobby, who just..knew. He looked at you and saw someone worth looking at. A heart worth holding on to. How the hell did he not know that in the years you’ve known him that you’ve fallen head over heels in love with him?

“I’m not looking at you like anything.” you stumble over your words, but you know he hears you, his lips lifting at your tone.

“You’re looking at me like you want me to touch you.” He steps toward you. What are you supposed to say to that? Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, catching his attention, and you watch how his eyes dilate. “Do you want me to touch you, Memphis?”

You can’t really hear anything over the roar of blood rushing in your ears, and you stop breathing completely when your back hits the wall. Do you want him to touch you? You look up and meet his eyes. They’re trained on you, waiting. He’s not going to make another move until you give him an answer. It’s obvious, at least in your eyes. You’ve never wanted anything more. When your gaze falls to his hands, your mind is made up. His hands are balled up tightly into fists as if he’s refraining from touching you. All you can think about is how they’d feel on you, touching you, all of you.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He takes a step towards you, close enough that his minty breath hits your cheeks as he lowers his head. Your lips are less than an itch apart, his nose bumps yours as he takes you in. His eyes are hooded, almost in a daze, he places both hands on either side of the wall moving his lips toward your ear.

“You’re drunk right now,” he says slowly, deliberately. The feel of his hot breath sends shivers down your spine. “I will not touch you, sweet girl, unless you really want me to.”

Bob pulls back to search my face, looking for hesitance. He won’t find any. There isn’t any. Just desire, and the need for him. You want to pull back to look into his eyes, but you can’t. You can’t tear your gaze away from his lips which are parted, moist and waiting.

“Memph,” he groans. Begging you to confirm that you want this. You aren’t too drunk to make solid decisions. Not when it comes to this—there is no such thing as crossing any lines.

You don’t bother using any words. Pushing up on your toes you crash your lips into his, and you grin when he instantly responds. His arms wrap tightly around you, swiping his tongue across your lips. You open for him only to have him pull away with a groan. He steps back long enough to lock the door before returning to you. This time his hands grab at your thighs, hoisting you up the wall as his champagne tinged tongue rolls against yours.

You moan at the contact, the skirt of your dress now rucked up to your hips. Leaving nothing but thin lace as a barrier against the pants of his suit. When he rolls his hips you can’t stop the breathy whine that escapes, his hands tightening on your thighs at the sound. Bob breaks the kiss and slides his lips across your cheek to the sensitive skin behind your ear near the edge of your jaw. Your vision goes white for a second when he bites down and sucks.

Holy fucking shit.

“Bobby.” Your body is on fire and you can say with complete certainty that it is not the alcohol. You feel his grin as he sucks and licks his way down to your chest. When he reaches the silky green material, his eyes shoot yours.

It only takes a couple of seconds to slip the thin straps down your shoulders. It’s almost comical how his eyes widen at the sight of your chest. Goosebumps travel across your exposed skin as his mouth explores you.

He delves down, taking a nipple between his teeth while he explores the other, tugging it gently as he rolls it between his fingers. The heat pooling between your thighs ignites as a desperate moan slips from your lips. You tug at his suit jacket, and he pulls away just enough to slip the material off, dropping it behind him. Grabbing his face, you bring his lips back to your own, desperate to taste him again. You part your lips for his tongue, basking in the groan that vibrates in the back of his throat as your hands make their way under his buttoned shirt, nails digging into his back. Bringing your hands around to slide across the hard indents of each muscle on his stomach until you stop at the top of his jeans.

He steps away from the wall, letting you slide down until your feet are back on the ground again. Dropping to his knees, Bob hikes the skirt of your dress up further and loops his thumbs around your underwear. his blown out eyes dart up to meet yours, it’s clear he’s waiting for confirmation. The sight of him— flushed, looking up at you with the kind of hungry gaze that you have fantasized about since meeting him—it shoots a bolt of lightning to your core, making your legs shake in anticipation. The pulsing between your thighs is fueled when he licks his lips, causing you to release a shaky breath as you nod.

He pulls at your panties, helping you out of them before he tucks the fabric into his pant pockets. Gripping your hips, his hold tightens as he slowly takes you in. When his hand trails down your thigh to your knee, he lifts your leg and positions it over his shoulder, pulling you closer. You close your eyes and lean your head back against the cold tiled wall, trying to just enjoy every moment as it comes. You’ve wanted this. God, you want him. There’s a curious part of you, the part that's panting at the sight of Robert Floyd on his knees in front of you, that’s telling you to just sit back and enjoy this.

His hat is knocked off his head so you can thread your fingers through his hair as he bites down on your inner thigh, just inches away from where you want him most, sending shocks of pleasure up your spine as he sucks hard enough to leave a bruise. When he pulls back, he flicks his tongue across the tender skin, but based on the breathy moans slipping from your lips, he knows that you’re desperate for him.

A strangled moan sounds in the back of your throat, and his lips quirk in a small grin as if he knows that you’re practically begging, and when he lifts your thigh a little higher, exposing even more of you to him, his eyes darken.

