#outer range oc

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

here to stay | rhett abbott x oc

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhett spit out his dip as he approached her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whaddaya say we go ge’ice cream?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So Jiffy Treat?”

“Course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y’sound like Gran’pa.”

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

He didn’t want to be like his dad. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In a cone or a cup?”

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

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

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

“That it?” she asked. 

“Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhett nearly choked on one of his onion rings.

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure, ladybug,” he replied.

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

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

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

And he had to stop himself from cringing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. He’s’re youngest righ’now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Takin’ it easy?”

“Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

The teen nodded.

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

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

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

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

“That’s jus’life. He’ll be fine.” 

“Still hurts,” Tessa said.

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

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

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

“Yeah!”

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

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

“Oh, that’s so fun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“D’you get it?” she asked quietly. 

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

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

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

“‘Ll have t’try it sometime.”

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

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

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

“R-Really?”

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

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

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

“What?” he laughed. 

“You like her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’d y’take Amy?”

“Ice cream.”

“Y’had work t’do.”

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

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

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

“Just get the feed done.”

Then he turned and walked inside. 

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

Prayers to an absent god.

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

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[missunderstoodxoxo]

Plot Bunnies: Presley Lloyd

Presley Lloyd was stupidly and irrevocably in love with Rhett Abbott.

Ever since they were teens, she’s been in love with the cowboy. Years later, with him chasing his bull-riding dreams and her a bartender, those feelings had only grown stronger.

What are the odds that anything will ever change- her quiet pining and his seeming obliviousness?Well, as of late, a lot is changing in Wabang.

So, why not this?

[museshitsngiggs]

rhett abbott imagine

backing you up against his truck after you accuse him of eyeing another girl at dinner. slipping his hand up your dress and never breaking eye contact because he wouldn’t want to miss the way your eyes widen and your mouth opens up to let out a small gasp.

working his fingers inside of you slowly making you lose yourself to him and shuddering as he curls them, allowing you to have your release.

“If i wanted someone else, I wouldn’t be here fucking you with my fingers.” He would whisper in your ear, leaving kisses down your neck and collar bones.

[houseofaegon]

── ★ ˙ ̟ rhett abbott masterlist

last updated: 6/15/2025

requests are always open! please read rules and guidelines before requesting<3 white lace divider by @uzmacchiato

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` ִ ☆゙ navigation rules & guidelines masterlist ֶָ . ࣪ ׅ

♱ adult content

` ִ ☆゙ ONE SHOTS

✷ ─── dead of night ♱

pairings: rhett abbott x bestfriend!reader

summary: you didn't really plan on spending tonight anywhere but in bed, binge-watching true crime and savoring wine. but when your best friend rhett abbott texts you at 1 am asking you to come outside, your comfortable night in turns into a starry, intimate confession beneath the wyoming sky. the lines of friendship blur deliciously into something deeper and hotter—under constellations and blankets on rhett's truck. and he finally shows you exactly how long he's been waiting to make you his.

✷ ─── after hours ♱

pairings: rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

summary: coming soon !! babysitting amy abbott out at the ranch was supposed to be simple—easy money, quiet hours, the occasional home-cooked dinner from cecilia. what started as a favor turned into routine, one that brought you dangerously close to the man you swore you wouldn’t touch. rhett abbott is trouble. older, angrier, and heartbreak wrapped in denim and cowboy boots. he’s been watching you since the beginning—since the first time you laughed at one of his jokes and made fun of his boots. Since the first time you wore shorts that made his hands clench uselessly at his sides. He doesn’t talk much, but when he looks at you, it’s like he’s drowning in the want he won’t admit to. you tease. you linger. you press buttons like you want to be punished. and eventually, rhett breaks. you thought you were just babysitting. turns out, you were asking for this.

✷ ─── red velvet ♱

pairings: engaged!rhett abbott x engaged!reader

summary: coming soon.

` ִ ☆゙ SERIES

✷ ─── west coast ♱

pairings: rhett abbott x surfer!reader

summary: you're pure Malibu, a california girl at heart—sunshine, surfing, and saltwater running through your veins. riding waves has always been second nature, but riding horses in dusty wyoming? definitely not your thing. when your family trades the california coast for the ranch life in wabang, wyoming, you clash immediately with the small-town culture and the cocky bull rider next door, rhett abbott. he’s brooding, possessive, and infuriatingly attractive, making you question everything you thought you wanted. suddenly, you're caught between two worlds—ocean tides and dirt roads, california beaches and wyoming nights, torn between homesickness and the magnetic pull of rhett’s touch. they say home is where the heart is…but what happens when your heart belongs in two places at once?

[delopsia]

stalling | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 3,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, cunnilingus, hand jobs, a men's masturbation sleeve, PBR! Rhett, implied marriage. (But also, Rhett Abbott being needy.) Exhibitionism, if you wanna be technical about it. Brief Summary: You're going to be in so much trouble if someone walks in and finds out that the PBR's best cowboy is eating you out in a bathroom stall.

It's the obnoxious squelch of his drooling tongue gliding over your clit that's going to give him away. 

Wet little noises punctuate his every movement. So sharp that they bounce off the walls, running round and round the room and in your ears until it's all you can hear. Has your shivering fingers pulling harder on his hair, yanking him away just enough for one of those deep groans to escape, and oh god, it's only making things worse.

The last thing you need to do is give someone a reason to open the bathroom door. Walk in and catch sight of Rhett's knees against the concrete floor, between another pair of legs. Unzipped jeans pooling around his ass, one-of-a-kind rodeo buckle glinting in the light, right next to where his neglected cock rests in his lap, so heavy that it can no longer stand upright. 

