gonehuman99

[gonehuman99]

Crooked Mat

Yandere Rhett Abbott x reader (1300 words)

Tw: unplanned pregnancy, alcohol use/abuse, toxic relationship, implied domestic abuse.

Author's Note: request.

Summary: You hide your son and after three years away from Rhett he wants a chat

Muddy grounds, patches of overgrown grass, and the faint, dim yellow lighting. Plastic floorboards with mold under them. It's a crowded place, but this is where your trailer lies. You try to keep everything clean, but the lack of space makes that hard to do.

Money is sparse. You rely on neighbors and your community church to get your necessities—bread and canned veggies. You feel some guilt. You don't want to let your kid feel like there is something missing in his life, so you try everything in your power to make sure he is shielded away from the harsh reality.

Maybe there's a part of you that likes to self-sabotage. Things could have been so much easier. You could have lived on a ranch with clean air and plenty of room for your kid. A sense of freedom. A sense of peace.

This wasn't planned. It started with Rhett; it always started with him.

You were engaged. Things were good. Sure, there were some things you didn't like, but you figured you would deal with all that when you were finally married.

Rhett was kind of sincere. He promised you a future just out of reach, but you were scared of his drinking. Your father had drunk, and you saw how he acted. You didn't want that life for your kid.

Rhett came home late drunk, but it wasn't a daily thing. Maybe it was your fault for nagging him, you thought. You only did it cause you cared for him, but the result ended in a hole through a wall.

In the morning, he held you in his arms. "I'd never hurt you," he'd whisper. You didn't say anything, and sometimes, it feels like you go through this cycle every few weeks.

It happened—a missing period, a panicked trip to the convenience store, a cheap pregnancy test, a stick with your fate at a dollar store bathroom—but now, staring at the two lines, you were calm; you accepted your fate.

You left the store, and a strange calmness overcame you. Things happen that affect how you cope. When things are awful, you just think that's what the universe thought you could handle.

Maybe it was a combination of numbness and acceptance. This was your new reality. When it's time to react, you'll respond.

When Rhett comes home late, you don't get mad, you don't nag, you accept it.

Rhett looks at you, his eyebrows furrowing. He squints his lips tight, but the tension fades; a smile replaces it. Maybe he's thinking, why question a good thing?

You make plans, save what little money you have, and gather your stuff, not all at once. It's slow. Things start to leave your shared room slowly. Shoes go, clothes go, and your shampoo isn't in his bathroom.

You work at some sort of mom-pop shop. They took pity on you and allowed you to work there. Flexible hours and whatnot. You were grateful. How could you not be? Plus, you also get discounts there. The only thing was that your pay was low.

You wave goodbye to the older lady and head out, with a small bag of groceries in your arms, to your little old truck.

You pick up your small boy from your aunt.

"He ate?" you ask, slipping your kid into his seat.

"Yeah, he's real cool...I don't wanna be a bitch, but I'm not gonna be able to take the kid tomorrow. I ha-"

"It's alright," you stop her. "I get it. I'll find someone else."

She raises her eyebrows together, her lips pursed.

"Yeah. Sorry then," she says. She lays a hand on your shoulder. "I'll take him next week." She gives you a short smile.

Your kid is sleeping. The ride home is quiet. You've come to treasure this. No questions, no demands, just the sound of your old truck.

You heard Rhett's name earlier this week—a whisper among the people around your small town—but you ignored it and laughed it off. After all, you hadn't heard that name in a long time.

You pull into the muddy dirt road that leads to your trailer. You feel that tight feeling in your stomach. Maybe it was nothing.

You hop out, careful not to wake him when you get him out of the car.

There's a light in one of the windows. Did you really leave that on? That's what you get for leaving in a rush.

You carry your sleeping kid. His snores light next to your ear.

When you finally reach your door and your hand is on the knob, something starts to feel off. You can't put it into words, but it's a feeling. The only physical change is the way your welcome mat is positioned—crooked. It's small, but it makes you pause. You push the door slightly and take a step inside. That's when you see him—Rhett.

He's sitting on one of your ripped kitchen chairs—the one with a slight tilt. He doesn't say anything, and neither do you. Instead, his eyes fall on the small, breathing lump you carry on your shoulder. His jaw tightens, and his eyes are cold. They latch onto the familiar curve of his chin, the eyes so similar to his own.

A shift in your arms. Your kid raises their head up slightly. "Mama..." he shifts his head slightly toward Rhett, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Hey there, what's your name, cowboy?" your kid looks at you. He blinks slowly as he looks at you. You give a forced trim smile. You mumble your kid's name.

"That's a nice name...He yours?" he asks quietly. You don't answer. He moves closer, and you resist the urge to move away. The toes in your shoes move anxiously as a way to self-soothe you.

"Well then. I can see you need the sleep; how about you rest up, and I'll talk to Mama?" he taps your son under his chin.

Your kid shifts in your grasp as you walk past Rhett.

You set him down on your mattress in the corner of the room. You tuck him in with his dinosaur blanket. You kiss him and leave.

You turn around, and Rhett is at the doorway. "Let's talk." it's not a yell, but it feels commanding. You nod and head back to your couch.

You sit on the couch, your back straight, your legs unmoving, and you try your hardest not to make your breathing too rapid.

Rhett sits across from you in that same seat. He breathes a long breath through his nose. "How old is he?"

You swallow "Three."

He opens his jaw. You think he's about to say something, but he doesn't. Instead, he springs to his feet. You clench your nails in your fist until he's done pacing and sits back down.

The way he looks at you makes you feel like a child.

"When were you gonna tell me?"

You blink. You never liked confrontation, and you weren't gonna start making that a new thing that you did.

"You just gonna keep quiet? Were you ever gonna tell me? Or was this your plan? I had to find this out from a friend, you know." he wipes his mouth. An eyebrow arches up on his face.

"You think I wasn't gonna find out." he leans in. "Three years. Three whole years." he clenches his fists. The knuckles turn white. "All that time gone..." he closes his eyes for a second. His voice shakes, and there's a slight tremor in his words.

You know why you left, but having to explain that to him felt impossible at this moment. "I did what I had to do."

"He's my son. I won't let you keep him away from me". The quiet hum of your refrigerator was the only thing filling in the silence. Yeah, this wasn't over, not by a long shot.

[gonehuman99]

Hello! I love your writing! There aren’t many writers who have Lewis Pullman content, and I appreciate your work 💕 I was wondering if you were willing to write dark!ex!Rhett Abott finding out you’ve been hiding his kid from him.

😎👍

[gonehuman99]

Hey! I was wondering if you do commissions and for how much. Love your work! ;)

Thank you so much for the kind words, I really appreciate it. Sorry, I didn't answer sooner.

This is a hobby of mine, so if you want to request something, you can. I'm always open to ideas. If you have a prompt in mind involving a Lewis Pullman character, feel free to share it.

[gonehuman99]

My reason 3

Yandere Miles Miller x reader (1.1k words)

chapter 2

Tw: NON/DUBCON (not in this chapter)

warnings: dark Miles Miller, power imbalance, drug use, mild stalking

Summary: Miles Miller is the kind of man who prays before he touches you. But he touches you anyway. Fleeing a broken life, the reader finds a different cage in Miles, a hotel clerk whose quiet kindness hides a possessive obsession. Their fragile marriage unravels into addiction and control, revealing a terrifying truth about the nature of his "saving."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Sun drifts in through the window, a yellowing glow. The sun makes your skin warm.

