beckwritesfiction

[beckwritesfiction]

Not only will I be posting more often now that I've finally graduated and secured a super serious big girl job, but I'll be revamping my master list, and fixing the formatting for Slow Ride. I've seen your lovely requests for me to finish it, and I promise, now I can post the rest of the story once I've proofread it. I've missed this, and I'll be expanding the range of who I write for soon!

[beckwritesfiction]

Forbidden Lab Partners

pairing: Isaac Lahey x Female Reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: Minors, do not interact! brief mentions of reader being abducted, porn with a plot, reader is a virgin, teen angst, mutual masturbation, dry humping, setup for part two

author's note: This is my first request in a while, but I did promise this to an antonymous reader months ago. See the post here. I'm inspired again, so here it is! This wasn't beta read, so excuse any errors. I was my own beta reader, which sometimes means missing a few mistakes.

It was hard for you to wrap your head around Scott McCall, the guy who you grew up with, being a werewolf. Your twin brother, Stiles, was his best friend, and it meant you were around him a lot. It was hard for Stiles and Scott to hide the truth from you for as long as they did, but Stiles thought it was for the best, and kept the secret to protect you. It was easier when you knew the truth, especially when it came to covering for Stiles with your dad.

Isaac Lahey wasn’t a stranger to you. He was your lab partner first and, at the command of Derek to get leverage over Scott and Stiles, your kidnapper for a short period of time. Scott saving you and Stiles’ crisis about what would’ve happened had you gotten hurt was how you found out the truth about werewolves. It also made you fear Isaac, which you didn’t think was possible. He was the nice, quiet guy who was way better at science than you. There were many times when you noticed the bruises, but you were far too afraid to bring it up.

His sharp turn from quiet loner to bad werewolf was disappointing to you—no matter how many times he insisted that Derek told him, Erica, and Boyd that they shouldn’t actually hurt you. It had been weeks since the incident, and the last thing you heard about Isaac was from Stiles: he was staying with Scott.

Your lab partner was sick, and instead of sitting with someone from the lacrosse team like he had for a while, Isaac sat beside you.

“Hey,” he said, his tone resembling the Isaac you knew; not the one Derek had created.

“Hi,” you replied, deciding it was best to leave it at that. He had something to say, and it was best to let him say it.

“I know I’m not really supposed to talk to you after what happened, so I’m sorry if I’m bothering you. I just… I wanted you to know that I wasn’t really thinking about anything other than doing what I was told. I didn’t realize I had a choice until Scott showed me that I do. I’m sorry about what I did. I should’ve told you we were going to hurt you when I took you that day.”

“I’m not that good of an actress, so I probably would’ve ruined your plan.”

“I’m still really sorry. You were the nicest person to me before people started noticing me. I was too afraid to talk to you back then beyond mitochondria and bacteria. I wish I would’ve.”

“That would’ve made it harder for me to forgive you.”

“You forgive me?” he asked hopefully.

“Everyone makes mistakes. Probably not on such a large scale, but not everyone has the problems you have. So sure,” you assured him. “And now the tables have turned. Well, maybe not. No one ever noticed me. Then or now. It’s the Stilinski curse.”

“I did,” Isaac admitted. “I do.”

All you could do was look at him. You were so surprised. Isaac wasn’t sure how to interpret the look on your face, so he added very quickly, “Sorry. I didn’t intend on making a move when I came over here. I really just wanted to tell you that I regret what I did, and I’m sorry. And if I could do it all over again, I’d be the one saving you, not throwing you in the back of a car.”

“Oh, so you’re making a move?” you asked with a smile. His smile was uncontrollable, and he had to look away at the board.

“You probably shouldn’t. Stiles said you’re not allowed to talk to me. And I’d definitely have a hard time following that rule if you asked me to hang out with you.”

“You wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from meeting me later to work on our project together? We’re lab partners again, right?”

“I don’t have a car, so you’d have to pick me up,” you said, your heart beating quickly. He made you nervous, and it would be a lie if you said he always made you this nervous. He was cute before, but now there was something so different about him. The bite that turned him into a werewolf not only gave him confidence, but a few more inches in height, and possibly even more toned arms. You went to all of Stiles’ games, even if he warmed the bench most of the time. You’d noticed Isaac’s arms before. And they were very different post-bite.

“I don’t, either,” he replied, looking a little conflicted.

“You’re… what you are now,” you decided to say, resisting the urge to say werewolf in public. “If you really want to, you’ll find a way to my house. My dad’s working overtime right now, and Stiles asked me to cover for him in case Dad comes home early. That means he’ll be out super late.”

“Yeah,” he said with a nod, biting back a smile.

The first time he was in your room, there was a certain tension that neither of you could ignore. He kept his distance, and you appreciated that at first. You actually did your work, and he helped you even when you didn’t need it. It became a regular thing, and you met so many nights in a row that you did most of the project when you still had weeks before the due date.

On the fifth night, he moved your hair out of your face when you were reading beside him on your bed.

“Do I scare you?” he asked. You hadn’t flinched, but your lack of effort in finding ways to touch him was a little discouraging.

“For a while you did. But it wasn’t just you. It was a really fucked up way of learning that your brother’s best friend, who’s really like a brother at this point, is a werewolf, and so is your lab partner, and that guy with a beard that sometimes shows up for reasons that aren’t obvious to you.” You rambled on a normal basis, but you rambled even more when you were nervous. “It was just a lot for a while. But no, you don’t scare me.”

“Were you just waiting for me to make the first move, then?”

You averted your gaze, laughing nervously. “I don’t really… I mean, maybe. Yeah, I guess so.”

“You just tried to say like three things at once and all of them are confusing to me. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to hang out with me like this.”

“I’ve just never really hung out with anyone in any capacity other than the literal sense of just hanging out. So when you look at me and make the world’s most intense eye contact, it freaks me out because it seems like something else should follow. And I’ve never done that before. So, it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that I… feel like I’m going to embarrass myself. So I avoid it because it’s easier than having this conversation.”

“Wow,” Isaac said, surprised by your honesty, and how quickly you spoke. “Well, I’m not trying to have sex with you. So don’t be nervous about that. Just because I look at you doesn’t mean that’s the immediate next step. I’ve never done that, either, so—”

You got to your feet, the embarrassment of the moment overwhelming. Being on your bed with him was unbearable.

“No. No. Um,” you stopped, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t think because you flashed your hot werewolf eyes at me that you wanted to rip my clothes off and have sex with me. I was talking about something way tamer. You know, like the time you do ten steps before sex.”

Isaac sat up, moving to the edge of your bed. “That’s fine. If it makes you feel any better I’ve never kissed anyone because I really wanted to.”

“Was… traumatic for you?” you asked, trying to be sensitive despite the burning in your cheeks.

“What? No. Not like that. I meant that it was all for show,” he assured you.

You sighed, relieved. “Oh, okay. Good. I thought this was moving in a much more depressing direction. Something even more depressing than me being sixteen and never having kissed a boy.”

He got up, towering over you in your tiny room filled with your childhood memories and very specific interests.

“You’re working yourself up. I can hear your heart racing,” he said.

“You can hear that?” you asked, panicked. Your heart raced a lot because of a lot of things he did. Sometimes even stupid things that were embarrassing for anyone to know that you found hot.

“Yeah. Werewolf stuff. It’s cute, though.”

Isaac took this rare moment—one where you were rendered speechless—to kiss you. He moved his hands to your face, and leaned down to kiss you. It wasn’t until that moment that you realized just how much taller he was than you. When you kissed him back, initially a little unsure of yourself, your instincts made you move onto your tiptoes. Just as you felt as though you were really getting into it, he stopped.

“Pulling away to see a frown isn’t the most encouraging thing,” he said, smiling.

“Well, I didn’t really want you to stop. Couldn’t you hear that while eavesdropping on my heartbeat?”

He laughed. “I don’t do it on purpose. I can’t help it. It’s just… sort of there.”

“Alright. Well, why don’t you eavesdrop while you kiss me?”

When he kissed you again, you expected it. What you didn’t expect was for him to move his hands to your waist, then go lower until he was able to pick you up. Being level with him was very different, and once you got over the initial shock of being picked up, you kissed him even harder. Everything you ever read about now made sense. It did feel electric, and you didn’t want it to end.

Isaac waited a short period of time before he put you down on the bed, moving so that he was on top of you. Instinctively, you parted your legs, making room for him to be even closer to you. You found that you liked the weight of him against you, and he liked that feeling, too.

His hand caressed your leg until he moved back to your waist. It made you think that you should touch him, too. Before your mind could explore all options and choose the best one, his lips began to shift. The unfamiliar sensation of someone kissing your neck was definitely something you liked. Your heart skipped a beat, and a pang of warmth spread through your body. You moaned, surprising yourself. His grip on your waist tightened, and it made you move your hand to his hair.