He lowers his head again, but this time it doesn’t meet your thigh, and when his tongue drags across your center in a long, languid motion, a gasp is pulled from you as every nerve in your body nearly short circuits. He pulls away and licks his lips, already glossy from the contact, and when his gaze flicks back up to yours, you know you’re fucked. His cheek twitches before he dips his head back down, and your hips begin to move with his tongue. When your fingers grip his hair harder, begging for more pressure as the muscles in your legs tighten, the band in your stomach coiling, he chuckles, and the vibration almost makes your knees give out.

Tightening his hold on you, his tongue moves faster, rougher, and your head falls back against the wall as your legs start to shake. He slips two fingers into you, curling them up and hitting a spot that you weren’t sure had ever been reached before, and when he reconnects his lips to yours, your whole body tenses. Your breathing is fast and uneven, and each breath turns into a small moan as he focuses on your swollen clit, licking hard enough to make your entire body go numb as goosebumps break out, spreading like wildfire across your skin.

His tongue slows into a lazy rhythm, a teasing rhythm, and your mouth falls open in a soft gasp as your hips rock forward, pleading with him to keep going. His tongue slows even more, and you don't have to look down to know he's smirking between your thighs.

Your entire body is on fire, electrocuting, searing every nerve.

"Please." You gasp, moving your hips a little more, desperate for contact. You don’t belong to yourself. Not anymore, and if you weren't so desperate, you might have the sense to be embarrassed as you beg him. "Please, god, don't stop."

He pulls back a little more until you can feel his breath on the inside of your thigh.

"Say my name, Memph. I want to feel you come on my tongue while I'm on yours." Your breath catches in your throat at his demand. "Say my goddamn name."

He didn’t have to ask, practically beg. If you had it your way it’d always be his name. A breath of his name—a plea to touch you, to bring you back to that paradise on his tongue, to never stop.

"Please, Bobby."

He grabs your thighs tight, nearly lifting you from the bathroom floor as he pulls you closer, and the echoes of your breathy whimpers move around you as his tongue finds you again, rougher than before. The pressure in the pit of your stomach builds quickly, and suddenly you can't breathe as you bite down to keep the loud moan that's on the tip of your tongue from echoing past the bathroom door.

It happens all at once—every muscle in your body tenses until the pressure in your stomach snaps. A million tiny nerves of rolling pleasure, flooding every inch of your body, blinding you.

You can feel yourself pulse around his fingers as every part of you seems to throb in time with his expert tongue. Breathy whimpers slip through your lips, each one a desperate moan of his name, as every nerve in your body comes alive in a mind-numbing aftershock.

Holy fuck.

Your eyes stay closed as you heave in desperate breaths, savoring the peaceful warmth currently flooding through your muscles. Bob slowly pulls away, and you are very aware of the fact that he's fully supporting your weight since your legs gave out a few minutes ago. Looking down at him, still kneeling in front of you, your chest tightens at the sight. This wouldn’t be enough. There had to be more than this.

You want him.

"Fuck, Memphis," He groans, and the rough vibration sparks another flame that heats your entire body like a white-hot electrical shock straight down your spine. Sliding his two glossy fingers into his mouth, his hands move to lift your dress completely off you as you unbutton his pants and tug them down. The large bulge tenting his tight boxers quickens your pulse as you reach to pull them off, but before you can tug them down his hips, the knock that echoes through the bathroom makes you jump.

You look up at him with wide eyes, your slick all over his face. You grin before pulling him into a heated kiss. You catch the dazed look in his eyes when you break away from him.

“Your place or mine?”

Maybe it was you, maybe it was me But it sure felt right

You’re not sure how exactly you got back to your hotel. Bob had snagged keys off someone promising the safe return of their car tomorrow. Rikki had seen you exit the bathroom. The shit eating grin that painted her face told you she knew what you’d been up to. If you had to guess, she’s probably the one who banged on the door. Fucking cockblock.

All is well now, though. Your left hand is held tightly in Bob’s as you wait for the elevator. His other hand holds your heels for you and you want to leave red lipstick marks all over his face. Glancing down when he feels you staring, he gives you a bashful smile. Your eyebrow quirks. He can’t be coy, not when he just had his head buried in your pussy. You won’t tease him, not right now. So you simply rest your head on his shoulder.

“You looked real pretty tonight,” he says softly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“I don’t look pretty now?” You counter.

“I—of course you do. More fucked out than anything, I think.”

“Could always be better.”

The elevator dings, the doors opening up to let you in. Bob moves you so your back is to the wall. A small smirk takes over your lips when you realize all four walls of the elevator are mirrors. You see everything from every angle. Like how the man beside you is staring down at your chest. A giggle bursts out, his eyes snapping to yours.

His mouth on yours shuts you up real quick. Just like in the bathroom your back hits the wall behind you. You gasp for air when he pulls away, your body lurching against his when he slams his hand down against the stop button, the elevator freezing in place. His eyes are dark when he meets yours. You want to smile. You had pulled at something with your comment, and his mean streak is coming out to play.

“Can’t wait, sweet girl, can’t fucking wait.” His voice is thick with want.