You squint an eye open and find blue eyes staring back at you. Miles is on his side, watching you. You close your eyes again, making your breath steady. You want to appear like you're still sleeping.

There was something you didn’t want to talk about. Not yet.

You open your eyes again. His chest rose. His eyes are soft.

“Morning,” he says softly, barely above a whisper.

You lift your head from the pillow, stretching. Miles swallows hard.

You give him a shy smile. He mirrors it—a little slower. He moves his shoulders, adjusting them, almost uncomfortable as you stare at him, even though he stares at you longer.

__________

You get up and head to the lobby. Things have changed between you. For the better, you think.

Days begin to blend; sometimes, you forget the day until you look at a calendar. You hold back a yawn as you wipe at the bar counter, eyes heavy. You scratch mindlessly at a spot on the brown wooden bar.

Seems like you've been doing this for some time now. You hate to admit it, but helping out wasn’t something you chose. Not really. It just started happening.

You feel like you owe him.

Miles has always been attentive, but now there’s something different about it. You can’t describe it—and you don't want to.

You thought it was cute at first, but it's starting to get on your nerves. Miles is always looking at you. When you glance out a window, you feel his gaze.

Lately, you've begun to help Miles around the place. You felt a guilt build up over him. Miles was enthusiastic about it. He taught you how to run the place, keep track of the bookings, and the quirks of the building.

Sometimes, when he showed you how to wipe the counter, he stood too close to you—his hand on the small of your back, his hand touching yours when you reached for the rag. It was casual, but the air felt thick, and a coil would form in your stomach.

Maybe it’s your fault. You let him kiss you that night. You didn’t stop him. You never have.

You didn’t pull away. You never did. After everything he did for you, how could you?

He took you in when you had nowhere to go.

Did it matter that much if he touched you like that? It was affectionate, after all.

________

It happened suddenly. A door opens, and when you look out, you’re surprised. A guest. An actual guest.

It’s a man—a tall, unique-looking man carrying large luggage. It reminds you of when you first got here.

How long was that ago?

“Hello, anyone gonna help me out here?” he says.

“Of course, sir,” Miles leaves your side to rush over and help the man to the desk.

Miles goes over his prepared speech on the hotel, the line dividing it, the room’s cost. You can’t help but notice that the guest keeps looking at you.

“And how long do you plan to stay here, sir?” Miles asks politely.

The man looks at you again. “Not sure, but I’m surprised to see a woman working here… all alone.”

You raise an eyebrow at that but keep quiet. Miles gives a quick glance between you two.

“How long’ve you worked here?” he asks.

Miles gives a nervous laugh. “Well, she’s… a loyal guest,” he says quickly, “but she helps around sometimes.”

The man doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns to look at you and gives you a once-over before turning back to Miles.

“Right,” Miles says, his smile unwavering. “Well, I’ll just have you sign the ledger, and I’ll get you checked in.”

The man still eyes you when he signs his name in the book. Miles walks him to the room, and you busy yourself with another mindless task in the lobby.

________

Miles still hadn’t appeared after the encounter with the guest. He had a tendency to disappear in the back for supplies, but something about the way he left this time felt wrong.

You had a need deep in your chest to find out if he was alright.

Miles often found what he needed from the back. He came out with towels, brooms, mops, soap. You figured you would, too. This was your excuse.

You move behind the desk and pull at the handle. Locked. You knock a few times.

No answer.

You look, turn around, and find the blue wooden case. You open it. Keychains with California and Nevada on them.

Should you take it?

It’s not like you were gonna steal anything—besides, Miles liked that you helped around, and you liked being useful.

Taking the key, you turn. The stuffed bear in the glass case watches you.

You knock again. Still nothing.

You slide the key in.

The door creaks open.

A long, narrow hallway stretches ahead—bare walls, dim light. The air is thick and still. Stale. Like it hasn’t moved in days.

“Miles?” you say.

You step in, turning your ear to hear. Nothing. The dim lighting extends to the supply closet door on your right, slightly ajar.

You push softly. “Miles?” you whisper.

You look.

Your eyes widen. You hold your breath in.

Miles is on a small mattress, a needle sticking out of his arm.

He’s passed out, his back to the wall, chest rising and falling. You look around the cramped storage closet—towel-lined shelves, a small light on a short desk, and a framed picture of a woman beside him.

You often wondered which silent, empty room he might have retreated to at night. But now you had your answer.

You open the door wider.

“Miles…” you say, louder this time.

When he doesn’t move, you bend down and pull slightly at his pants.

He doesn’t move, and your heart skips a beat.

“Hey.” You shake his leg more, then move to shake his shoulder rougher. “Miles!” you yell, practically in his ear.

His eyes flutter open. He lifts his head, squinting at you through the dim light. A soft gasp leaves him.

“Wha—what are you doing here?”

He sits up on the mattress, pulling the needle out of his arm and tossing it aside. He rubs his eyes.

Your eyes are still wide—but they grow even wider when Miles grabs your upper arms.

He pulls you forward, bringing you face-to-face with him.

His eyes are focused. Determined. His fingers squeeze into your arms.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers.

[gonehuman99]

My Reason 2

Yandere Miles Miller x reader (1.8k words)

chapter 1

Tw: NON/DUBCON (not in this chapter)

warnings: dark Miles Miller, smut, themes of guilt, and paranoia. I'd like to say that this chapter isn't non-dub, but it might be in future chapters.

Summary: Miles Miller is the kind of man who prays before he touches you. But he touches you anyway. Fleeing a broken life, the reader finds a different cage in Miles, a hotel clerk whose quiet kindness hides a possessive obsession. Their fragile marriage unravels into addiction and control, revealing a terrifying truth about the nature of his "saving."

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Looking back, the first days at the hotel were probably a warning.

You weren’t supposed to stay long.

That’s what you tell Miles after a few quiet days pass.

You smile at each other in the hallway.

When you head to the lobby and strike up a conversation with Miles, it's not what you expect. You don’t know what you thought would happen, but it’s not this.

Another cup of coffee in your hands. Miles sits across from you in one of the many empty booths. The lobby feels like the hallway—that same warm feeling in your chest.

“Normally, I charge for the coffee, but I figure since no one comes around, you don’t have to pay,” Miles says in a faint rush. His eyes are glued to the table in front of you both.

Now it’s your turn to blush. Yes, you’re naive, but you can tell when someone has a crush on you. Back home, boys used to like you. Your family didn’t support you; they knew the attention you sometimes drew. You left for a reason. You wanted freedom, and this was the best you could do.

Now, though, it’s time to leave again.

So little money, no job, and no clue where to go—life will be hard, but you can’t stay here, so you take the key out of your pocket and hand it to Miles.

“Well,” you sigh, “I think I’m gonna have to head off.”

“You’re going?” Miles finally lifts his head. “You just got here.”

You give a short smile. “Yeah, well… I guess most people at a hotel don’t stay long.”

You hold the key out to him again. “Here.”

A hand covers yours. You want to pull away, but you stay.

“Keep it. If… you’re thinking of staying another night.”

So then one night becomes three, then a week. You don't ask for a deal, but you're given one anyway. Miles claims he got the manager to strike a deal with you, but you suspect he is the manager. The reason for the deal sounded vague, something about long-term loyalty and the hotel barely having any business.

You think it’s cute, but maybe you should have thought better. That’s how it starts, right?

He’s always around. It doesn’t feel intentional. Not at first.