Your fingers grasped at his short curls when the kisses turned into something more dangerous. There was a chance, as he sucked gently at the soft skin of your neck, that he could leave marks. But neither of you were thinking like that.

The only thing that stopped him was something completely unintentional on your part. You were so lost in the moment that you—or, more accurately, your body—wanted more. You shifted your hips, grinding yourself against him. Then you stiffened, and he pulled away so he could look at you.

“I want to die right now,” you blurted out. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“But you want that?” he asked, searching your eyes. You had no choice but to look at him, and you could tell that he wanted you. That was a confidence boost that you didn’t even know you needed. All you could do was nod.

He went back to kissing you, grabbing your hips and repositioning you so you were pressed against him perfectly. The way you gasped made him kiss you even harder. He moaned, too, and the feeling of him moaning while kissing you was exhilarating. You were doing that to him?

Any over-analyzing was impossible when he moved his hips, his large bulge pressing against your core. The sensation was not unfamiliar to you, but it was unfamiliar to have someone else doing it for you. The sighs that escaped your lips only made him continue, and his grasp on your thigh tightened every time it was a moan instead.

Your arm wrapped around his neck, and it only made his muscles more evident. Just as you felt lightheaded—the friction he’d created built up a tension that made every part of you feel heavy and extremely needy—he stopped.

“I just need a second,” he said, embarrassed. He was a werewolf but it somewhat didn’t help his stamina in this case.

You were a virgin, but you were not clueless. “Just keep going. I don’t care.”

Isaac knew that continuing would mean there was a chance he’d have to figure things out for you after, but it was too tempting to worry about that. When it seemed like he was going to kiss you, he bowed his head, burying his face in your neck. Not to kiss you there, but to stifle his groans.

It was undeniably hot, even if it was less than a minute before he came, still moving against you as it happened. Male orgasms weren’t something you’d ever seen or completely understood, but you liked it. You moved your fingers through his hair, unsure if it was what he wanted, but hoping it was. You liked the way he moved so desperately, sporadic as he came down from his high.

He lifted his head, his face flushed. It made you smile, and he mirrored your expression.

“I’m not going to be the guy that asks you if you came,” he said. “Sorry, I—”

“Don’t apologize for doing the thing you do when you… do this.”

This time, it was you that kissed him. You had no intention of judging him, especially not when what he was apologizing for turned you on even more. He grabbed your waist again, and moved so that you were on top of him. The idea of it was more intimidating than how it felt. It wasn’t clear if it was what he thought you were going to do when he switched positions, but he didn’t protest when you moved onto his leg. In fact, he sat up, leaning against your wall. You liked it better that way, and you didn’t know if he guessed or if he’d sensed it.

Kissing him was enough to pick up where you left off, but when he moved his hand into your hair, and gently gathered some in his hand, that was enough to earn another moan. The movement of your hips on his leg ensured that it wasn’t the last. He almost couldn’t believe it was happening when just one week ago he was banned from speaking to you. He still was, but you were breaking that rule together. And you were doing a lot more than breaking it.

You only stopped kissing him when you were close to finishing, unable to focus on anything other than maintaining the rhythm that was getting you there. You closed your eyes, tightening your hold on him. Your chest pressed against his, and he couldn’t ignore that feeling that did to him. His hands guided your hips, wanting to grab you, yet knowing you didn’t need the help. Him touching you like this was enough, and your orgasm washed over you, lasting longer than you expected. It was intense; blurring your vision and leaving you breathless. It was only when it was over that you considered you might’ve been loud. Your thighs burned as you got off of him.

“Do you… do that a lot?” he asked, not thinking before he spoke. He had looked at you too long, too transfixed on how you looked when you were on top of him.

“What do you mean?” you asked, even though you were pretty sure that you knew. You didn’t want to tell him that you did, and he think you did it with other guys before him.

“You know…” he trailed off, fixing your hair. “You just seemed like you knew what you were doing. I liked it.”

“I’m a virgin. I don’t have a lineup of guys on speed dial,” you replied, making a joke feeling like the only way you could talk about it.

“I could be. I really like you, and I liked this.”

“I think you’re underestimating how often I do it.”

“I’m not that far away.”

You couldn't believe you were talking about this, but you felt comfortable enough with him to, and that meant something.

“Is that all you want? I just want to know before I overthink this. I overthink everything.”

“No. Unless that’s all you want.”

“We’re not even supposed to be talking. Scott said he’d rip your throat out if you even looked at me again.”

“Doesn’t that just make you want it even more? We’ll go on a secret date. I’ll figure something out. No one will know.”

You couldn't fight the smile that appeared at the idea of that.

“If we did this before our first date, then what are we doing after?”

“Hopefully something where I don’t cum in my underwear in the first few minutes.”

You laughed, then moved closer to him. “I liked it. Watching it happen, I mean. It helped me along, I guess you could say. I can’t wait for the real thing.”

He tensed momentarily, then said, “You have to. Someone’s in the driveway. I should go.”

Isaac kissed you one last time, then went out your window. It wasn’t how you thought your day was going to go, but it seemed like it would be hard to top.

[beckwritesfiction]

I saw that you were taking requests and I've been really into the idea of TTPD songs as prompts that go with different relationships to the Outer Banks boys. Ex: But, Daddy I love Him! for JJ. Guilty as sin for Y/N dating a kook and befriending Pope and her progression into eventually being with him? Smut is a plus. Maybe if you can come up with more, don't limit it to TTPD. Anything Taylor Swift I would love.

I've already started on the JJ request and I'm at 800 words. I love writing it so far. This is such a fun concept and I'm so happy you requested it. Keep an eye out, because it may be posted quite soon. 👀

[beckwritesfiction]

I noticed you were taking requests! Could I ask for a one-shot for Bridgerton? Female reader x Anthony. Friends to lovers trope. Reader and Anthony get caught in the summer rain.

I just finished season three of Bridgerton so this request came at the perfect time. Definitely will get on this! Add any more details you can think of in the comments if you can think of any!

[beckwritesfiction]

HI! Was wondering if you could do an 18+ Isaac Lahey fic that involves a size kink? Bonus if MFC is in a secret relationship with him in some way, maybe because she's the sister of Derek, Scott, Jackson, or Stiles.

I am so on this request. I'll post it when it's done!

[beckwritesfiction]

Hi how are you do you take requests for jj or rafe from outer banks x

Yes! I have a WIP that's a request for JJ based on But Daddy I Love Him, but no other OBX requests. Send them my way, please!

[beckwritesfiction]

note to my followers

you are always ALWAYS welcome to come into my inbox and start talking about aus and headcanons

i don’t care if i’ve never talked to you before

if you just randomly show up in my inbox and start yelling about ideas for headcanons/fics/aus i will immediately start yelling right back at you about said headcanon/fic/au

[beckwritesfiction]

I'm Back!

[TL;DR: I'm writing again and here's a list of things you can request]

After a long stint of poor mental health and a brutal friendship breakup, I'm trying to do the things I love again, and writing is one of them. I created this blog and the story that started it all two summers ago. I can't believe it's been this long, but if anyone wants me to continue posting for Slow Ride, I'd love to. I haven't checked the document in ages, but I think it's around 180.5k words. In fact, the story's almost over! Yet I haven't posted all of it here. And if anyone wants to see the Outer Range fic I was working on, I'm happy to keep writing for that, too.

My beta reader was my best friend, but after learning that she was one of those friends who talked horribly about you behind your back and—somehow—created an Instagram to catfish me and communicated with the guy who stalked me at my job for almost three years. She was also my biggest critic, and I was too blind to see it. It's hard to trust anyone after that. Maybe that's a little personal, but I met some wonderful people on here and I feel like I owe a bit of an explanation to anyone that's still interested. There are far more—and far worse—details, but I'll leave it at that.

I'd love it if someone would be willing to be my beta reader? Or just be a writer and/or reader friend. I have so many stories in me and I'd love to share them with some people. I gained a lot of traction in such a short time with this blog, and I miss all the joy that this brought to me.

Lastly, assuming anyone at all sees this, I'd love to write shorter fics based on requests? I believe I posted one, and it got some great feedback. So feel free to request anything! I'm working on a list of things I'd be willing to write, including content and characters. Once that's posted, it'll be linked right here.

— okay thanks bye ᥫ᭡

[beckwritesfiction]

if you’re ever about to comment on a writer’s work and think, oh, they probably know how good they are, you’re definitely wrong. every time a writer posts or publishes anything, no matter how many years they’ve been doing it and no matter how many readers they have, they are struck with the idea that perhaps they aren’t very good at all.

if you think you’re annoying for commenting, or that we won’t see your comments anyway, you’re wrong. we see your comments. we actively look for them. we are starved for them no matter how many we get. we remember them and they fuel us. leave comments, even if it’s just saying “oh i like this”. i see an “oh i like this” and my heart grows three times its size and i am seized with an urge to provide you more writing just to hear you say “oh i like this” again.