You’re shoved backwards, shoulders slamming against the wall causing you to hiss. Fingers trail up your thighs before digging into the muscle, fingers splayed across your skin before he lifts you up off your feet. Instantly, your legs are wrapping around his waist, the skirt of your dress bunched up at your hips. Deft fingers hastily undoing his pants. No clumsiness, you aren’t unsure, there is no hesitance. It’s in that moment that you look up over his shoulder, glazed over eyes meeting him in the mirror. He looks like the goddamn devil. He wants to tear you apart from the inside out.

The sound of his belt buckle hitting the floor pulls you back in. Glancing down, your teeth dig into your lip at the sight of him. He’s hot, a pulsing red as he sits heavy between you. He lifts your face so he can meet your eye. You give a single nod before he’s pushing into you. You glance down again, heat hitting your cheeks when you remember he’s been carrying your underwear around in his pocket. Made for easy access. There is nothing small about Bob. He’s big, and thick, and he has your eyes rolling towards the back of your head. The head of his cock snags at your entrance, you breathe in nice and slow, using his shoulders to lift yourself up before resting back down, swallowing him as you do.

“Oh my god,” You moan as his hips roll into yours, you have given him all the permission he needs. He told you he couldn’t wait, so he’s taking it, demanding it–needing it the second he feels the tight velvet of your sex.

“Bobby,” you whine, forehead nestling in against his neck and shoulder.

Bob nods. This was a long time coming. He knows. He knows you need this as much as he does. You're clinging to him, cunt clenching around him like he’d slip free at any moment. He groans when your teeth dig into his shoulder right where it meets his neck. His thrusts are slow and deep, building a fire inside of you. Your head falls back against the wall, eyes opening to watch. You grin lazily when you see him watching you. You draw back, hips moving in a smooth tempo. You hit a good rhythm, letting yourself move with him. It had never been like this with anyone else. Easy, full of complete desire and lust, not just a means to an end. You’re almost where he wants you. He meets your gaze and his eyes hold something akin to mischief. You clench around him and he groans. He thrusts up a little harder than before, causing your head to fall back.

“There you are, my sweet girl.”

You watch each other, a breath apart as you take what he gives you. His hand slides up your front, warm fingers wrapping gingerly around your throat. Your breath catches as he muffles out a curse, his other hand lifts one of your legs higher on his hip so he can reach a deeper angle. His pace quickens, his thrusts are harsher. You’re loving every minute of it. Flexing your cunt, your lower muscles bear down as you grip him. He groans, the sound booming in the tight small space.

There’s pleasure coiling behind your pussy. “Bobby, I—”

“What do you need, Memph?”

“Bobby,” You whine, pulling on his hair. “Please, baby, please. I can’t—I need you—.”

His gaze drops from your face to where he’s burying himself in your tight cunt. He nods before lifting his eyes. “I’ve got you, ready?”

You flash him a grin and he jolts, his cock twitching deep. You cling to him, desperate and a little dizzy. There’s alcohol still in your system. While you’re not drunk, or even slightly tipsy, it’s there to remind you. You moan, he’s so big and you’re so fucking full. He fills you up completely, cock dragging against your walls. You love every minute of it.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise. You lurch against him as a whimper escapes. You lean back against the wall, boneless. You’re lost in the feel of the pleasure, your gaze watching as he pounds into you. His grip is tight, and a little desperate. You’re loose and wet and fucking perfect. His nose presses into your cheek as he grinds into you.

“I love the way you feel when you’re coming on my cock.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms around him. Steady pants and grunts are heavy in your ear. You’re surprised you haven’t fogged up the glass. It’s a brutal taking, and you are not wet enough. Tears pool in your eyes, threatening to fall with every harsh thrust. You take what you're given, no complaints. You feel him shift his weight, delivering a sharper thrust that nearly has you sliding up the wall. He mumbles apology but his grasp on your waist is unforgivable. You’re bouncing on his cock now, meeting his every thrust. He’s deep, so deep you’re surprised you can’t taste him. You pull his hair, grinning when he hisses.

“Are you going to come for me again?” he asks, practically coos into your ear. “You look so pretty when you do, Memphis.”

You can’t talk. He knows you’re fucked out, gone stupid on his cock. You ask for it, you know you did with your little comment earlier. But you don’t regret it. You shift, opening up your legs a little wider. He groans feeling himself sink deeper into you. You’re swollen and raw and you’re living for it. Nodding, his name falls from your lips, breathless—he’s sending you cloud nine and you aren’t ever coming back down. .

It’s like a volcano, jolting you, overflowing and hot. A scream ripped from your throat and your nails digging into him so hard you can feel when he starts to bleed. Bob is right there. He holds you into place, lips kissing your cheeks. He fucks you through it, jamming himself into your searing overstimulated sex, he meets his end. His grip tightens, a low groan comes from deep in his chest, filling you up. Shuddering he falls into you, keeping you pinned between him and the wall as he gasps for air.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, breaking the silence.

You fall forward, hugging him tightly to you. You were drunk off of him. There isn’t anyway, ain’t no how he was getting rid of you now. You’re aching and sore but you refuse to move away from him. His eyes are still dark and heavy-lidded as he regards you. You give him a soft smile, a hand pushing his hair back.