You come to the lobby, and he’s there, always ready with a coffee in one of the booths. He sweeps near your door, constantly knocking and asking if you need something. You never do, but you appreciate the effort.

One early morning, you step out of your room, and he’s sitting on the ground, his arms wrapped around his knees, pulled tight to his chest.

You slide down the wall beside him. It feels like the first time you were here at night. You don’t say anything. Nothing about it feels awkward. It becomes routine.

Over the next few days, you got to know Miles more.

Maybe because you never held down a job and mostly lived with your family, you never realized how much work it takes to care for a hotel.

Even when you think there’s nothing to do, Miles finds something.

He wipes down each table in the lobby twice. He checks and refills the coffee, restocks the pastries, and cleans the rooms, but still, there’s no one around. What’s the point, you think? Maybe it’s to distract himself. Maybe he finds you to be a distraction, too.

Miles starts sharing things, like which rooms smell like perfume, how people get lost, and how some of them never leave.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask. “Like they died?” you joke.

“Well, no,” he says. “I just mean… just that they stayed.”

He looks at you for a long time, like he's studying you. You turn away.

You nod, but the way he phrased it leaves you cold.

Your routine of sitting with Miles feels like it’s about to end.

You like him, but something itches under the surface. You wish your family had let you experience more so you’d be better at noticing the signs—bad ones, obvious ones.

After your last conversation with Miles, you don’t want to make it awkward. You make up a lame excuse about your head hurting and not being able to stay up too late. Miles nods, but you know he knows the real reason. You’re thankful he doesn’t press it.

You always lock your door, but this time you jam a chair under the knob.

You hate doing this. You’re not someone prone to paranoia—but here you are.

Morning comes. There’s a note outside your door.

“Didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry.”

You tuck the note into your bag. Later, when you see him wiping at the jukebox, you smile and don’t mention it.

His care—already a lot—increases. You ask how long he’s worked here and where his family is. He gives the bare minimum before interrupting to ask about you instead. You answer, you don't press him. He watches your face, and a sigh escapes him. Something shifts between you.

He tells you more. About his life. The guilt. The quietness.

It feels too personal. His voice is low, and he keeps glancing around the lobby. He watches the empty spaces, almost like someone is listening.

“Miles,” you say gently, “how about we go…?” he gives a jerky nod. You both head to your room. Once inside, you both sit down on your bed. A small radio in the corner of your room fills in the gaps in your conversation.

You listen to the rest.

You can tell Miles is holding it all in. His hand is shaking. He won’t look at you. You place a hand on his shoulder. The freedom you wanted for yourself was something you desired for Miles, too. He was trapped, albeit in his own way.

His muscles are tense, but he doesn't shrug you off. He's trying his hardest to keep it together.

"Miles," you ask, and he doesn't say anything. "Miles," you try again. You hover your hand on his face, wondering if you should touch him. You do. You reach out your hand, turning his face to look at you. His eyes are glazed. "It’s alright, Miles.”

His hand shoots to grab your wrist, and he squeezes gently.

You lean in; his eyes are fixed on you. You didn't know how to comfort him, but the guilt and grief on his face tell you he doesn't know either. With the barest touch of your lips, you kiss him. He lets go of your wrist and cradles your face, tracing your cheek in his callused hand.

He nuzzles your palm, catching your fingers and kissing them one by one. His breathing is growing shallow, and his eyes are closed. You both open your eyes. His wide eyes are pleading. A tear is tracking down. His gaze is intense, burning you.

You don't want to move; your heart races. You're terrified—terrified of what this was.

He kisses you again, that's what you tell yourself when his teeth bump yours, and his nose smushes yours. The kiss deepens, and you pull away a bit.

“Wait, please,” he breathes out.

You pause, and Miles clumsily moves to unbutton his clean white shirt. Fingers shake, and you're sure you could have taken them off faster, but you liked watching him struggle.

His face blushed red when he revealed his soft white chest scars littered across it, old and faded. You absentmindedly run your hand across them.

You move to take your own shirt off, only remaining in a white bra.

He looks down at your chest. “You don't have to,” he says.

You grab his hand and lead it to the straps.

Miles kisses you; it's still awkward in terms of the movement, but you welcome it.

He swallows hard and then, hands shaking, pulls down the straps. He draws you in, burying his face into your chest, and he inhales.

He takes a bud into his mouth. A soft moan escapes you, his fingers digging into your back. “You're so… soft,” he says.

He releases you with a pop, his face flushing when he looks at you through his lashes.

A hand moves to squeeze your breast. “Too soft. I- I can't break you,” he says hoarsely.

You move your hand through his hair. You pull just enough for him to look at you. “It's alright, Miles.”

Seeing him so undone, the pain on his face, some other emotion began to eclipse the fear, and a painful maternal affection came. You wanted to soothe him.

You push at his shoulders. He falls back, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His hands hover over your sides, not grabbing or squeezing.

“It's alright,” you say. You get up and remove your skirt and the remaining undergarments; Miles just watches, lips parted, his gaze unwavering. When you're done with that, you move to pull at Mile's pants gently. This time, he eagerly moves to remove it.

His hands are gripping the sheets, and his knuckles turn white. His erection stands proud. He looks uncertain, like a puppy. “Like this?”

You climb on top of him slowly. You settle between his legs, his hand moving to your hip, holding you with delicate pressure as if you were made of glass. He looks up at you with those glossy blue eyes, lips trembling.

You rock your hips, and he gasps as he bites his bottom lip. His own hips bucking to meet your movements. The gentle hands on your hips tighten slightly.

He continues to look at you with those large eyes of his. He lets out a soft moan. It's smooth and innocent. No cruel words escaped his mouth.

It seems like you're the only one making an effort. Miles appears to grow emotional under you. His eyes' soft, glassy look grows, and Miles looks more torn with each movement you take.

There’s no demand. He looks almost sad as if you’re the one using his body. He looks grateful but ashamed. His eyes beg you not to stop but for you to mean it. A knot in your stomach. You knew it was wrong, but thought this would help him somehow. Maybe if you go through with this, it’ll get him out of his numbness and prove that the connection wasn’t something to be afraid of.

You touch his face, wiping a tear threatening to spill.

“It's alright, Miles,” you say.

“Am I doing alright?” he asks.

“Better than I expected,” you let out airily. Giving him a smile. You ride faster, chasing your high. It's close.

He looks almost panicked, his grip tighter around your waist, trying to match your pace. He bites his lip to stop crying out, and a tear rolls down his face slightly. Your pussy clenches. Just before he finishes, he grips your hips and moves to pull you off—his cum spilling across his abdomen.

You lie down and touch him. Your heavy breathing matches his. He flinches at your touch. Eyes flutter as he leans into your hand. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a sob. His body was trembling.

You pull him in closer, comforting him, the only thing on your mind. You let him in, and after a moment, he pulls back, eyes red. His eyes look into your face for a long moment, taking in every detail. He smiles.

“You…” he whispers, “You stayed.”

You mirror his smile, but his intense gaze doesn't change. There was a shift. It was still tender, but something needy, desperate even, tinted that tenderness.

[gonehuman99]

Too Cozy

Yandere Bob x reader

Does not contain graphic content, but warning: Some harassment, suggestive behavior, and creepy Bob

Summary: You're just playing around — or at least you think you are. Bob offers a ride, and things get weird.

You roll your eyes. You hold back a yawn. You don't know how long you've been here.

Does it even matter?