[beckwritesfiction]

At Full Dark: Part 1

(18+ ONLY) THIS POST CONTAINS SEXUAL THEMES, MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Summary: Ellie attends the funeral of her father, and reunites with people she hasn't seen since she was a child. Some have the best of intentions, and others don't.

A/N: I've been getting messages asking me to post the first chapter, and I'm happy to! I haven't hit my word count goal, but I'm putting this up a little early for you guys. I'm really excited about this, and I am hope you are, too! I wanted to read over this more but I'm currently posting this on my break at work.

Warnings: drinking, protected PIV, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of past death and grieving. Let me know if there's anything you wish for me to add, and I'd be happy to.

Word Count: 4.5k

PART I 

The paper the funeral home had given her and anyone else who walked through the door was the thing she stared at, rather than her dead father in the open casket in front of her.  The church wasn’t very full, but that didn’t surprise her.  In fact, she was shocked she wasn’t the only person there.  From her understanding, her father was an asshole.  And because he never remarried, he left everything he had to her.

Leonard “Lonnie” Belfure passed away at the age of sixty-one in his home located in Wabang, Wyoming.  He is survived by his daughter, Virginia Eloise Brown (Neé Belfoure), and her husband, Weston Brown.  Lonnie took over the Belfure ranch from his father at the age of twenty-six.  Please join us at 11:00 AM on Monday, May 27th at West Baptist Church for the funeral.

If she left him months ago, Wes’ name wouldn’t have been on the paper, and she wouldn’t be thinking about how stupid it was that her last name was still Brown.  She wasn’t even sure she wanted it to be Belfure, either.  While she was supposed to be praying for her father’s soul, she prayed wherever he was, he couldn’t beat women, or yell at children.  And then she prayed a better last name would come to her soon, because she wasn’t using Brown or Belfure.  

The graveyard wasn’t far, so she set out to walk, ignoring everyone in church because she didn’t know them, and she wasn’t planning to.  It was only when Cecelia stopped her on the steps that her face softened.  Her sunglasses and foundation covered most of her black eye.  

She hugged her tightly, the time she took care of her coming back to her.  It was then that she felt like she might cry, and she hadn’t cried once since she found out her father finally died.

“I didn’t wanna pry, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.  Had I known you were back in town, I woulda helped with—”

“I had someone put this together for him.  It was no trouble at all,” she assured her.  The last thing she wanted was someone as sweet as Cecelia, thinking she’d been crying and slaving away planning the funeral. 

“Are you stayin’ with someone?  Is there anything we can do for you?”  She shook her head slowly, taking in how much Virginia had changed.  There was no indication she was even from Wabang.  She looked like her grandmother did when she came to pick her up fifteen years ago: totally out of place.

“I’ve got a room in town until I get the keys to the house.  Really, you don’t need to go out of your way for me, Missus Abbott.”

“Virginia, honey, please call me Cici.”  When she took her hands, she was reminded of her mother.  It had been three years since she died, and in those three years, she hadn’t been comforted through anything that had happened to her.  

“Call me Ellie, alright?” she said, not offering an explanation.  

Cecelia looked over her shoulder, the rest of her family as well as everyone else making their way out of the church.  “I’m sorry we only get to meet your husband under these circumstances.”

Ellie shook her head, laughing to herself humorlessly.  “Oh, no.  He couldn’t make it.  Bad timing, but death waits for no one, right?”  The rush of the small crowd was enough to separate them.  But Cecelia found her again when she noticed she was going in the wrong direction. “Parkin’ lot’s this way,” she said, placing a hand on her shoulder.  While she didn’t look upset, if she was walking in the wrong direction, she wanted to be gentle about reminding her.  She had been old enough, walking in and out of this exact church, to remember.

“I figured I’d walk.  It’s not that far.”

“No, come on. We’ll give you a ride.”

“There’s no room in my truck,” Perry pointed out as gently as he could.  He was fragile, imagining he’d be throwing a funeral for his missing wife soon if she wasn���t found.   

Rhett, who’d overslept, had driven separately.

“I can,” he offered.  

The walk back to his truck was longer, as he was the very last person to arrive.  He had to park farther away as a result.  “Sorry ‘bout comin’ in late,” he said, unsure of how else to talk to someone he hadn’t seen in so long.

“He’s lucky anyone showed up at all.  You could've stayed home and I wouldn’t have taken it personally.  I don’t even wanna be here.”  Her confession came easily.  There was a chance he wasn’t the kind of person he was when they were little, but something about her memories of him being so fond made her feel like she could be completely honest.  “You didn’t come back just for this, did you?”  She looked over at him, a small frown on her face.  It was the first time she’d looked at him that day, and it was the first time he felt like anyone had looked at him in a while.

“Don’t have to come back if you never left in the first place,” he said, walking between his truck and another, opening the door for her.  He held out his hand for her when she looked like she questioned how to get into it.  She took it, stepping up onto the running board and inside.

When he finally closed his own door, she looked over at him.  He didn’t look like he’d gotten a lot of sleep.  “I guess I shouldn’t take everything from the last time we talked seriously.”

“Maybe some.  I may not be the greatest rider in all of Wabang County, but I’m gettin’ close.”

She smiled at this, thinking back to how sure he was that that’s what he wanted to do, and now he was doing it.  Maybe he hadn’t left town, but small town people sometimes didn’t mind the pace of life that came with where they lived.  

“What?” he asked, finding himself smiling, too, and not feeling guilty now that he knew there was no one around to judge them.  Smiling at a funeral wasn’t usually acceptable.  But in this case, he assumed it was.

“I just think it’s funny how things work out.”

“Why?  You take my advice and write books?”

She nodded as he began to drive.  “Yeah, actually, I did.  It took me a while, but I did it.”  She didn’t tell him how she was supposed to pitch a new book, as she was contractually obligated to, by the end of the month, and she had no idea what to do.  That worried her, but she had a lot going on.  Even if her father’s death didn’t really affect her, her marriage did.  She’d need to file for divorce, and she couldn’t keep dodging Wes’ calls forever.  He was undoubtedly pissed that she left while he was gone that night, but she wasn’t ready to argue about it yet.

As they neared the graveyard, he knew their time together was running out.  “You wanna meet later and catch up?  I know I shouldn’t be askin’ before this is over, but…”

“Yeah.  I’d like that. I’m on Main Street, so maybe the bar near there?”

Her not remembering the name, mixed with how articulate she now sounded, reminded him that she was so far removed from her former life there. As much as he looked at her, standing over the grave as they lowered the casket into it, he didn’t see the bruise on her face.  No one else did, either.  

Before Cecilia could offer one last time to help in any way she could, Ellie was approached by Wayne Tillerson.  No one heard what he asked, but they heard what she said.  “If I decide to sell it, you’ll hear when everyone does.”

“Ain’t really the time, now is it?”  Royal asked, speaking for the first time that day.  At least that’s how it looked to Ellie.  The hostility was unmistakable, and she decided if it came to her getting wrapped up in it, she’d leave the sale up to a lawyer.  

“How long you in town for?” Rhett asked when the bartender brought over the first round.   

Ellie shrugged.  “As long as I need to be.”

“What’s Mister Brown think about that?”

She laughed, seeing how he meant it.  Like he knew something was off.  She thought maybe he’d seen her bare left hand and put the pieces together.  “Mister Brown can go fuck himself, and anyone else that’ll have him on the Upper West Side.”

It was the first time he’d seen her without her sunglasses on, and he thought about how she looked familiar, yet so different.  Her features were sharper, but her eyes were the same.  He never forgot the way she looked at him when they were little because, at the time, it seemed like she was the only one that didn’t look at him in a bad way.  To that day, it felt the same.  When she looked at him he felt seen.  Not because he had a good ride and there was a girl that wanted to go home with him.  It felt deeper than that, and it wasn’t something he’d felt since he was twelve.

“I didn’t realize you wrote those books,” he said, changing the subject.  “I knew what they were.  I’d heard about them, I mean.  But I didn’t realize it was you.”

“You looked me up?”

He nodded, smiling a little.  “Yeah.  I was curious.  Wanted to know what you were writing about.  I thought a lot about what you might be up to.”

“I thought a lot about you, too.  You were the first person that ever told me I should write books.  That’s why I went to Colombia, for their writing program.”

“Colombia Colombia?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She smiled, nodding.  No one had been impressed with her accomplishments in a long time.  With her mother gone, the only person who really knew her was Wes.  And he didn’t like her being successful, or having friends, or going places without him.  Despite growing up away from her father, she’d managed to marry someone just like him.  Without realizing it, her smile had faded, and she’d been staring at her glass for way too long.