“Bob, where are your glasses?”

He shrugs. “In my suitcase. I, uh, didn’t want to wear them.”

You raise a brow. “Why?”

“There was a pretty girl I was trying to impress tonight.”

Bob sets you on your feet as that comment settles over you. You don’t stay standing, though, you sink to your bottom, head tilting up to look at him. Holy fuck. Bumping into you at the bar. The look Rikki gave you. You giggle before smacking a hand over your mouth. It’s really not that funny. Fucking Bob got you. He owned you.

You look back up at him, with a shake of your head. “Welcome to Tennessee, Bobby.”

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd smut #bob floyd one shot #bob floyd fanfic #top gun: maverick fanfic

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sebsxphia · 9 months

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ptolemaea. | the family tree in god’s country.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: you and rhett have finally found peace within your home, and rhett wishes to reassure you that he’ll protect you forever.

￫ word count: 3.5K.

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

￫ a/n: as always, i’d highly recommend listening to ‘south alabama (god’s country demo)’ and ‘family tree’ by ethel cain when reading! a huge thank you to @sunblchdfly and @becks-things who continually encouraged and inspired me. i love you both very much! there’s only one more chapter left after this! and… i’m sorry <3 this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

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The coastline of California, though far off in your line of vision, sparkled with what appeared like crystals dancing above the waves as they crashed against each other. That was your line of sight for the next three days that passed in your final resting place of the last Motel you would ever stay in.

On the drive out West, when you poked at your Preacher and asked him what the plan was when you couldn’t drive further, he would simply squeeze at your cheeks and tell you, “Don’t y’ worry your pretty little head.”

Momentarily, it was a softening blow to your anxieties of having no real plan. Instead, Rhett guided you to pray with him and trust that he, and God, had a plan for you.

During your last night's stay in the Motel room, he came through the front door and kicked it behind him with his boot heel as he spoke on the phone, signalling that it was coming to an end.

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll see y’ tomorrow. God bless.” He tapped on his phone screen to end the call and threw it onto the Motel bed. A long exasperated sigh left his lips. It was the sound of tiresome relief as he ran his hands down his face. When he caught your gaze, his lips quirked up into a smile and he took several strides over to you on the bed to pick you up by your waist and spin you around.

You let out a squeal and playfully batted on his shoulders. “Rhett! Rhett! What is it?”

“I got us a place t’ stay, sweet lamb,” he placed you back down on the ground but still kept you close. “It’s Arizona, a small town called Green Bowl, but ‘parently they nickname it the Dust Bowl. I need to meet a guy in the mornin’ ‘nd then we’ll drive over.”

You mirrored his smile with your giddiness and buried your face into the crook of his neck. He pulled you in close to his torso, warm from the California heat. A sigh filled with content escaped your lips and your eyes fluttered close for a moment. You matched Rhett’s relief and you could feel his heart pounding in time with yours as rested against his chest, him swaying you gently.

“Our own home. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Your voice was hushed against the fabric of his shirt. “It’s all God ever wanted, right?”

Rhett swallowed thickly and one of his hands came up to trail his fingers through your hair. “Right, my sweet lamb.”

When the morning came, you packed up your few and scattered belongings from the Motel room and let Rhett drive out to a nearby diner.

It was just a Thursday. The morning sun was beating down on Rhett’s truck. It was nowhere near the hottest point of the day, but the morning dew heat wouldn’t let up nonetheless. The streamlines of sunlight bounced off your passenger seat window as you watched your Preacher make his way into the diner. It wasn’t right for you to join him. He told you he had to do this himself.

But, there was concern in his voice when he climbed out the driver's door. He left you a pack of his favourite smokes and a note. “If somethin’ goes bad, read this ‘nd fuckin’ drive.”

You had a complete view of the windows to the diner and you opted for people watching. An elderly couple was sitting together and peacefully enjoying their morning breakfast. A cop was sitting up high on a stool and presumably sinking his third coffee of the day. There were a handful more odd people dotted around, some who you suspected were truck drivers and now being five hours into their twelve-hour shift.

The mellow tune of some local gospel radio station was playing quietly as your gaze drifted back to Rhett and followed him. He cocked his fingers upwards to wave to a man at the opposite end of the diner. The stranger nodded back and walked down the length of the windows towards him. The cop was situated four seats down from the front door where the stranger had now met your Preacher.

Rhett lifted his Stetson off his head and held it between their torsos. You saw him reach out his arm to presumably shake the man's hand. They were exchanging words and polite smiles. It all appeared amicable and you consciously let the anticipated breath you were holding go. You were so close to having your own home with your Preacher. Somewhere that was quiet and where you’d never be disturbed by any judgmental and wandering eyes. You were hours away from living in peace with the man you loved. You couldn’t help but feel on edge.

You blinked and the meeting was over. Rhett exited the diner quicker than he went in. He careered round to the driver's side and hopped in, his boot pressing quickly to the accelerator and pulling off from the diner. He had planned for a car chase down the highway if necessary.