You lean back on the stool you sat on and watch as Fanboy moves to hit another ball with his cue. Bob hits one, too. Fanboy and Bob weren't really competing for anything — they were just doing something to pass the time.

You liked coming here — enjoying the atmosphere of the bar. It was a nice getaway from working at your family-owned bakery, and being around your cousin was nice. You haven't seen him in a long time.

You called him Mickey when it was just the two of you, but he was Fanboy when you were around his squad. It seems like you were always around each other; just yesterday, you played and made memories, and then he moved away and joined the military. But now that he was stationed here, you see him more often. You got to reconnect with him.

You also got to know some of the people he hung around with. You like his friends. The people he worked with.

You most enjoyed Bob.

You liked him... just not the way Fanboy thought you did.

Fanboy told you about him, about how much he liked your company. Of course, those weren't the exact words.

"He's not like most guys. But I know you like that," he says, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

This brings to mind Bob's lingering gaze and how close he sometimes stood next to you, prompting you to give him a pointed look.

"Don't look at me like that. He's a friend," Mickey says, tilting his head.

"Look, he likes you. But he's... different. Maybe you can help with his confidence. So he can talk to other women."

"Well, I guess I can help," you said, sighing. "But," you added quickly, "I want to do it my own way."

You get up and look around. The bar rush has already died down. All that remains in the bar are a few couples and small huddled groups, similar to yours, and the lone bartender still manning the bar.

You walk and make your way past Bob, practically sliding your back against his chest. You look back for a moment, and Bob is turning red.

Fanboy looks at you and shakes his head, but you can tell he's hiding a smirk when he leans down to hit another ball.

"Well. I think I'm headed off," you say, twirling off.

"Wait," Bob practically runs to meet you at the door. "I can give you a ride."

You raise an eyebrow at him and look around.

"I don't really need a ride unless..." You look at him and give him a widening smile. "You want me all to yourself," you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

"Uh," a hint of red travels up his neck.

"Gosh. I'm just messing with you." You hit him lightly on the arm. "Course, I'll take the ride," and with that, you follow beside him to his car.

"Yeah. I figure... it's better you don't walk," he says, hands in his pockets.

You cock your head. "Ha. Why's that?"

He gives you a frown and shakes his head.

"I don't know. Just that if I were someone else, maybe something would happen." He shifts the weight in his legs like he regrets saying that. "Well, you know what I mean."

You quiet down. You feel a knot in your stomach and don't know how to respond.

Bob opens the passenger door, and a hand helps you in.

Once you're fully settled in, Bob is at your side. You shift against the leather seat underneath you, trying to get comfortable, and toss your legs on the dashboard.

"Aye, you better not get any ideas while we're both alone. Just cause I'm a passenger doesn't mean you're getting lucky," you say jokingly.

You expect the usual nervous laughter, the red in his cheeks, the stammering — but Bob doesn't say anything.

He looks at you. It's a strange look, and suddenly, you're aware of the car's closeness — how tightly packed you were and how large he was compared to you.

You clear your throat, trying to regain composure. You don't want to tell him he's making you act this way.

You glance around the car, trying to distract yourself. There's not much to look at. The car is neat. There's a pleasant smell from the ocean nearby. You've been in here before — usually with other people.

Trying to lighten the mood, at least yours anyway:

"It's cozy in here. In fact, it's a little too cozy in here." You bump your elbow playfully against his arm, giving him a widening smile.

"Uh, yeah, cozy." He glances at you. It feels long. You want his eyes to return to the road. You give a slight chuckle, wanting to fill the silence.

"You're comfortable," he says softly. It's not a question.

"Yeah. You don't mind?" you say, smirking.

Bob looks back at the road. "No... I like seeing you like that."

He leans in. You almost feel like he's about to grab at you, but instead, he holds the knob for the music.

You feel guilty about it. You don't want to assume the worst, but something about the air in the car makes you second-guess the circumstances.

You're glad when your street finally comes into view.

"Well... I'll get out your hair then," you say, and just as you are about to grab the door handle, a hand grabs your wrist. It's light but firm.

You whip your head to look at him.

"I don't know what you like, but I think you like that I notice," he says.

"I don't know. Maybe I just like the attention," you say honestly.

You pull your arm away from him slowly, and he lets go without a fight. His hand falls on your thigh.

You don't move.

Bob pulls away slowly.

"You good?" you ask.

"Just... I think about you in here."

"You think about me in your passenger seat?" you laugh nervously, trying to keep it light.

"I— You let me get close."

"Yeah, well, I don't think too much about it."

"Maybe that's the problem."

Silence.

You turn your body away from him and leave the car without looking behind you.

[gonehuman99]

Sideline Heat

Yandere Rhett Abbott x reader (1900 words)

TW: Dubcon

Warning: Dark Rhett Abbott, dubcon, manipulation, semi public sex, language, sexual content though no actual sex, toxic relationship

Summary: You didn't want to go to the rodeo; you didn't want to see Rhett, but a kiss near his truck changed your mind.

You're on the sidelines, away from the action. You didn't want to be here at the beginning, but you figured you should go anyway. Why fight?

So here you were. Your boots are firmly in the mud. You lean on each foot, trying to relax, but you can't. All the seats in front of you are filled up. You cross your arms. Tilting your head up, you look at the stands. It's completely filled up. Yelling erupts, and you whip your head back to the rodeo grounds.

A man gets up, looks at the scoreboard, and grins. Waving his hat around. You're huffing and ready for the next contestant. That's when his name is called out. Rhett Abbott.

You don't want to look; you want to turn your head around and head back home. Seeing him like this makes your chest ache. You know he's an expert of some sort, but you can't help it. You don't want to see him hurt.

You grab your neck, rolling the muscle and skin in your hand. You try to keep your eyes focused on the arena. You knew that bull riding didn't take long, but watching someone you cared about riding felt like an eternity.

The sound of clanging metal, a loud buzz, and Rhett is off. You hold your breath with a pounding heart.

And then it was over.

Like the man before, he raises his hat. Rhett scans the seats until his eyes meet yours. His lips curve as he offers a small smile and nods your way.

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you give a nod back. He approaches the metal fence.

You approach the gate. Rhett looks at you, and you can’t think.

Rhett wipes a line of sweat from under his nose and rests his hands on the gate between you. "So. What’d you think?" he asks, a smile on his face.

You shrug your shoulders and give a blank stare. Rhett purses his lips to the side of his face, his smile fading.

"I don't like you seeing you get hurt, is all," you say.

He nods slowly, "Well, the least you can do is give a clap."

You huff a bit and kick some dirt. You look around, "Look, how about we talk about this somewhere else… somewhere with fewer people?" This was a town with few things to do, but one of the few things that people could do was gossip, and you didn't want to be the one to feed them.

Rhett glances around, nodding. "Yeah, seems like a good idea," he says, rubbing his neck. "How about my truck?"

You nod. Rhett pushes through the metal gates. He offers his hand to you, but you gesture for him to go ahead. Rhett pauses, then obliges, leading you through the crowd. His pace is slow as you follow along.

When you reach the car, you stop. You lean against his truck and look down at the ground. "I'm sorry that…," you sigh. "I'm sorry about not going with you at first, just that I don't like this sport."

Rhett nods and leans on the truck next to you. His arm brushes yours.

"That's fine," he says, furrowing his brows as he examines the ground. "Why didn't you say something?"

Silence. You feel him grab your arm. "Look at me," he says softly. You don't, though.