“You were the first person that didn’t think the whole bull ridin’ thing was a phase.”  It sounded a little like an offer.  One for her to continue the conversation and not think about whatever had pulled her out of it in the first place.  “I still have that book you wrote me.”

“What did I call it?” she laughed, trying hard to remember it.  

“Rhett Abbott: The Best Bull Rider Ever.”

“The way people look at you in here, it might as well be true.”

He finished his drink, then leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.  He waved over at the bartender for another round.  Him finishing his made her finish hers.  “I got a few chances left this season to make it come true.  The other stuff in there, probably not.”

“What else did I write?”

“Stuff about a happily ever after.  I’ll blame that on the fairytales you were readin’ back then.”

“Why can’t you have that?” she asked curiously.

He couldn’t tell her why because he wasn’t even sure why he’d said it in the first place.  If he was going to find someone, he would’ve found them already.  At least that’s what he thought.  He blamed it on the town, and on the account of him never leaving home like he wanted to.  

The way he looked around told her he didn’t have an answer.  “Well if you can’t have it, neither can I.  Because I feel like I did everything right and now I’m here.”  He looked back to her when she noticed his wrist.  “What happened to your wrist?” she asked, looking at his brace.

“I fell on it wrong,” he answered dismissively.  He didn’t want to talk about it because then she might be concerned.  He didn’t want that to be all they talked about.

“Will it heal in time?”

“Doctor thinks so.”

“Does it hurt?” she asked, reaching out and running her index and middle finger along the brace.  The way he looked at her then made her wonder why she did it.  Maybe she was lonely, or maybe she just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t stop talking to her.

“If it did, what would you do?”

She leaned back, finishing her second drink with a shrug.  “I’m not a doctor.”

A few more rounds in, and he asked her the real question that he wanted to ask earlier, when he read the pamphlet from her father's funeral.  “What happened with you and your husband?”

After thinking for a second, she shook her head.  “How would you feel if I asked you why you don’t have a wife?” she asked.

“Those’re two very different questions.”

“You answer mine first, if you wanna know the answer to yours.”

He nodded, thinking hard about how to say it without sounding depressing.  It wasn’t, to most people.  He couldn’t be lonely because he could get someone to go home with him every night if he wanted to, and he very often did.  “Just hasn’t happened.”

It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but she assumed it was better than not getting one at all. “Standard stuff, I guess.”  She knew not everyone hit their wives, especially not the day of their mother’s funeral, but she wasn’t going to say that.  Feeling brave, she leaned forward a little.  “It’s only been a few days, but I’ve wanted to do it for a few years.”

He frowned, missing something. “Do what?”

“Leave him.”

He hadn’t realized it had only been a few days since she left, but he figured that was better than her not leaving at all.  “When’d you marry him?”

“Four years ago.”

That didn’t last long and, not knowing what to say, he shrugged.  “Twenty’s young, anyway.  That’s not your fault.”

It was, and she reminded herself that he didn’t know her, even if it was easy to talk to him again.  “I don’t really wanna talk about this.  Ask me anything else, and I'll answer.”

He nodded, looking around the crowded bar as he thought hard.  “What are you workin’ on now, for your book?”

She bowed her head, releasing a small sigh.  “I don’t have anything yet.  That’s part of the problem.  But I’m sure I’ll figure it out by Monday.”

“What’s on Monday?”

“I’ve gotta pitch my next book, and they’ll give me deadlines, and then I'll have to start writing again.”

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be easy for you.”  He didn’t doubt her at all, remembering how easily she used to tell him stories based off of nothing.  And he’d only really spent time with her during what was probably one of the worst weeks of her life.  When it looked like she didn’t believe what he said, he put his hand on her wrist.  “If not, why don’t you just rewrite my book?”

She laughed.  Had he not said that, she would’ve thought too much about him touching her so casually.  “I’m sure that’ll translate well with the adult market.”  The bartender brought over another round, and she continued.  “That would be a change, if I did that, though.  I need dark, and mysterious, probably a little depressing, too.”

“That’s not what I thought you’d be writin’.”

“Well, you haven’t seen me in fifteen years.”

He wondered if that was a good thing.  If she’d stayed, would she just think of him the way everyone else did?

They were there for so long that she didn’t want the night to end, but she also should’ve stopped a few drinks ago.  He was ready to order another round when she stopped him from raising his hand.  “I should stop.”

“You should or you want to?” She laughed a little, shaking her head and then regretting it.  “I mean, I want to remember tonight.”  When she released his hand, her arm felt heavy.  He took her hand, and she met his eyes again.

“Maybe I don’t wanna stop talkin’ to you.”

“Maybe we don’t need to do it here.”

He nodded.  After paying the tab, they left.  When he walked her to his truck, he went to reach for the door, but dropped his keys.  He almost fell getting back up, and she steadied him.  “What are you doing?”

“Tryin’ t’be gentleman and open your door.”

She frowned.  “You’re not driving.”  He didn’t look at her at first, leaning back against his trunk.  He handed her the keys, and she laughed, mostly out of discomfort.  “I’m not driving, either.  But I’m down the street.  Let’s just go there.”  Being on the third floor, and there being no elevator, it took a while to get to her room.  When she nearly fell, he caught her.  When it happened again on the second flight of stairs, and she sat down at the top of it, he offered her his hands.  

“Come on, I’ll carry you.”

This earned another laugh, one that went on far too long and echoed through the corridor.  “You’re not carrying me.”

“You don’t trust me?” He was so close to her, leaning down, that he almost kissed her.  

She shook her head, her nose brushing against his briefly.  “Not on the stairs.”

When they finally made it to the top, his hands remained on her hips, guiding her like they had on the way up.  While trying to find her key in her purse, he leaned against the door, watching her.  He thought her eye looked strange, like her makeup was smudged, but he ignored it, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear when it fell into her face.  He’d wanted to kiss her all night. And now, it being all he could think about, was exactly what he did.  Even though she hadn’t found the room key in her purse yet, she kissed him back.  The handle slipped from her grasp, and she pulled away from him.

After finally finding her wallet, she fumbled with the key for a while before finally getting it inside the door.  It opened roughly, her relying too much on the handle to hold her up.  The noise it made when it hit the doorstop was loud, but it only elicited laughter from them.  He kicked it closed when she put her purse down on the scratched table by the door.

“This is…”

“Shitty?” she asked.  “Yeah, but it’s all there is.”

“You can come stay with us,” he offered. “Mom’d be happy to have the company.”

She turned around, taking off her jacket.  “Would she be happy with the way you’re kissing me?”

He laughed.  “Probably not, not like she’d know.”

“I think she would.  But I’ve got a meeting tomorrow, anyway.  I’ll have the keys to the ranch, and I won’t have to stay here again.” 

He left it at that, sliding off his boots while she started to undo the strap of her heel, one arm bracing against the wall.  She hadn’t sobered up since leaving the bar.  If anything, she felt the full effects now.  He helped her, urging her to sit on the edge of her bed.  He grabbed her ankle, and she laid back.

“I haven’t been this drunk in years.”

“This is just a regular Tuesday night for me,” he said as he let one shoe fall to the floor.  There was a thud, and she brought her other foot up onto his leg.  She laughed, taking what he said as a joke.  

He got the other shoe off even faster, and it prompted her to say, “You’re really good at taking off shoes.  I can’t even get them off that fast.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Again, she took this as a joke.  He got on the bed, hovering over her.  His hips pressed down against hers, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her dress riding up her thighs.  The way he looked down at her made her smile.

“What?” she asked, her hand resting against his side.

“I forgot earlier…to tell you how pretty you are.”  His free hand brushed against her cheek.  His hands were rough, and her face was so soft.

When she smiled, he kissed her again.  This time, when she kissed him back, he couldn’t believe how different it felt to him.  No one kissed him this way, and he had no idea that she felt the same way.  He wanted her, and she could feel that from him even before.  It felt good to be wanted, but thinking about that made her wonder if she only wanted him, too, because she’d gone so long without feeling loved.

The second his hand went to her thigh, she shifted beneath him, kissing him harder.  She hadn’t expected him to move further up.  When he almost pulled her underwear down, she reached down to stop him.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

He was taken aback, and he frowned. “Cause I want you.”

“You don’t wanna know why I want you?” It felt like a stupid thing to say, and she regretted it the second she said it.

“You wanna tell me?”

“Should I do this if I don’t even know?”

He moved off of her, resting his head on the pillow, but staying close to her.  She followed him, moving so their legs still touched, and her arm rested against his chest.  Her hand was against his cheek as she examined him, conflicted.  