He chewed furiously at the inside of his cheeks for a while before snapping back to his reality where his little lamb was sitting next to him and hanging off his words. He swallowed thickly and bit back a grimace with a faux smile. “All done. On our way to Dust Bowl. Say goodbye when we hit Route one-two-two.”

Rhett’s voice was extremely rugged. His breathing matched in frantic gasps. He sounded as though he was underwater when he spoke to you. He was gulping down seawater and spluttering over his lap. You were none the wiser to the fact that Rhett’s pocket pistol was sat snuggly against the waistband of his jeans and it had just been pressed against the stranger's torso to steal the key to your new home.

You flashed him a comforting smile and let your head fall to the glass pane of the passenger window, watching the road move at speed. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the knowledge that you were some time away from your new home, gave your body the excuse to allow your eyes to droop and fall asleep.

As fast as the road was moving in your eye line, was as fast as it took until you were comfortably moved into your home. It happened within the blink of an eye.

It was a rickety house far off from the dusty roads or any traces of life. There was an old barn that was falling apart, but it sat upon acres of country land, stretching as far as your eyes could make out. Between the barn and your house sat a pond. Nature had overtaken most of it with reeds sheltering all the edges, except for one small gap that sat in line with your back porch. Rhett dipped his feet when he arrived on the first day and declared that it was clean enough for you both.

Your home was delicate, but it didn’t take long for you and Rhett to do it up and make it your own. Old furnishings left over were drawn up and cared for, restored to life by the nimble craftsmanship of your Preacher. Other odd pieces of furniture were found on the side of roads, or in lonesome antique stores. Several empty rooms lay dormant, but you had made out your kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and a small living space where you could lay on a scratchy sofa and watch fuzzy television.

The final room that lay empty was the basement at the bottom of the house. You rarely went down there. Rhett had insisted that the stairs leading down were too old and he wouldn’t want you to slip and fall and hit your head. Due to the cool conditions of the basement, he kept a freezer down there for some food and other than that, he kept the door bolted shut. A silk pink ribbon that was yours, was wrapped in a neat bow around the lock.

The days were peaceful. You created an ebb and flow between you both of repairing the house where it needed it most. You would smile lovingly at Rhett as you washed your hands before sitting down to eat at your kitchen table, and he would mirror back the same lovesick smile.

Heavenly peace.

But behind the wall and above your bed, one of the wooden panels had come ajar. It was enough room for Rhett to store his pocket pistol and hunting knife, far from prying eyes.

At night he’d go down to your basement and pace the cold floor, muttering the same verse repeatedly. He would fetch a glass of water and return to your sleeping frame, but not before staring coldly at the panel and back down at you. They were dead eyes shining bright within the darkness of your home and yet, you were none the wiser to your Preacher finding his Heavenly peace.

One piece of furniture that you managed to salvage was an old dresser. The paint was peeling away off the wood and the mirror was clouded as you sat on the stool, three weeks into living your newfound and Holy life.

You were adorning the same set Rhett had filmed you in. You had only come upstairs to grab a plaid shirt from your bedroom, but you spotted it laying in the perfect place at the end of your bed and it reminded you of something. You admired yourself in the reflection of the mirror and you were presented with more marks blooming from your Preacher. Some were new from the first nights he had you in your bed, but the rest were old and fading against your skin. They were all over your body and as you sat in the lingerie set, they came to remind you of who you used to be.

A lost little lamb who gave themselves up from the herd and gave yourself to Preacher Abbott in the offering. When he spoke, he would demand his silence against you. You were guided by him and you knew, after he disclosed to you about his past that he had taken the noose off himself and had it wrapped tightly around your hand. You would follow him wherever he would go, like a lamb to the slaughter. But Hell didn’t scare you, not when you had Rhett.

You rested your elbows on the dresser top and clasped your hands together. Your eyes closed and you muttered close into your flesh, “Father Abbott, forgive these bones I’ve been hiding and the bones I’m about to leave. Take me down to the river and bathe me clean—”

A creak on the floorboards in the hallway startled you momentarily and you lifted your head and put your praying hands into your lap. Rhett was leaning against the doorway frame with his arms crossed over his broad chest and a sinful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He was still wearing the white t-shirt from his day, but stains of dirt and grass were splattered over it, mixed with the heavy musk of labour induced sweat. His hair at the back of his neck was licked upwards in the same sweat and he held his cap in his battered hand. His eyes reflected off the setting sun of a Thursday evening and his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip.

“My sweet lamb,” he purred with intrigue. “You’re dressed for the slaughter again, ‘nd you look so pretty.”

Your cheeks failed you as they turned a rosy blush and you bit down on your bottom lip.

“I just saw it, lyin’ there and I want—”

Rhett shushed you tenderly and pushed himself off the door frame, stalking over to you with intent in his strides. His large hands squeezed at your sides and lifted you off the stool with a small yelp of laughter from yourself. He buried his nose into your neck as he carried you to your bed, and inhaled your familiar scent deeply. He brought you down to the bed with him, lying on his back and having you straddle him over his jean-clad waist, his belt buckle ever so slightly digging into your bare thighs.