"Look at me," he repeats. He grabs your arm tighter; it's not painful, but it is tighter.

You finally lift your head and look up at him. He kisses you—it's a peck. It's light and soft. "Let's not do this," you say.

Rhett's eyes flicker between your eyes and mouth. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"Do what," he says.

"I'm trying to talk seriously, Rhett, and all it seems is that you want one thing." You push him and try to leave. You feel an arm spinning you back.

"No, no-" his eyes searching your face. "That's not true."

He sighs. "Look, I know you don't like it, but it’s all I know. It’s in my blood," he says.

"So what'd you think?" he asked, smiling, trying to lighten the mood.

You don't say anything; instead, you look back at where the crowd was. When you look back at him, his lips are straight, and his jaw is tight.

Sweat on his hairline. His breathing tight, he leans into you.

"I didn't come for this," you say.

"Then why'd you come at all?"

You wanted to talk about what happened, but there was something you took from the way he looked at you. The adrenaline rush he felt while riding washed away from his face, and that softness Rhett gave you when you two were alone pushed up.

Rhett grabs your chin and kisses you against the door.

The sound of your lips smacking together makes you shudder internally. No matter how often you've done this with him, you always liked the sound. You knew, though, that wasn't the outcome you wanted. Being out this far and away from the people. You wanted to get serious and tell him you didn't want the rodeo life, but here you were getting kissed instead.

You push at his chest. He doesn't budge. One of his legs is between yours, moving it farther away. Leaning on the truck, you're grateful that you're wearing jeans.

His hands go down, trying to unbutton your jeans. You grab his hand, trying to stop him from continuing. You slide your face away from him. His face is going to your neck.

"Rhett," you say, out of breath. “You're not listening.”

"Mhhm," his mouth is on your neck. “Later. You can say all you want later”.

Despite your best efforts, he's hard to resist. It's hard to think, and his hand goes to your waist.

"Let me make it up to you," he says.

You love kissing him, but something still holds you back—the sound.

The sound of the people in the back. The crowd will inevitably return to their cars and witness you in this moment.

He continues his hands wandering over your body. You feel his need.

"Rhett, we can't do this here," you say in a low and firm voice.

He doesn't say anything; he just keeps kissing your neck.

Rhett's hand moves to your jeans, sliding them off.

"Come on," his voice near your ear, "no one will find us here," he says.

Your mind is muddled.

You clench your jaw. You don't want to do this here, but you also don't want to be the cause of a problem. Sometimes, you feel like you're the main reason this relationship has rocky moments.

You nod but add, "But wait, let's make this quick." you hated that a part of you wanted this.

Rhett grins. "Don't worry, darling," a glint in his eyes, "I know how to make this worth your while."

Rhett brings his fingers down to your slit rubbing at the bud in between your legs. It's slow and deliberate. You move your hips to the rhythm.

"You like that, huh?" he says.

Rhett quickly moves to take his pants down. The clang of his belt brings you out of the moment.

His cock is out. He strokes it, the sound of his hands mixing with the crowd.

He rubs the tip at your slit. You hiss as the head slides up and down. He slides an inch.

"Wait," you gasp.

"What?" he growls. He didn't pull out; he stayed there.

"We can't do this here," you say. You look around, "What if someone comes?" you say

"You know what your problem is," he moves slightly closer. “You overthink everything." He doesn't push away.

He plants his mouth next to your ear. "You scared someone's gonna come over and catch me balls deep in you." His voice is low, and you can imagine a smile forming. You're disgusted at his choice of words, but you also get wetter.

You shudder at the feeling. "How about," you bite your lip, thinking it over in your head, "how about we compromise?"

He tilts his head. "I'm listening," he says, leaning back slightly. He's still hard in you. "What's the compromise?"

"Well," you say, "how about you only slide?"

God, this sounded better in your head than out loud.

"You know." You add, "You can get off, but we don't have to do anything." You were already regretting your words. Heat came to your cheeks. You figured it'd be much better than doing the deed publicly.

"You want me to fuck you between your legs but not inside you," a grin on his face. He shifts slightly the head of his cock, rubbing your clit.

You bob your head and move your hips.

"Shit darling," he wastes no time positing himself properly. He starts to move slowly, sliding between your folds, dragging the head over your clit each time he rocks his hips.

You arch your back. He picks up speed. The thick head rubs your clit with each thrust. You know this is dumb; you guys weren't teenagers anymore, but here you were, humping like you were one.

"Damn," he whispers. Even though he's not entering you, the friction is intense. The building feeling is close.

"Are you close?" he asks, and all you can do is moan.

He grips your hips tightly. You can tell he's close, too. A look on his face, one that you've seen before. It's a strangely innocent look. His eyebrows scrunched. A slight whine escaped his lips. You like it. It looks like he's begging. You feel yourself pulsing. Your eyes roll back as a gasp leaves you.

"I'm gonna come," he whines, his voice cracking. His movements are erratic. He buries his face in your neck.

"Rhett, don't I-" But he comes. He comes on your underwear.

"Shit," he groans, and his cock spurts on your underwear. He shudders as he continues to grab onto your hips. He’ll probably leave marks for you to see in the morning.

He rests his forehead on yours. He's panting.

All of a sudden, you hear something. People.

Both your eyes widen. He looks down and back at you; there's a glint in his eyes, a look of amusement. “Well" he says.

Rhett pulls his pants back on, and you put your panties on again with reluctance. You're slow, and when the sound of people comes closer, Rhett moves to shove the cum-soaked panties on you. You wince at the wetness, the sticky feeling of your cotton undies on your sensitive pussy. He adjusts himself as you pull the rest of your bunched-up jeans up from your knees.

No one comes. The voices disappear. He exhales, and you stand there still with his dried release.

Your lips tremble. You can't believe you are wearing this. You don't want to walk around like this.

"Hey," he says softly. He reaches to grab your chin. He looks like he's trying not to laugh, a smirk forming. "I'm the one who made the mess."

You shove his chest, and he stumbles back a bit.

"Whoa. I'm just saying that I was the one who should be embarrassed," he says.

"Just take me home," you say tensely.

"Yes, ma'am," his voice is mocking, and you clench your fist.

"You really mad over a little mess?" he murmurs under his breath. He starts the car, and you resist the urge to hit him, to scream, but you just look out the window, your fingers digging into your palm.

[gonehuman99]

My Reason 1

Yandere Miles Miller x reader

chapter 2

Tw: NON/DUBCON (not in this chapter)

warnings: religious themes, other dark elements, dark Miles Miller, slight misogyny

Summary: Miles Miller is the kind of man who prays before he touches you. But he touches you anyway. Fleeing a broken life, the reader finds a different cage in Miles, a hotel clerk whose quiet kindness hides a possessive obsession. Their fragile marriage unravels into addiction and control, revealing a terrifying truth about the nature of his "saving."

Winding strange roads. You don't know where they're taking you. You've never been here before. Your eyes droop, and you realize that you have to stop soon. You can't continue like this. You haven't had time to relax or let yourself wind down; instead, you've been on the run.

You didn't want to leave, but you had to. You had to leave your family and escape the expectations they tried to put on you. They wanted you to fit into their way of life, and you couldn't. So you left.

Your eyes catch the sign at the edge of the road. A hotel a mile and a half out.

You sighed; maybe things were starting to get better for you.

You pull in through the line of trees, taking in the sight of the unique-looking outside. Taking the same amount of luggage out of the back of the car, you head to the lobby.