“Tell me what you mean.”  The longer she looked at him, the better he was able to see her face.  Her makeup was messed up, but he realized now, with how close they were to the bedside lamp, that she wore minimal eye makeup.  It wasn’t mascara on her eye, it was a bruise.  Her makeup was wearing off as the night went on.

“It’s stupid.”  She shook her head.  “I’m just thinking too hard about something that should be simple.  People drink to stop thinking, right?  Not me, I guess.”

“What happened here?” he asked, his thumb brushing against the bruise on her eye.  She flinched a little as she closed her eyes, and he frowned.  “If you don’t tell me, I’m just gonna assume the worst.”

She finally looked at him again, nodding slowly.  “The worst is probably right.”

The idea that someone would hit her was hard to think about, but once he pictured it, he felt like he needed to do something about it.  “Does he know you’re here, where you’re stayin’?”

She went to answer him, but he was already saying something else.  “Did he just do this, or has he been doin’ this a while?”

Ellie frowned.  “I told you I don’t wanna talk about it.  He doesn’t know where I am.  I’ve been ignoring him.  When I get a chance, I’ll have someone serve him and I won’t have to see him again.  I’ve got it handled.  I’m just…laying low here.”

“You’re not goin’ back to the city on Monday, for your book pitch?”

“If I wanted to sit and think about all that, I wouldn’t have gone out with you tonight.  I can do it over the phone.  It’s not your job to be worried about what I got myself into.  I just don’t wanna do this with you if it’s for the wrong reasons.”

“I feel like my reasons are right.  You’re beautiful, and smart, and talkin’ to you makes me feel like I’m who I wanna be.  I haven’t felt that in…” he trailed off, hoping he didn’t have to say any more.

“We’re either too drunk or we’re not drunk enough,” she declared, laying down beside him.

“I didn’t come back here for no reason, Virginia.  I—”

“Ellie. Call me Ellie.”  He seemed confused.  “I haven’t gone by Virginia in years, and I don’t want to.”

“Okay, Ellie.”  Saying it felt weird.  But he’d do what she wanted.  Him saying her name made her regret putting so much distance between them.  “I meant what I said; I like talkin’ to you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I feel like I do.”  She scooted closer to him again, and he wrapped his arm around her waist.  There was something she wanted to say, but couldn’t find the right words.  “What people say when they’re drunk, it’s what they really mean.”

After a second, she said, “You just make me feel…like I haven’t in a while.  And I don’t wanna do this because of that.  If that’s the only reason.  And I can’t think right like this.  I can’t tell if it’s just because of that, or if it’s because I’d do it just because I want you.  I think I would, but what if I’m wrong?”

“Ellie, I’d be happy with whatever we do in here tonight.”  His hand moved over the curve of her waist and to the bare skin of her thigh again.  “Whyever you wanna do it.”

She wanted to feel loved, to not question everything she did, and to have someone sleep beside her that didn’t hate her.  When she kissed him again, she was under the impression that that’s what he’d give her.  It wasn’t as rushed as it had been before and, despite how tired she felt, she didn’t want it to end.  At first, she was on top of him, liking the amount of control she had until she found that she didn’t want it anymore.  She stopped kissing him long enough for him to realize what she wanted, and readjust.  His hand was on her lower back, lifting her so she could get comfortable against the pillow before leaning down to kiss her neck.

While she released a shaky sigh, she grabbed his hips, wordlessly begging him to be closer to her again.  She hadn’t liked sex in so long, as much as she’d tried.  But she liked this.  He matched her pace from before, thinking at first he’d have to deal with what she wanted instead of what really happened.  He liked it because it was with her.  Any other night, with any other woman, he would’ve thought it felt strange, how affectionate she wanted him to be.  But he liked seeing her like that, hearing what he was doing to her.  This wasn’t something quick that meant nothing, and that was all he was used to.

By the time he laid back down beside her, he was exhausted.  He could hardly keep his eyes open as she pulled the covers over them.  

“Will you stay here with me?” she asked as he reached blindly for the lamp, eventually switching it off.  It fell, and he didn’t have the will to pick it up.

“I’d be real sad if you asked me to leave after that.”

 The only reason he knew she was smiling the way she was was because she kissed him again.  She rolled over next, moving back until she was against him, fitting in his arm perfectly.  Her hair smelled so good, and he fell asleep trying to figure out exactly what it smelled like.

TAGLIST: @elevens-strangerthing @negomim @audri-janis

[beckwritesfiction]

Can you do something with a virgin!reader x rhett abbott from outer range? Maybe they went to high school together and she's the preacher's daughter. He could assume she's not as innocent as she was back then, but he finds out that's not the case after they go on a date and he's ready to take her home? Bonus points if she's been saving herself for marriage but she can't stop herself once she's all worked up with him in his truck?

I hope this covered all the bases! Thanks for the request and I really hope you like it. My asks are open if anyone wants to request anything else.

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Rating: 18+ only! Minor, please do not interact with this post.

Warnings: mentions of religion, semi-public sex, drinking, protected PIV, oral (female receiving), loss of virginity,

a/n: This is the first in-detail smut I've written since like 2014 so please go easy on me.

There wasn’t much that surprised you in town anymore.  You’d been there your entire life.  Every day felt the same, and you liked the routine you fell into.  You didn’t expect that Sunday to be any different than the last.  The first unusual thing was Rhett Abbott showing up with his mother to church.  He looked a little roughed up.  His hair could’ve probably been combed, and he wasn’t wearing anything that resembled church shoes, but you greeted him like you greeted everyone else.  It had been so long since you went to church that he looked surprised when you were by the steps, a few paces away from your father.  He was deep in conversation with someone who had recently moved to town, so he wasn’t paying that much attention to you.  

“Rhett,” he greeted him.  “It’s nice to see you here.”

He wouldn’t ever say he forgot about you, but it wasn’t like you’d spoken much since graduation.  The biggest thing he remembered about you was that you never seemed to have time for anyone.  Any boy that tried anything would leave disappointed.  Some tried hard to be the one that got the preacher’s daughter to give it up for them, but every single one failed. Unlike then, your neckline was a little less modest.  Even though there was a jean jacket over your dress, it was a little low cut.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, unsure of what else to ask.  He wasn’t asking what he really wanted to, after all.  He wanted to know what you’d gotten up to, and why he never saw you in town.  Your hands were bare, except for the light yellow nail polish on her nails.  No ring.  He wanted so badly to know if that meant you were still a virgin.  There was no way, especially not since you were nearing your mid-twenties.  Everyone had sex by then.  

Your smile was ever-present, it seemed, but it brightened a little at his question.  “Pretty good.  Keepin’ busy here, especially with the market we’re settin’ up.”

“Market?” he asked.

“For the local farmers.  Since the old outpost buildin’ burned down we haven’t had a farmer’s market.  Daddy wanted me to take some initiative here, and I thought that sounded like somethin’ the town would love.  Who wouldn’t want some fresh watermelon on a hot day like this?”

“I’ll let my mom know when I find her.  She’d be the one lookin’ for somethin’ like that.”

“I made some pies to sell, if you’re interested.  Not everyone who comes’s gotta be there for the produce.  Think Missus Murry’s makin’ her famous bundt cakes, too.”

You were either just really friendly, or you wanted to keep talking to him.  Anyone who thought they’d get to greet you just moved on to your mother.  

“You said it’s right after this?” he asked.

“Oh, no.  It’s at three.”

At three, he was there with his mother, and he tried to talk himself down from saying something to you when they eventually worked their way through the mazes of tables, tents, and tailgates to get you.  You sat with your older brother and his wife, who were spreading God’s word to anyone that would listen, waiting for someone to come and talk to you.  

Your conversations about pie were short-lived.  Rhett even cut you off, lowering his voice so only you could hear.  “Are you doin’ anything later?”

You were taken aback, but you were honest.  “No, I’m not.”

“Would you wanna get dinner?  We could catch up?  Six years is a long time to go without talkin’.”

Your smile was different than it had been all day as he looked around, as if you didn’t want anybody to hear.  “You wanna go out with me?”

He wasn’t sure if he would go that far.  That’s why he clarified.  “Pretty girl like you?  Of course.  Don’t think one date would hurt you, would it?”

“Yeah.  I’d like that.”  You’d heard the comments your mother made; how confused she was about how a kid that used to be so sweet could stray so far from the Lord.  You didn’t understand what she meant, but your mother elaborated, disgusted as she explained the town gossip.  Anyone who went out with that many girls wasn’t looking for someone to spend the rest of his life with, or to serve God with.  Especially not with how much and how often he was hanging around at the bars in town.  You didn’t like to judge people, so you didn’t assume the date would be anything other than a date.  And it was.  At first.