His calloused hands never left your hips and his fingertips dug into your flesh, lightly pinching at you. Occasionally his thumb dipped downwards to trace the scarring of R.A., still etched on you. One of his hands roamed upwards and curved along your ribs, still pinching at you. His eyes intensely followed the movement of his hands and they burned into your skin. There was still a faint trace of the Heavenly smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, but it was fading.

“Look at you. You are s’ precious to me, little lamb. I love ‘nd cherish you from Heaven to Hell. On our trip, I’ve always protected you ‘nd now, I truly can, forever. No one can hurt you anymore, lamb.”

His words were kind, but his eyes were flooding colder.

“Every night I’ve repeated the same verse,” Rhett continued. “The one who does what is sinful is of the Devil because the Devil has been sinnin’ from the beginning.”

Your eyebrows furrowed and your head cocked slightly to the right in confusion. His roaming hand snaked over your shoulders and brushed over your neck, moving your stray strands of hair to sit behind you.

He was still like that for a while. His eyes never left the sight of the flesh on your neck. It felt as though time had stilled completely, and all that could be felt in the world was the moment of your Preacher’s hands resting lovingly on you.

Your body jumped an inch when he took in a deep gasp, as if to stir himself awake and that he had been sleeping with his eyes open. His thumb found his mark on your hipbone again and his eyes finally locked back to your concerned gaze. He moved the pad of his thumb over the scar in consistent circles.

“Y’ trust me, little lamb? To always protect you? Always keep y’ safe?”

You flinched again as his thumb left your hip to reach underneath the pillow where his head lay. Your breath hitched tightly in your throat and got caught in your lungs. Your rib cage constricted around you and your eyes went wide as they scanned the broad blade of Rhett’s hunting knife.

You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Your eyes scanned frantically over your Preacher’s eyes, to try and find something you knew as familiar, to try and locate where Rhett was.

But they were cold and his Heavenly smirk was wiped from his features. Only a Devilish smirk lay on his lips. The same face you had witnessed in the forest.

“Rhett… Preacher Abbott, I do trust you. I know you’ll always keep me safe, here, in our home. Hell don’t scare me.” Your voice started to plead with him and came out barely above a whisper.

You were fearful of losing him.

“Please let me stay with you forever.”

“You poor thing. Sweet, mournin’ lamb. There’s nothing you can do, it’s already been done.”

The slice of the blade from Rhett’s hunting knife was thin and precise across your neck. It didn’t hurt nearly as much as you had imagined, not when God’s hands were holding onto your waist tenderly to keep you upright.

The first thing you saw was the blood. Your neck was spraying the crimson colour like the food court fountain in your home town. It splattered mindlessly across Rhett’s face and trickled down his intact neck, to stain his musky-coloured t-shirt. It wouldn’t stop pouring from your own, wouldn’t stop coating your neck and chest. It dribbled continuously onto your hand and down your forearms, as you clutched feebly at your neck with one hand. It was on instinct, you suppose.

The corners of your vision were growing bleaker with each passing second. Your eyes were piercing into Rhett’s own. He didn’t twitch or blink for the passing moments. Just a cold-blooded stare, except for the faint trace of that smile on his lips.

He mouthed something, but your hearing had all but gone by this point. It was draining out as the blood drained ceremoniously from your neck.

“I love you, Rhett,” You replied in thought, as you felt your hands and feet become unresponsive, the rest of your body turning cold.

Rhett watched as his hunting knife was quickly drawn across your neck and as your soul drained from the slit and fell into his lap. You were about to be his, forever.

“I’ll always love you,” Rhett spoke out loud.

“I love you, Rhett,” you gargled out between mouthfuls of your blood, some of it splattering further onto Rhett and coating him with you.

His hands on your waist were there to steady your chilling body as you limply fell forward onto him. He manoeuvred himself to slide out from underneath you and lay you down on the bed, to look as though you were sleeping peacefully to any passersby.

His hunting knife was laying next to you with your blood shining off it and coating it whole. He picked it up and twisted it in his hand, the reflection catching in the setting Arizona sun. He lifted it to his lips and his tongue darted out to catch the first, fresh droplets. They dripped down to the back of his throat and when he swallowed, his teeth were stained once again with your blood.

While your blood was still warm, his index finger dipped in between the incision and gathered up some more. It painted his finger his favourite colour and covered it whole. He eagerly popped it into his mouth and groaned as he tasted the bitter, yet sweet, metallic taste of his little lamb. Once removing his finger, he admired how it glistened in the low light cutting through his thin, lacy, bedroom curtains. Your blood had stained the tip of his finger, perfectly. It was like a piece of artwork you entrusted him with, which he would treasure forever.

With his hunting knife still in hand, he squatted down and reached under your bed to retrieve a ziplock bag. The knife fell heavy into the plastic and he zipped it shut and placed it carefully next to you.

A deep and guttural breath was inhaled through his nostrils, before he exhaled and sat down on the edge of your bed, next to your dead body. His hand didn’t shake as he reached up to your forehead and twisted a piece of your hair behind your ear. Another heavy breath left him before he spoke out into your now, empty home.