Opening the large mahogany doors, you marvel at the scene before you.

A long red line was sliced through the middle of the hotel. It's beautiful and spacious, but strangely, it's completely empty.

Each step you take sounds like an echo. You want to call out to someone, but you're unsure if someone is already watching you.

You head to the check-in desk and ring the bell.

Nothing.

You ring once more.

You shift your eyes around; how could no one be in a place like this? You grab the handle of one of your bags, twisting the material in your hand. This time, you head to the back of the desk. You knock once, a loud pound when you hear a commotion on the back.

The door swings open, and out comes a man, his face looking damp and his shirt hanging loose as if dressed in a hurry.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he stopped and looked at you wide-eyed. "Uh, hello."

A knot forms in your chest as he gazes at you, and you smile stiffly.

"Hi," you say. "I was wondering, can I get a room?" You squint and lean into the young man. "Miles?"

A hint of red reaches his neck.

"Of course, but first," he moves swiftly from behind the desk, clears his throat, and gives a small speech about the differences between the Nevada side of the hotel and the California side. It's slow, and you could tell by the stiffness in his movement that it's rehearsed.

You clap your hands, and Miles looks down at you through his lashes at your sudden attention; maybe he thinks it's out of pity, but you're fascinated by the hotel.

You asked him about the guests who came here, the history of the hotel, and the architecture. Miles raised his eyebrows at your questions, and a smile spread across his face as he gushed about the hotel.

He stops suddenly, and you raise an eyebrow.

"Usually, this is when people cut me off for rambling on," he says.

You shake your head. "Now, why would I do that?" you say. "I've honestly never even been out this far before."

You spend time with him as he gives you a small tour around the lobby. When you finally come to the desk, Miles asks what side you want to stay on. 

"Well," you look around, "I think," you tap your chin, "I think I'll splurge and go for California," you say, looking back at him.

Miles smiles at that and hands you a key. "Oh, and I'll need you to write down your name. All guests need to leave a mark."

He hands you the ledger, and you write your name. He inspects it and says your name slowly like he's savoring the taste of it, which almost makes you shiver.

"Well then, I should head to my room," you say, but before you can pick up your bag, you jump and almost trip back when Miles practically runs to grab them first.

You blink, taken aback by the swiftness; maybe he just likes helping the guests.

You walk with Miles. He opens the door, and you follow along.

You expect him to leave the luggage in the room.

He doesn't.

He continues to walk in, and you're confused. You don't say anything; after all, you've been sheltered for a long time, and you don't know the rules of a hotel, especially one as fancy as this one.

You grab your wrist and smile.

"Here," he says as he shows you around the room.

He goes around talking about the amenities and other benefits of the hotel. It's all well and dandy, but you grow almost restless. You want to relax and have some time alone, but as Miles shows you around, you can't help but notice how he's not even paying attention to what he's saying.

Instead, all the attention is focused on you. You shove that down. After all, Miles has been nothing but kind to you.

"So, do you have any questions?" he says as he finally turns around to you.

"No, I think you got everything covered," you say.

Miles twitches his fingers, "Well if you need anything, I'll be in the lobby."

You nod at that.

Miles leaves, and now you're alone. You sit on the bed and take it all in. You look at your luggage across from you and think you'll put everything away later.

All you've been thinking about is how tired you are and how much you wanted Miles to leave so that you could slam your body into the bed, but now the idea of lying down seems like a chore to you.

You're alone, finally, all alone.

You were also alone in your car, but something about being alone in a room far from home and from anyone you knew was something else.

Still, you must attempt. You force yourself to lie down.

When that doesn't work, you shower and lie down again. When that doesn't work, you play soft music on the small radio, but all you do is roll around in bed.

With one eye closed, you step up and move to the door; some fresh air may help.

You hop out of the room with your robe wrapped around you.

You walk around a bit, from your door to the walkway in front of the other empty rooms. You tilt your head.

How can a place like this be so empty, and how in the world are they still in business, considering it seems like a busy time of the year for travel?

Still, the thoughts don't leave, and heavy feelings in your legs make the steps heavy. You wanted to hit yourself.

Now, why did you go? Why in the hell did you leave?

You run your hands through your hair roughly, the feeling of wanting to claw your skin right off on the tips of your fingers.

Even if you wanted to return, you knew that life would get worse when you did. Some sort of punishment for disobedience you would get mocked for the idea of independence.

You slide down on the wall outside your door. Cold cement on your bottom.

You don't notice the pair of brown shoes next to your legs or the cup of coffee in his hands until you hear a loud clearing throat accompany it.

You whip your head up and rub the tears in your eyes that blur your vision.

He clears his throat once more.

"Decaf," he says.

You finally find the cup of coffee in his outstretched hand. You take it, and you can see Miles shuffling his feet. His eyes looked back to the lobby where he must have been.

"Stay," you say as you take a sip.

When miles don't move, you add "please."

Finally, Miles takes a seat next to you. A push of breath leaves him when his back hits the wall next to you.

It's quiet. A different form from the one in the lobby. It's friendly.

You bite your lip as you're about to form an apology to him.

"I-" you begin.

"Do you believe in god?" he says.

You tilt your head at that and mull it over.

"Well, honestly, I want to believe," you say.

It's quiet afterward. Maybe it wasn't the right way to answer his question; you didn't know him that well.

You turn your head and face him. He's not looking at you; he's looking at the thread on his buttoned shirt, twirling it in his fingers, with a pained look on his face.

Finally, he looks at you.

"I want to believe too," he says.

You set your cup down and look at the ground.

"You're easy to be around. Guess you have to be to work at this place," you say.

You look back at him, and he's staring right into you this time. It's intense, and you want to look away, but you force yourself to keep looking at him.

Why does it seem like he needs to know that you meant every word?

Miles' eyes flicker to the cup in his hands, "It's easy when someone listens," he says, his voice soft. A blush comes to his face and yours. You both sit there until you're done with your coffee.

[gonehuman99]

hi hii do you take request of dark! robert reynolds??

Sure, send a scenario. Although I should warn you, I don't know too much about the character; I'm waiting for the movie.

[gonehuman99]

Like Old Times

Yandere Rhett Abbott x reader (1800 words)

Tw: Noncon

Warning: Dark Rhett Abbott, noncon, slight misogyny, power imbalance

Summary: Rhett wants to continue a past relationship without the reader's opinion

You wrapped yourself in a thick coat as you sat on the rock. The surface was hard against your rear. The fire in front of you was roaring. But you were glad to focus on that because, at that moment, you were sitting right next to Rhett.

Your family and his were similar in some ways. His father was a bull rider, and yours was too. His family had land, and yours did as well. The only difference was that your family's land was in another state. Your father and his father used to compete against each other at the rodeo, but over time, that competitiveness blossomed into a friendship that lasted for decades. Every once in a while, your father tried to reconnect their friendship, which is why you were here.

Your father was a traditionalist, and you could be childish and naive. Your family held their values dearly, including not allowing an unwed daughter to leave the house. Yes, it was the 21st century, but this was your family and community. You didn't complain too much, though, at least not out loud—after all, that was just how you were raised.

So here you were with him. Alone. Your father made you come. Being the only daughter sometimes came with strange responsibilities, like helping Rhett mend a fence on the outskirts of his ranch. Your father volunteered you, saying he didn't want your family to appear as freeloaders. You and Rhett drove together to one side while your brother and Perry drove alone to the other side to mend the fence.