You only had two drinks, stretching them out over the two hours that you sat at the booth in the corner of the bar.  Drinking wasn’t something you normally did because your family didn’t.  He noticed this, and slowed down on ordering more for himself.  The conversation was casual, and he let you talk as much as you wanted; which you did a lot, feeling like you needed to seem more interesting if you wanted the date to go well.  He didn’t have as detailed answers to your questions as you did to his, but you didn’t mind.  He had never been someone to say much.  

“You know that’s what my daddy did, before he found God?”

“Bull ridin’?” Rhett asked, knowing that had to be the only reason she’d pivot to that after coaxing out every detail of his so far underwhelming career.  

You nodded.  “He hit his head so hard on one of the railin’; knocked him right out.  Said he saw this light and, when he woke up, someone said ‘Jesus Christ,’ like they were relieved.  He took that as a sign.  Retired after that circuit, started goin’ to church.  That’s how he met my mama.  It all goes back to hittin’ his head  If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t’ve found God, met my mama, or had me and my brothers.”

“Then he would’ve just been stuck being a professional bull rider, and that’d just be sad, wouldn’t it?” Rhett asked, mostly as a joke.  But he knew that was how some people saw him.

You laughed, shaking your head gently.  “What’s sad about what you do?  I think you’re brave.  I’d never last long doin’ what you do.  Besides, it’s better when he tells it.  You should have dinner with us one night.  He’ll tell you all kinds of stories.”

There were so many other things he’d rather do than talk about God with your family, but he didn’t want to make you feel bad.  He deflected with a joke.  “Are you tellin’ me you wanna take me home to your family?”

Your face flushed, especially when he leaned across the table the way he did.  “I like talkin’ to you.  Why wouldn’t I?  Comin’ out with you without you meetin’ my daddy’s not a great start, but he’s forgvin’.”

When the topic of church and the Lord wasn’t on the table, he felt like the conversation flowed easily.  And the way you flirted with him, innocent as it was, made him want to leave sooner rather than later.  When he offered to take you home, you agreed, knowing you shouldn’t stay out too late.  It was already ten o’clock.

There were so many things he did that made you feel like you needed to go outside and get some fresh air.  If your head wasn’t spinning, your eyes felt heavy, or you felt a little hot. It wasn’t a heat you could put your finger on.  It was more internal, spreading through you evenly, flowing like your blood did.

He opened the door for you, taking your hand before you stepped up into his truck.  It was when he got in himself that he hesitated before starting the car.  He wanted to talk, and you thought it was time to tell him how much fun you had.

“Thanks for askin’ me out.  I haven’t been on a date in a while.  Especially not one like this, it was fun.  I like talkin’ to you a lot.”

He brushed his hand against your cheek before moving it to your hair, feeling you tense.  At first he thought you didn’t want to kiss him, but then you did, and quite eagerly.  The sleeve of your dress fell down as you leaned in, moving as close as you could get to him on the bench seat. He only kissed you harder, matching your energy until he reached for your arm, pushing you down against the seat until you felt the fabric on your exposed shoulders.  He kept kissing you, even jerking you down by your hips so your head wasn’t hitting the door.  The movement of your body made him gasp, and you liked it.  

Just like you liked the way he kissed your neck, moving down your body slowly until he got to your chest.  He pulled both your sleeve and your bra strap down, kissing the parts of you that weren’t exposed before that.  There was no denying that you liked it, even if you wanted to.  He could tell by the way you sighed.

His hand against your leg only made you feel even more like you could combust.  Every place he touched you where he hadn’t before felt like such a rush.  When he lifted the hem of your skirt, you tried hard to relax.  Just because he was doing that didn’t mean you were going to go all the way.  You were lying to yourself, and you knew it, but kissing him felt so good that you couldn’t stop.  You weren’t there for that reason, mostly because of a promise you made to save yourself for marriage when you were younger, but the idea of figuring out the appeal of Rhett Abbott.

Then his hand brushed against the fabric between your legs, and you panicked a little.  Even as this happened, you accepted that whatever he was going to do, you wanted it.  “Will it hurt?”  you asked suddenly, grabbing his wrist and stopping him.

“What?” he asked, frowning gently at your question.  Then he realized something.  You looked so dazed so often, so desperate for affection because you weren’t used to it.  “You’ve never…done anything before at all?”

You shook your head, your chest rising and falling with anticipation.  Your grip on his wrist tightened out of fear that he would move away from you and not consider going through with it after all.  

“It’s fine, I just don’t wanna do it here.”  That made you release his hand.  You fixed the top of your dress, not realizing how exposed you were until then.  

The wooded area he took you to was one you’d never been to before.  You thought maybe it was where someone would take you if they wanted to kill you without anyone hearing your screams.  But if he was going to kill you, he wouldn’t have put a blanket in the bed of his truck that he kept beneath his seat.

When he helped you in, getting in after you, he wasted no time kissing you again.  It went on for what felt like ever, but you liked every second of it; feeling him move his hands from one spot to another until eventually it was back between your legs again.  Before he could do what he planned, you decided you were too impatient.

“I want you to make love to me,” you sighed. The way he wrapped your legs around his waist when he started kissing you again made it harder for you to wait.  You wanted to know what it was like, and his hips pressing against yours made you feel weak.

“I’ll do somethin’, but I can’t do that.”

“Why not?  Even if it’s just once.”

“Makin’ love and havin’ sex are very different things.”

You shifted a little beneath him.  You didn’t like that word.  “Makin’ love sounds sweeter, doesn’t it?  Sex sounds so…degrading, doesn’t it?”

“You don’t think there’s a worse word for that?”

“Like?” you asked.  He could see in your eyes you really had no idea what could be wrose than the term sex.  

“I wanted to say I’ll fuck you, not make love, but I didn’t.  Thought you’d like me sayin’ sex over that; you bein’ so proper and all.”  You would’ve felt insecure at this, but he brushed his hand against your cheek, and looked at you affectionately as he said it.  You thought about this for a second, finding the word jarring, but liking how it sounded when he said it.  “But whatever you call it, I’ll do it with you.  And I’ll be gentle until you don’t want me to be anymore.”

“I’d rather you be gentle,” you said, not sure what would prompt someone to want anything but that.  

After reaching into his pocket to get a condom, he noticed how closely you watched what he was doing.  The way your hair spread out beneath you, and how you stopped fixing your dress.  You let it ride up around your waist, and didn’t fix the sleeve or your bra strap that had either been pushed down by him, or fallen down.

He went to undo his belt, then looked down at you.  “Go ahead.”  You did, tentative at first.  When your hands were shaking too badly to undo his jeans, he took over.  “Lay back down.”  He kissed you once again while he put the condom on, kissing down to your neck before he aligned himself.  It was slow, like he promised, and uncomfortable at first.  But the way he went back to your neck relaxed you.

Not long after, you understood what he meant, why he offered to be gentle until you didn't want him to be anymore.  What he was doing felt good, but now you wanted more.  You didn’t know how to ask for what you wanted, or even what it would be like after you did.  Then, after feeling his fingers threaten to dig into your hips even harder, the word came back to you.  Fuck.  You just knew you liked how it sounded, and that felt like enough.

“Fuck me,” you breathed, not being able to say it fast enough.  The last thing you thought he would do was stop.  His breathing was heavy, his expression only hinting at him being pleased with your word choice.  

“What do you want me to do?”

“Fuck me,” you repeated.  

“Don’t you have any manners?”

“Please fuck me,” you replied with ease, having no issue amending your initial request.  You were so desperate to know what it would entail, and for him to move once again, that you were sure you’d say anything it took.  When he pulled out of you, you nearly whined.  This was the opposite of what you wanted, and he could see it written on your face.

“Get up and turn over.”

There was a moment of hesitation before you managed to ask, “Why?”

“Trust me.  If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.  Get on your hands and knees.  I’ll walk you through it.”

You were tense when you listened to him, suddenly insecure about the width of your hips and the size of your ass.  When he put a hand on your hip, you winced a little.  It made him get closer to you again, but his other hand rested against your shoulder.  “Relax.  I’ll go slow again until you tell me you want more.”

“Until I want you to fuck me?” you repeated, wanting him to say the word again.

He smiled, moving his hand from your shoulder down to your lower back.  “‘Til you want me to fuck you, yes.” Then he pushed down on your back, urging you against the bed of his truck.  It was hard against your knees, even with the blanket there.  “Turn your face to the side, put your arms out in front of you, like you’re stretchin’”

You did, liking how your back felt when you did it.  You arched it a little, not realizing it was exactly what he wanted.  He had himself in his hand again, wanting to rush because of how hard he was, but resisting because of the promise he made you.  “You ready?”

“Go slow,” you reminded him.  He did, not being subtle about how good it felt to be inside you again.  You were even surprised at how different it was than the first time.  It just felt good, even right away.  Your sounds of satisfaction mixed with his, only made your heart race faster.  His promise was that it would feel good for you, but it sounded like he liked it just as much.