“Your dumb luck got you into this place, little lamb. You’re gon’ be with me forever now, trapped inside the stomach of the Devil. For even the Devil is a liar, ‘nd no wonder, for even Satan, disguises himself as an angel of light.”

You were “a little Daughter of Abbott,” as Rhett had described, who lied to their father about where they were going every evening. He knew that you were unsure about what you were doing with your life, and how your belief in your faith needed some guidance.

Rhett always knew. He just loved scratching it out of you. Scratching you to the surface. You were compliant and listened to him. You were his perfect Angel in the Garden of Eden. A true Daughter of Abbott.

They were just mundane Thursdays when you’d climb into the back of his truck under the night sky. He would shed his plaid shirt in a hurry, desperate to sink his teeth onto your shoulder and taste you, the salty summer sweat still lingering on your flesh.

He’d drop you off home in your backyard and say goodbye. You’d close the door and as you’d lean in to catch the lock, you’d kiss him through the screen door on the back porch. Your father was none the wiser, only calling out from the living room that it was a pleasure to see Father Abbott and he was so grateful he was providing you with such Holy guidance. If your father saw Rhett touching you as he did through the screen door, he’d scream, “Lord! Help me!”

Every Thursday you’d climb into Rhett’s truck. Every Thursday he would sink his teeth into your skin. Somewhere like South Arizona was looking better every week. Somewhere where Rhett didn’t have to kiss you through your screen door no more. You had always dreamed of running there, to those great big hills where the great big blue sky would tower over them and continue until they met the high Heavens.

Through the mesh screen door kisses, you had tasted love and it tasted sweet.

And now you were here, but Rhett had drank your blood and bit the meat of your flesh. But his teeth were sharper now, and it hurt. You didn’t want him to sink into you with his blood-stained dog teeth no more.

You wanted to beg and plead with him. You tried so hard.

“Baby! Please!”

But your attempt was futile. Your words never came as your body lay cold on your bed. How could you be so naive to the one good thing you know, in God’s country?

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

tagging those who may be interested: @rhettabbotts @hangmanapologist @lewmagoo @bradshawsbitch @sugarcoated-lame

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southpawbitch · 8 months

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Busy | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Masterlist (this is part FIVE; read the others here)

word count: 1.7k

summary: rhett ends things (feels like a spoiler, but c'mon guys...what did you think was going to happen?)

warnings: mentions of cheating, maria, reader has an alarm set to take birth control

A/N: so as promised, here's the next part! i don't super love it...i was trying very hard to avoid them having this convo, but i really needed a transition because the next part will be a time skip! lightly edited (i'm a working gal). hope u enjoy!!! x MJ

Rhett’s nervous as he stands at your door, fiddling with his thumbs that are wrapped tightly around the small bouquet of wildflowers he picked up at the farmer’s market a half-hour ago. He wasn’t sure what his plan was for today–just that he had to see you–and when he saw these flowers, he couldn’t not get them for you. Maybe it’s because of his growing feelings towards you over the past year, or the guilt that he can’t seem to shake, but he’s here to make things right with you–for good.

You’re sitting on the couch avoiding real life by immersing yourself into the fictional world of The Nanny where cell phones and cowboys are essentially nonexistent when you hear the knock on the door. You’re surprised Fran’s voice didn’t drown out the sound, but you perk up anyway, turning your head to look out the obscured glass in the wooden door. You can’t make out much, just that they’re tall, and you assume it’s one of your brothers coming to ask you if you’re alright. You haven’t left the pool house in two weeks, and you only look at your phone when the alarm to take your birth control goes off at 5:55pm each day.

You pad across the hardwood floor into the small entryway, and pull open the door slightly, revealing Rhett. He’s not smiling, but he is trembling like he’s nervous to be standing on your doorstep. You stand up a little straighter, hoping he can’t tell that you’ve been wearing the same oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts going on four days straight and haven’t washed your hair in the same amount of time. You take a step back, distancing yourself as much as you can while keeping the door slightly closed, not wanting him to see the complete mess you’ve made of your space.

“I’m busy, Rhett.” It feels like a knife to the chest when you say his name. He hasn’t heard it in a while, and you sound less than pleased to see him here at your door. He can’t blame you, though. The last time you saw him, he was cozying up to Maria at The Pit Bar and you were being berated by your fiance for dropping a glass and attracting the attention of the entire building. He assumes that’s why you’ve been holed up for weeks. He heard Katie and Jade talking about trying to get you to come out with them when he was at The Handsome Gambler yesterday. It makes him sick to think he could be the reason for it all. And he knows he is. The list of reasons for his unexpected visit keep growing the longer he thinks about it.

“We need to talk.” He’s not asking, and he’s not buying your lame excuse. Clearly, you’re not busy. You’re the only one home–period. Every truck is gone from the main driveway, and he saw your mom at the farmer’s market. On top of that, It’s not like you to distance yourself from everyone and everything. At least, he doesn’t think it is. He’s worried about more than one thing at the moment, and it would be a lot easier if you’d just relax and let him in. “I-I got you these.” He stutters slightly, holding out the small bouquet of flowers towards you like a peace offering.