There you two were then. You both decided to take a break after that when the sun started falling. There was a quietness between you two. Even though you barely saw each other, it wasn't awkward. But you both had history. It was small. You two were of similar age, and when you were younger, you decided to be each other's first, second, and third. It was not romantic, just practice. Something to pass the time, not like there was anything else to do.

His hand draws close to your thigh. You hold your breath. You told yourself that he wasn't doing this on purpose. I mean, what you both had was in the past. There was nothing new to this.

It's not like you hated him. You just drifted away. You moved with your father, and he stayed behind. You focused on taking care of the house, like cooking and cleaning, while he focused much of his attention on riding in the rodeo.

You can feel the warmth of his hand, and you want to move away from him. Even though you weren't the host of this place and they invited your family, you still feel the need to compromise; you don't want your family to be discussed negatively. Being a woman means being a representation of the world. There may have been a time when you truly wanted to stray from this ideology, but you have long since passed that point. You wouldn't know what to do with your life.

"So," you let out a shaky breath, "what you've been up to?" you say, trying to break the silence.

You can barely see his face, but you notice the slight shift in his body. A small shift in his position, but not enough of a change for him to move. He grabs a stick next to him, moves a piece of wood, and drops it in the fire. It doesn't make much of a difference in the fire.

He clears his throat. "Nothing much. Just worried about Perry, you know how it goes." You nod. You knew better than to keep prying.

"Say it's been a while since it was like this…" he shakes his head slightly. You know, being alone. We haven't done this in a while. I was surprised you'd go along with it," he says.

"Yeah, well, I like being around you, I wouldn't have come if I didn't," you said.

"Yeah," he leans back. You think he's about to move, but he moves closer. "Kinda makes me think about the other times we were alone… like the old times."

You huddle your legs together and look at him. He fixes his gaze on yours. There's a look in them. The night is dark, but there's electricity in the slight blue you can see from the fire. No, it couldn't be? Was he thinking about… about what you both used to do? This wasn't something you planned after all; it was long ago.

You bite your lip and try to focus on the whip of the fire in front of you. You feel a hand on your face as stray hair is moved from your face. You resist the urge to move away. You can feel a warm breeze next to your face. You don't want to look.

He leans in more. "We used to have a real connection." You feel a hand on the back of your neck. You hold your breath and will yourself not to move a muscle. Even if you did want to move, you know you couldn't.

A kiss on your cheek just below your ear. It's soft, and you think he's asking for permission. You know he isn't. Otherwise, this would have happened in the first place. Was it your fault?. You bet it was. Why on earth did you agree to stay with him? Alone with him and at this late at night.

The fire crackles. " You remember how we were? We could be like that again." His voice is soft, not like the usual gruffness. He's trying to convince you that you want this—you're sure of that.

You nod. A lump forms in your throat. You want to tell him to back off and leave you alone. The hand on the back of your neck moves to your waist, pulling you in even closer to him.

You feel your face being pulled into his direction as he pulls you into a kiss. His lips are firm against yours. This is happening way too quickly for you. You lay a hand against his shoulder. He doesn't notice, or maybe he doesn't care.

"Rhett, stop," you finally whisper, but he's already grabbing your clothes and moving you down to the ground. He's not aggressive, but he's not gentle either. You feel like one of his bulls.

His weight presses down on you. You can't believe this is happening. You want to scream, but you swallow it down. Even if you did scream, would anyone hear you out here alone?

One of his legs goes into the middle of your legs. He kisses you slowly. You move your face to the side, looking at the fire beside you. His hand comes to your chin, pulling you back in.

He slipped another leg in between yours, spreading you out. You wiggle underneath him. "Rhett," you let out; he thinks you're moaning. Your hands go to his shoulders. You try to push against them.

You hear him unbuckle his belt quickly, and you grimace in fear. You know you need to stop him, but although you want to, the idea of yelling makes you feel embarrassed. You realize you shouldn't be, but you struggle to be expressive.

Kneeling back up, he takes himself out, and he's semi-hard. He pumps himself a few times slowly. You try to focus on the stars up ahead of you. Your heart is racing so much that you feel a tremor. He pulls at your pants. Reluctantly, you lift yourself, and he slides your jeans down. You gasp when you feel his hand reach down. You grab his hand, trying to stop him. "Come on, you need to get wet," you can hear the smirk in his voice. He pulls his hand away from yours and proceeds to rub your nub. You can't deny that you don't like it. Your breathing picks up. His face goes to your lips again, more feverish in his approach, the sound of wet lips and growing wetness between your lips making you wetter. Finally, you feel the tip of his prod at your entrance. Rubbing himself between your folds. You lie there and let it happen. He gasps when he slides himself in. You gasp out, too, feeling the pressure and fullness in yourself.

You try to disconnect yourself from the feeling. Try to focus on your breathing, though it grows rough.

He leaves himself in you. You're getting used to the size. He pulls out slightly and pushes back in. He does this a few times, each time faster. Grunting, he alternates between slamming and rolling his hips.

"You always liked this." his voice is hoarse. Is he trying to convince you or himself? Does he think things will return to how they were when things were simple in your youth?

His hand goes back down, determined to have you finish. You let him this time. You claw at his back not because you enjoyed it but rather as a way to make him feel pain. You can tell he enjoys it, a moan leaving him between your wet lips. You hold onto him, and a building feeling is in you—a sensation you want to release. You feel yourself grip as you arch your back on the dirt ground. His hips slow, and he grunts in your ear. Your eyes widen and slowly go back to size when you realize that you're on birth control. It wasn't for a situation like this. It was to clear your face. A pained feeling of disrespect enters you. He didn't even ask.

He lies there, not pulling out. A softened member still in you. He brushes your hair from your face. "I knew we were still like this," he mutters. You stay silent as he finally pulls out. You're disgusted at the sound.

You lie there as Rhett puts his pants back on. He grabs the blanket you covered yourself with, and he cleans you. You should find it comforting, but his touch is awful. He then moved to pull your jeans back on with a casualness. "There," he murmurs. He whispers something in your ear, but you can't hear him. You get up and touch the back of your head, small clumps of dirt in your messy hair.

"We could do like old times," you nod, the feeling of lying to him in your chest. You just wanted to be left alone. You didn't like the drama of voicing your opinion.

The walk back to the truck is a blur. Your body is heavy. You stare out the window, the landscape becoming a meaningless smear. You see Rhett hand land causally on the gearshift, and you tense. The memory of his hand between your thighs makes your stomach turn, and you swallow it down.

As the drive continued and the truck's headlights pierced through the dark landscape, you realized that something within you had changed, and you felt a sense of relief at the thought of returning to your family and familiar constraints.

[gonehuman99]

Silent Aisle

Yandere Rhett Abbott x reader (1700 words)

Warnings: toxic Rhett Abbott, nonconsensual kissing, unwanted advances, noncon elements

Summary: Life as a librarian seems easy until Rhett reminds her of the past. Aka, young Rhett harases the reader.

You place a foot on the pavement. Each step crunches the asphalt beneath you. Your brown boots shine in the sunlight, and the sky is clear. The heat of the sun feels intense against your skin.

Back at the scene of the crime. The library.

Leaving town, you never thought you'd be here again, you thought. You were happy they took you back in. Not many people were lining up to take the gig as a part-time librarian.

Happy memories are linked to this place—the scent of the paper, the quiet, the sense of familiarity. Most of these memories are happy, well, only the ones that you want to remember.