“Fuck,” he sighed as he repositoned his hands against your hips, moving again when you leaned back a little, clearly wanting more.  The very word made you weak, especially when he said it.  

“Fuck me.”  It was even more desperate.

“You forget your manners again?”

“Please.”

He didn’t stop like he did before, even though he usually would’ve.  You were so tight, and he couldn’t stop himself.  The fact that he was still only moving so slow was already killing him.  “Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”  It sounded more like a cry now, your back arching harder like that was going to do anything.  That made it even better for him when he finally picked up the pace.  His vision even felt blurred, feeling how your body reacted, and how hot you felt around him.  He only got more caught up in the feeling as the moments passed, with each thrust taking your breath away.  Your hand gripped the blanket beneath you, your knuckles white.  “Harder.”  A few moments passed, and you added.  “Harder, please.”  His hips finally moved faster, and your cries only made it harder for him to give you what you wanted.  If he continued the way he was, it would be over.  He slowed, not telling you why, and trying to catch his breath.

You looked back at him, propping yourself up on your forearm.  “What’s wrong?”

“Sit up,” he said, and you did.  He pulled your dress down, and unclasped your bra.  He didn’t have to tell you to take your arms out of the sleeves.  He was inside of you again the moment you laid down, feeling he had a better chance of lasting longer.  This wasn’t the case at all.  You were so vocal, he couldn’t stop himself like he did before.  His fingers dug into your hips, making you moan.  That was enough to make him come hard, his thrusts getting sloppier with every passing second.  He hadn’t been vocal until then, and you know that whatever he felt was all-consuming.  

When he was beside you, breathless, you rolled over onto your side, running your hand down his arm.  You didn’t want it to end.

“Is that why people are so tempted?” you asked, eyes fixed on him.  He’d completely forgotten about your inexperience, and he knew you wanted more from him, even if you didn’t fully know what that was.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never even touched yourself?”  You averted your eyes, embarrassed.  “Look at me.”  You did.  “I’m not makin’ fun of you, I just can’t believe it.  You’re so innocent, so…”

“Clueless.”

“Maybe, but you don’t have to stay that way.”  He was moving between your legs again, running his hands against your legs until he was pushing them apart.  “Lay back.”

“We’re doing it again?”

He couldn't help but smile.  “Trust me.  If you liked me fucking you, you’ll like this.”  There it was again.  It made you weak enough, inadvertently relaxing you and overshadowing your doubt.  He began working his tongue between your legs, spreading them farther apart the less tense you got.  He thought you were so tense all the time not just because you were nervous, but because you weren't getting laid.  

The natural way your hand went to his head, and how your fingers were in his hair made him consider doing this with you again.  Among other reasons, but that sealed the deal.  That, and you were already so close and he’d spent so little time on you.  He helped you as he held your hips down, knowing you were about to experience something you never had before.

The moans and gasps, as hot as they were, he had already grown used to.  It was the sudden way you said his name that told him you were fighting it.  He reached one hand up, caressing your side.  You knew it meant he wanted you to relax and, when you did, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.  The tensions that had gathered inside you loosed, and a feeling like nothing you’d ever felt before washed over you.  You were gasping when you realized you’d forgotten to breathe.  Rhett was still between your legs, and stayed there until he thought you were finally done.  

When he was behind you again, fixing your dress from where it was gathered around your waist, holding it against your stomach as he wrapped his arm around you.  He moved your hair from where it fell in your face, tucking it behind your ear.  

“You forget how to speak?” he asked, his tone playful and quiet against your ear.

You nodded, pulling your dress up above your chest again, but not putting your arms through the sleeves.  It took a few more moments of catching your breath before you could find the right words to say.  Your entire body was buzzing, and alive in a way it had never been before.  “Thank you,” was all you could think to say.

“I’ve never had someone thank me before,” he mused.

The embarrassment was the only thing that gave you the strength to roll over so you were facing him again.  “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.  This kinda thing clouds your mind.  That’s why people have no self control, and they sin left and right.”

A hand found her face, and it was then that she realized how hot she was.  “Don’t remind me.  I can’t believe I just did that.”

“But you don’t regret it?”

“No.  I didn’t even know that’s what that would be like.  That’s probably why they don’t really tell you what it is.”  He offered a small smile, and you continued.  “I should really get home.”

“You really had no idea?” he asked.

“Daddy doesn’t even know how Jesus would feel about the internet.  We really only use it for things like recipes and directions, if we have to use it at all.”

Rhett pondered this, not because he was trying to guess how Jesus would feel about the internet, but because he was beginning to feel like he’d just corrupted your mind.  But he decided to wait and see if you came to him again, or if you thought you could go on living your life the way you did before you knew what sex was like.  He didn’t think you could.

[beckwritesfiction]

Reblog if it's okay to befriend you, ask questions, ask for advice, rant, vent, let something off your chest, or just have a nice chat.

[beckwritesfiction]

Okay, but hear me out: Payback doesn't get enough love. Please tell me you are willing to change that. I literally don't even care what you give me. I just want something.

I wish I could message you to get some specifics! I don't think there's a character from the movie I'm not willing and happy to write! If you're comfortable messaging me, I'd love to talk to you about ideas! I can start coming up with the version of him I'll write for you, because we get so little backstory. This could be my excuse to see the movie again. Not that I need one, really. 💀

Anyone have anything to add? Leave a comment!

[beckwritesfiction]

I'd like to request an approximate arrival time for Hangman smut in Slow Ride. Not to rush you, but I'm just trying to mentally prepare myself. It's Henrietta looking at him and realizing he just wants validation for me. Like YES 👏 HE 👏 DOES 👏

Things pick up on the front after this chapter, but because she's inexperienced it's a lot of him being like, "maybe we will," and then they don't, but he's just happy she's past the rejection and making fun of him stage because he does, indeed, just want validation. I know that's vague, and because I just write in a doc and number the chapters later, I can't give you a countdown. But I promise you'll know when it's coming. Once the movie Say Anything comes up, know that it's happening in the next chapter. That's a promise, because I'm writing it right now. 😉

[beckwritesfiction]

Would you ever do a Miles Miller fic? I only really see smut for him and I feel like a longer thing written by you would be really good. I like how you write Bob in Slow Ride. I know you suggested shorter requests in the last chapter, but I've been thinking about this for a while.

This is a great question! I'd love to explore future pairings without planning so many chapters. The word counts would likely be high, but probably nothing like Slow Ride. That would be fun to me, but I also have to say that I might struggle with Miles Miller. Bad Times was such a great movie, but I'd really have to plot for him. Lots of times jumps is what I'm envisioning. I interpret him as pretty skittish, but not completely inept. Maybe those are the wrong words. Not sure. However, I won't say 'no, it's something I won't do.' I'll keep the idea in my head and see if anything comes of it. I think I just need to take some liberties with his character and backstory, and probably pair him with someone he knows already; like a reconnection plot, perhaps? There are aspects of his character that people really enjoy on here that tend to make me a little uncomfortable, especially if I'd have to write it. I'm so happy there are things written for him, but some of the things I've read personally are not things I am comfortable with. I would need to take a different approach.

[beckwritesfiction]

bestie, i really love Slow Ride but i'm mostly here for orphan anxiety queen henrietta. i have to know will there be smut, and will it be revolting? she seems like the type.

There's so much to unpack here. Orphan anxiety queen? You're hilarious. I'm also so glad you love the story so far. It's the first fic I've written in about ten years. It's renewed my love for this sort of thing. It started as a joke to my friend, who I saw Top Gun with multiple times. Knowing our shared obsession with the movie, and her love of Hangman, I was like "lol if I were in my fanfiction era, I'd be writing a story for Hangman right now." And then I did.

As for revolting smut... I assume revolting in a good way, and to that I say it's complicated. I will be including smut when I feel like it fits the story. Don't get me wrong, I'll comb through tags I love and support smut writers, but writing it for Slow Ride is different. Whatever smut I do write--and there will be some for both Scarlette and Henrietta--will fit in with the rest of the story. I love this story so much, I don't think I could write smut that doesn't feel natural between the characters. That could refer to where it is in the story, and what it adds, and also what fits with the character's personalities. Trust me, I have planned and already hinted at those aspects of each character; more so with Henrietta and Hangman. That leads me to my next thing.

Slow Ride was created around Henrietta, and Scarlette was a last-minute addition. I planned very far ahead for her, and I believe my lack of planning for Scarlette is the reason her plot has been suffering. I've already written chapters that pick up, with much longer word counts for Scarlette so far. But at the end of the day, Henrietta's chapters are so easy to write for me. I'm never doubting myself when I write for her. So if you're here only for her, then you'll never be disappointed. Is she my favorite? Yes. Very much so. But I also like Scarlette enough to keep her and give her a happy ending.