You honestly didn’t even notice the multicolored bundle of flowers in his hands before this moment–you were too wound up from seeing him for the first time since that night. A shiver goes down your spine as you accept them, reluctantly dropping your hand from the door handle and retreating back into your house for a vase to keep them in.

Rhett lets himself in behind you, noticing the state of your place. He’s never seen the pool house in such disarray. Mail that hasn’t been sorted through or opened is strewn across the entry table, shoes litter the hallway, and as he gets into the living area, he sees it’s not much better. There are glasses sitting on nearly every surface, along with a growing collection of empty wine bottles on the counter. Your favorite mindless TV show plays in the background, and a bundle of blankets and pillows are piled on the sofa. He stops in between the living room and the kitchen, watching you put water in a vase he made during a pottery class he took with Amy for her birthday six months ago.

“Are you gonna talk, or what?” You ask, not bothering to look up from what you’re doing, placing the flowers in the vase, arranging them nicely as they sit in the middle of the counter.

“I’m sorry about Maria, but–” Your head snaps up and you make eye contact with him. He can see the tears already forming in your eyes, and he has to admit it’s a bit much for him. He’s never been good with negative emotions, especially when other people are the one experiencing them on account of him. “You’re engaged…I-I can’t keep stringin’ you along like this.” He wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans and keeps distance between the two of you. You’re just staring at him with those big, doe eyes. A single tear falls down your cheek, and admittedly, he wants to pull you into him and wipe it away and make it all better, but the two of you being together only causes chaos–no matter how right it may feel, it’s one-hundred percent wrong.

You know his words are true, but you’ve been desperately trying to sweep your reality under the rug and live in this dream world you created when you started sleeping with him. It was all so innocent at first. He hadn’t really ever thought of you as someone he could be with, and you were living out a high school fantasy. It felt like playing pretend. You never imagined you’d actually fall for him, and you’re not sure how you’ll ever be able to stop. Now, he’s standing in front of you, admitting that he’s the one stringing you along–like he knows you have real feelings for him that he can’t reciprocate. Maybe it’s still just a fun, little game for him. Maybe his feelings haven’t changed since that first time. Maybe they never will.

“You brought me flowers to tell me that?” You cross your arms over your chest as you stand on the other side of the counter. It hurts to hear him say what you probably should’ve known all along. You knew it wouldn’t last forever, but you never thought it would end like this. You thought you’d slowly stop wanting to see him after the thrill of what you were doing wore off, but that never happened. A hint of something you’d probably call ‘love’ lingers in the air when the two of you are together, but you’re not dumb enough to call it that. Not anymore, at least.

“I think you know how I feel about you, but it’s not fair for either of us. It’s not fair for Ben…or Maria.”

Your mouth opens to respond, but instead of allowing her name to spill out of your mouth angrily, you laugh dryly. Do you know how he feels about you? “You say that like you’re dating her.”

And then he’s quiet, which confirms that your petty response is true. Whatever him and Maria had all those years ago must still be there. There are so many things you want to say to him right now. You want to remind him what she did in high school and that their entire relationship was built on that lie. You want to remind him that it didn’t work out the first time, and ask him what he thinks will be different this time, but you don’t. You can’t. He’s right about one thing. It wouldn’t be fair for you to criticize his relationship. You’re the one that’s supposed to be getting married. He doesn’t owe you anything. It’s a tough pill to swallow.

“I wanted you to hear it from me first, but I’m leaving.”

“Yeah, okay.” You roll your eyes, turning your head to look out the glass doors that lead to the pool. You can’t look at him any longer. He can feel the hurt from across the room, but he knows this is the right thing to do. You have to quit each other–this can’t keep happening. He’s doing this for you. You’re just way too stubborn to see that.

“I’m going to Denver to ride. I just don’t think I can stay here any longer.” What he means is that he can’t stay here and watch you get married to that asshole, but he leaves that part out. He may not like Ben, but the guy is perfect for you. Your family loves him. Your friends are his friends. In all honesty, he can’t compete with that, and he’s not going to. He’s not the marrying type, and he knows that’s what you want–that’s what you’re getting. He’s done getting in the way of it.

You can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. It’s been a well known fact that Rhett Abbott has always wanted to leave Wabang, but it’s been almost a decade since you graduated high school, and he’s still here. You’re not sure he even has it in him to leave, but you nod your head in understanding, knowing that if you try to speak, more tears might come. It feels like you’ve only been crying because of him these days. Ben’s hurtful actions don’t even seem to phase you anymore, but it’s different coming from Rhett. It’s not even a bad feeling. It’s just genuine emotion. You’re not faking anything when it comes to him. The heartache is real.

“I think it’s best we put this behind us. I want you to be happy, and I know you’re never gonna be happy with me.” The worst part is that Rhett Abbott truly believes every single word that just came out of his mouth. And you let him leave without correcting him as you watch him walk across the grass to his blue truck, hoping that by next week, he’ll take back everything he said to you today.

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