Rhett comes to mind as one of the things you want to forget. You really hope he doesn't come around. Somehow, he always found a way to find you. Hanging around you like a fly towards trash.

You weren't trying to be narcissistic. Rhett told you himself that the only reason he came around was for you. It was meant to be charming; you knew he had a crush, a harmless crush; after all, he was a boy, but there was something too intense about him. About the way his eyes never left your body, the way he lingered.

@@@

It's 7:00 p.m. The bright blue from earlier is gone, and the fluorescent light buzzes. You feel uneasy in your chest. Clenching your jaw, you continue organizing the books. Not many people came into the library, which was both a good thing and a bad thing.

You hear the door open. You’re accustomed to the sound of electric doors sliding, but the shutter of the heavy glass door startles you.

Moving your head between the shelves, you try to peer to see who might have come at this hour; after all, you'll close in about an hour.

You can hear the older lady talking with someone at the front desk. The voice is a man's, deep and with a bit of a twang. It sounds familiar, although not entirely.

You block out the sound and continue your work. The cart next to you gets lighter with each minute.

Movement can be seen on the other side of the shelf, but you pay no mind to it.

A cough is what you hear.

A man with a hat in his hand. Running his hand through his hair. You can see from the corner of your eye his Adam's apples bobbing up and down.

He's handsome, you guess. Tall overall, not a bad-looking guy.

You try to pay him no mind, although it seems as if he keeps getting closer to you. The hairs on your neck rise as you try to focus on your task.

This time, another cough came out, louder. This time, you really gave him all your attention.

“Can I help you, sir?” you snap your head towards him.

He doesn't respond, only giving a small smile.

Narrowing your eyes, you look at him deeper. No, I couldn't be… Rhett Abbott?

Memories of a different time flash by.

You look at him and squint your eyes. “Rhett? Why, you've grown up, didn't you? You still like reading then?” you ask, eyeing him.

Rhett chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, I've grown a lot since the last time we saw each other.” Eyes scan your body. “And yeah, I still like reading”.

You look sideways, then back at him. There's an air of discomfort that only you seem to feel. Shuffling your feet, you take a breath. “Well, you look good, Rhett.”

He tips his head, acknowledging your comment. He smiles as he takes a step toward you.

“You look good, too,” he says sincerely as his eyes rake over you.

You smile nervously. You never were someone who could take a compliment, but you also realized that things were starting to feel weird.

“Ha, yeah… Well, I guess I should just continue with my work if you don't need anything,” you say as you take a step back.

He watches as you take the step, a frown on his face. He quickly reaches your wrist to stop you. His touch is warm, and the sudden contact makes you jolt.

“Wait,” he says, looking at you. You pull your hand quickly as your eyes widen, but you stand there waiting for his next words.

There's a flash of surprise in his eyes; maybe he isn't expecting that reaction. He looks at you, though, as his eyes scan your face.

“Stay for a minute, okay?” his voice is soft.

You give a nervous chuckle as you nod. You stand there awkwardly before continuing to organize your books. You're aware of his gaze, though it feels like a laser burning your skin.

“Your tense,” he states bluntly, leaning his side onto the shelf near him as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Turning away from him, you force a smile. Why wouldn't you feel tense, you wonder; after all, you're surrounded by a guy who used to make you uncomfortable when he was younger? A guy who used to corner you. No one believed you. Naturally, they all thought Rhett was some kind of quiet cowboy. But you don't say that; instead, you say, “Well, it's late, and I want to go home.”

He raises an eyebrow as he pushes himself off the shelf and takes another step towards you. His boot thuds quietly on the floor.

Tilting his head, he said, “Late? It's barely quarter to eight.”

“Yeah, well, the library closes at eight, and I want to finish on time to, you know, grab some dinner.”

He nods slowly. “Right, dinner. Got it… Want some company?”

You force another chuckle before you swallow. “Hmm, honestly, I kinda just want to eat at home. I'm watching this show, and, well, I can't miss it”.

His expression turns thoughtful as he crosses his arms again. “Suuure a show. You always were a homebody.” he pauses. “You live alone, right?”

This is not what you wanted: “Well, I got a cat.”

He smirks. “A cat, huh? What's its name?”

Your head feels like it's blowing up. Can't he take the hint that you're not interested? You just want to do your work and leave. That's all this girl wants. "Uh, her name's Kathy.”

He straightened up. “Kathy, huh? She keep you company at night?”

"Look." You look down at your watch. "I kinda need to hurry up; I don't want to be the one to lock this place up." With that, you hurriedly put another book in place and move around him, speed walking to the front of the library.

His brows furrow as he watches you. All you hear as you leave him is a quiet, “She���s avoiding me.” Damn right, you think to yourself.

Right as you're about to leave, the lady at the front desk raises her arm up with a book.

“Last one, and you can leave,” she says in a bored tone.

You snatch the book from her grasp. She raises a brow at you.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you make your way back to the other side of the building.

The universe is cursing you. Rhett is standing directly in front of the very shelf needed to get to.

“Scuse me, I need to put this away,” you say. Your eyes are transfixed on the book in your hands.

You hear no response, and you finally look up. His expression is unreadable.

You turn the book in your hand. Be assertive. You think as you lift the book toward him. “So then, can you put this away for me?”

He grabs the book, his fingers brushing over yours. Your heart beats a bit faster. “What section is this for?”

“The one behind you,” you say softly.

Are you sure your mind isn't playing a trick on you? Rhetts's eyes land on your lips for a fraction of a second before he clears his throat.

“Right … behind me.”

It's this moment that makes you wonder if he's thinking of the past. An idealized version of the moments you hated.

He leans down, closing his eyes. A kiss lands on you. You don't react. You're too stunned, and perhaps because of your lack of reaction, he takes this as an invitation to keep going.

Rhetts hands land on both sides of your face deepening the kiss. Thumbs brush your cheeks.

Realization hits you. You never thought he would go this far. Of course, when he was younger, there were some unwanted touches, but never anything like this. Maybe it's your fault for not setting up boundaries earlier.

You push at his chest, but he doesn't move. Instead, you feel him grind his hips, his arousal growing evident with each movement. He nips your bottom lip, demanding entrance. One of his hands slides down your neck, squeezing gently.

Your breathing grows rapid. “Wait…”

He slides his tongue into your mouth as he backs you against the bookshelf; his hands go to your waist. He hoists you up slightly, and you gasp, and he swallows up the sound.

You can't help but think of the younger him when you thought he was innocent and incapable of what is happening now.

As the kiss becomes intense, rougher his hips push against you, pinning you harder to the shelf. His hands move to your thigh.

“Been wanting to do this for years,” he gasps out.

Your brows furrow in confusion; any other words that might have escaped your lips are silenced when a hand covers your mouth.

He leans in and puts his forehead against yours. "I want to touch you.” He releases your mouth as his hand moves to grasp the buttons on your pants.

You grab at his hand, trying to stop him. He ignores this and nuzzles his face against yours.

Finally getting a button down, he pushes his hand in your jeans.

“Lift up,” he says.

You don't move. He pauses before looking at you. Confusion is on his face. You can see the gears starting to turn in his head.

You don't wait for a response. You deliver one last shove that sends him stumbling backward.

Buttoning up your pants, you rush out the doors without a final goodbye to your coworker.

Running out the building, you're met with a lash of cold air. Tears blurring your eyes. No time to cry, just get home.