I really rambled and didn't proof this before posting (my beta reader isn't here with me like she usually is) so sorry for any typos and please don't forget that I'm happy to take requests.

[beckwritesfiction]

At Full Dark - PROLOGUE 

CHAPTER INDEX/MASTERLIST: X

Summary: Ellie Brown's life has never been easy, even when she thought it was. This sets up the story of what leads her back to Wyoming, and a lonely Rhett Abbott.

Notes: This is the prologue of my WIP. I will be hitting 50/60k words soon, and at that point I'll be posting consistent chapters. This is before the events of season one, which I get into around chapter two. This fic will contain smut and is 18+, so minors please don't interact.

Content Warning: mentions of domestic abuse (not described in detail). Let me know if I left any out and I will happily add them!

Word Count: 1.8k

PROLOGUE 

When Virginia was eight, her dad hit her mom so hard she lost consciousness.  It wasn’t the first time she saw him hit her, but it was the first she saw her fall and not get back up.  Her running out the front door wasn’t something he could stop, not when he was so far from sober.  And he thought she was going for the woods like she often did when he got a little drunk and the screaming scared her.  

She ran for so long and so hard that her white church sandals were brown the next time someone saw her.  It was Royal Abbott atop a horse, flanked by his two young sons.  The second Royal saw her, her face red and tear-streaked, he wished Cecilia  were there.  He didn’t know how to handle a crying child, let alone a little girl.  He dealt with boys, who he raised to not show up on someone’s land crying the way Virginia did. 

But a crying girl was a crying girl, and her breathless pleas to help her mother were ones he couldn’t ignore.  From the way she described it, he was pretty sure he’d find her mother dead.  He knew her parents, Lonnie and Mary Belfoure.  Mary was nice and she exchanged recipes with Cecilia often.  She’d even watched their kids a time or two.  If anyone knew anything about Mary, it was that she was clumsy, and clumsy wasn’t welcome on a ranch.  She was always getting kicked by a horse, bitten by a dog, or scratched by a chicken.  That was why there were always marks all over her when she came into town.  

Lonnie wasn’t the social type.  Everyone thought it was so sweet how he’d sit in his truck after driving Mary into town for her bible study, how he always had his hand on her shoulder in church.  It wasn’t until Royal walked into the Belfoure house that day that he realized Lonnie did all those sweet things so Mary was never far enough away to tell people it wasn’t a horse that kicked her, but him.  And that he hid his love of liquor well.

Whatever happened inside the house that day, Virginia had no idea.  She just remembered crying, Rhett and Perry and Abott standing beside her having no idea what to dote.  It was Rhett that walked her to the pasture across the way, leaving Perry with the horses.

“Know why they call those pigtails?” he asked, nodding to the braid her mom did for her just before breakfast.  

She only shook her head, having a hard time not seeing her mom laying on the kitchen floor in her mind.  

“Me neither.  Maybe it’s ‘cause they kinda look like pig’s tails.”

With how far away they were from the house, she couldn’t hear what was going on inside.  She was too young to realize that, but Rhett wasn’t.  His horse that he’d tied to the fence post was grazing when he nodded over at him.  “You like ridin’ horses?”

Virginia shrugged.  “I like it, but my daddy says I’m too young.  My mama took me once, on the front of her horse, but I fell.  Ain’t allowed anymore, I guess.”

“I think your mama’s a lot like my mama.”  When Virginia looked up at him, she was curious what he meant.  Was his dad mean, too? “Whenever she gets hurt she gets up again, even if it takes her a while.  If mine’s like that, yours has gotta be, too.”

First there was a police car, then an ambulance.  Rhett was drawing pictures with Virginia in the pasture when they carried her mother out on a stretcher, not dead, but close to it.  For everything he drew, she made up stories.  He’d never heard someone sit there and say so much made up stuff, and he wondered how she thought of it all.  How no matter what he drew, and how badly, she was able to instantly come up with something.

Cecelia drove her truck to the Belfoure ranch, and took her home.  Perry wondered if they’d have to adopt her as they rode their horses back home, talking about her like she was a stray dog.  Rhett thought if they did, it might be nice to have someone else in his house, someone that didn’t know him how his family did.  Even then, at twelve, he knew they thought more of Perry than they did of him.  Perry did all his chores when he was supposed to, the way they were supposed to be done.  Perry wanted to take over the ranch one day, and listened to everything his dad said because he wanted to.  Rhett felt like he was just there most of the time.

Virginia stayed in their house for a week.  The first two days, she didn’t do much.  Cecilia tried to make her feel more welcome, and even taught her how to cross stitch.  When Monday rolled around, she gave everyone a ride to school so no one on the bus asked Virginia if her mom was alive or not.  That didn’t stop them from asking at school, though, and when she ran away, Royal found her walking along Main Street when the sun was beginning to set. Cecilia decided she’d stay home with her until her mother got better.  

It got better when her grandmother called from the hospital, telling her her mother was alright, and she just needed a few more nights to rest; that Friday night, they’d come by the Abbott ranch and pick her up.  By Saturday morning, they’d be on a flight to a place she’d never been before.

“You ever been to Connecticut?” Rhett asked her when they did the dishes later.  It was her job that night, she volunteered, but he stayed in the kitchen to help her.

“No.  I don’t even know my grandma.”

“I don’t know mine either.  She died when I was really little.”

The silence stretched on, the only noise was the game playing from the living room, and the clinking of the dishes in the sink.  “I’ve never left Wabang before.”

“Maybe Connecticut’ll be cooler than here.  Perry says we’ll never leave this ranch.  You gettin’ to leave yours might be lucky.”

On the last night she was there, Cecilia told her not to do the dishes.  She had volunteered every night, even when she saw crying because she missed her mom.  No one said it, but they guessed she’d done the dishes a lot while crying the way she did.

Her grandma pulled into the gravel driveway with a foreboding crunch, and her mother didn’t even get out of the car.  Virginia made gifts for everyone, and she handed them out one by one.  It wasn’t until she stopped at Rhett, who sat on the stairs by the door, that she was nervous.  She wanted him to like what she made because she’d never worked harder on anything in her life.  No one told her she should write a book because of the way she made up such good stories, and he had.  

“I wrote this about you, how you said you wanted to be the best bull rider in all of Wabang County.  I know I can’t draw as good as you, but I hope you like it.”

He nodded and thanked her, tucking it under his leg as her grandmother ushered her to the door, ready to leave.  She didn’t look like the kind of woman that Rhett saw often.  Her hair didn’t move when she looked around, and he thought she looked like maybe she didn’t like the way their house smelled.  He thought it smelled alright.  Her shoes were too shiny, too.  Like the kind they’d save for church, otherwise they’d get dirty too fast and not be so clean anymore.

He thought maybe she’d come back someday, but as the years passed, she didn’t.  Sometimes he’d ride past the Belfoure ranch and think about the time they found her.  And sometimes he’d think about the times she sat at the foot of her bed, making the very book he reread from time to time.  It was short, but it was exactly what he wanted his future to be.  

When Virginia moved, and she got old enough she figured out why she hated her name so much.  Every time someone said it, it sounded like her father screaming it.  When she turned fourteen, and started at a private school, she started going by her middle name.  It was Eloise then, but everyone called her Ellie, which she loved. And she started thinking about what she wanted to do when she graduated when she was sixteen. The only thing she really thought she was good at was writing, and when she thought about that she thought about Rhett Abbott.  She wondered often where he was, but she never tried to find out because that would just remind her of the place she tried so hard to forget.  

 She went to Colombia, and met a guy.  Wes Brown.  They got married by her sophomore year because he had graduated and wanted to move on with his life.  She listened because she loved him.  Then she made excuses for him when he cheated or said terrible things to her.  

When her mother died and she left to go back home before he was returned from a business trip, which he refused to leave early, he hit her in their hotel room for the first time.  At the funeral, she had a black eye.  No one had the nerve to ask her why.  He was all she had until she got an email that changed her life.  A publishing house, and a big one, wanted to publish her first book.

She worked hard to make it perfect, and it paid off.  It was a bestseller, just like her second one.  Book tours made it easy to avoid her husband, but when they were over, she had to return to the dark cloud that was their New York City apartment.  Every corner of it had a bad memory, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make better ones.

On their third anniversary, when she forgot to vacuum the rug, he told her she was a shitty wife.  She made the mistake of suggesting he clean for once.  As the black eye was setting in, and Wes was getting drunk and probably having sex with another woman, she got a phone call that felt like a sign.  She left, having her own money, and having business to take care of.  She took only what she cared about, and left the rest.  The rest could be replaced when she found a new place to call home.  A place where Wes would never be welcome.