Cheers roar outside. A buzzer sounds, chased by the muffled shout of an announcer you've already forgotten the name of—another eight-second ride. But it's not going to be enough to steal the number one slot. No, not with that shiny new record, not even thirty minutes old yet. 

"Thank you," he's panting, hardly able to draw himself back to speak, as if doing so will cause his whole world to crumble.  "Thank you for letting me eat your pussy."

His tongue is so hot. A wet flame that presses into you, lazily working in and out, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit, barely there touches that have your hips jolting. But as quickly as his tongue appeared, it's drifting away entirely. Bold enough to test the waters but too impatient to commit, already venturing up, up, up, back to the swollen little bud that he can't stop tormenting.

You're going to be in so much trouble if someone walks in and finds out that the PBR's best cowboy is eating you out in a bathroom stall.

"Y' taste so good," speaking directly into you, his voice rumbling up your belly and into your chest, jostling the cluster of butterflies that have been resting there. 

The heels of your palms press into his forehead, but it's not doing anything. You can't escape the frenzied twitch of his tongue, rolling back and forth, a feather-light contact that ought to send you through the roof. 

"Rhett, you're gonna..." The sound of your voice is meeting your ears, but you can't feel your mouth moving. "Oh fuck—Rhett, you're gonna get us caught." And there's more that you want to say, but you're being cut short by your own drawn-out squeal, fingers knotting in those deep brown locks.

Your heart hammers against your chest with all the strength and fury of those bulls he rides. Thighs shivering, nerves set alight as his lips wrap around your clit, sucking so harshly that the noise echoes all around the room. 

"'s my reward, ain't it?" He sounds almost innocent. As if his devilish tongue isn't hanging out of his mouth, the definition of sin itself. "They can't object to that."

You'd like to argue that they can, but fuck, those loose little circles are about to put you on the goddamn floor. Hips writhing, held in place by the big hands squeezing the fat of your ass, forcing you to remain upright until he's had his fill of you. 

"Rhett—"

Hinges squeal as the bathroom door swings open. 

Sparkling blue eyes dart up to your face, and you can't see it, but you can feel the grin working its way across his face. Boots thump across the floor, then fall silent. The sharp sound of a zipper sliding down kisses your ears. Whoever it is, they're only here for the urinal. 

But Rhett Abbott doesn't care what they're here to do. Opening his mouth to lick a long, fat stripe up your pussy, so content with himself that his eyes close midway. And there's not a damn thing that you can do about it. Hands flying up to clamp over your mouth, stifling a whimper that would surely give you away. 

That big, dumb idiot is pointing his tongue now. The soft tip of it delicately dancing across you, like too much pressure will cause the walls of this bathroom to come crumbling down. Diligently rolling your clit around like you're a piece of candy that he can just idly toy with. A cry squeaks out of you, hardly masked by the loud flush of the toilet.

There's no reason that this should be causing heat to pool in your lower belly, but it is. Winding tighter and tighter, a taut string pulled to its breaking point. So close to snapping that every step this stranger takes is too slow. Thunking closer and closer to the door, until finally...

It screeches open. Then, begins to close once more. 

You've never been so thankful for someone not washing their hands. Already reaching down to tangle your fingers in Rhett's hair and yanking. Forcing that sinful mouth of his away from your sex before—

"No, no, no," Rhett's babbling, whining, like his life depends on it. "Please, I want y' to cum on my tongue. Please, please, I want, I want..."

You can't even begin to argue with him. Because he's already wriggling himself loose, and his dripping tongue is back on you, and his stubble is scratching against you in the most mind-numbing fashion, and your whole world goes silent. 

Nothing but a faint ringing in your ears as your thighs clamp down around his skull, cumming without the slightest bit of warning. Head tilting back, thunking against the wall. A wildfire rushing across your skin in the form of a shiver. And Rhett just can't help himself, humming, licking you through it until the involuntary spasm of your pussy devolves into oversensitive, full-body jolts. 

"You..." sucking in a gasp, "have a problem." 

Understatement of the century. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was being paid. 

Rhett leans back onto his haunches, scruffy, unshaven chin glistening in the light. Dripping, even. "But I'm your problem." You don't know who taught him that, but they're going to get an earful when you catch them.

"That you are," weak, you pull on his hair, hardly enough to even sway his head. "Come up here, dummy."

There's hardly a bit of strength left in your body, and yet, somehow, your little motion is enough to get him moving, knees creaking and all, as he rises to his feet. Wet nose bumping into your cheek, nuzzling you in some odd, dog-like fashion that has you succumbing to the urge to slide your hand down and scratch him behind the ear. 

Eyelashes flutter. Pushing back into your hand. "You pettin' me?" 

"You gonna do something about it if I am?" Taunting, beneath your breath. 

His eyes roll, but he doesn't need to open his mouth for you to know what his answer is. Not when he's smiling like that, a lopsided grin and half-lidded eyes. So laid back and content that he hardly seems to realize that both of your hands are making their way down to his waist, grabbing hold of it and forcing him to spin around. 

Boots chirp against the floor. And you're reaching toward your purse with one hand, blindly feeling against the stall door until you can find where it's hanging. The other arm slips around his belly, cinching him to you. His back knocks into your chest, so close that his hair tickles your cheek. 

"Y' ain't gotta..." he starts, but whatever he's trying to tell you dies in his throat. Shut up by the clear object you're drawing out of your bag. The new stroker sleeve you've been saying you'll try out but have never had the patience to dig it out of the drawer. Inconspicuous at first glance, just a rubber cylinder, textured with little nubs on the inside. 

"Can you do something for me?" Ghosting your lips over the shell of his ear. 

It's impossible to miss the shiver that rattles down his spine. "Uhuh." Nodding dumbly. 

"Touch yourself." Comes out as more of an order than a request, but that doesn't matter because Rhett's already reaching for himself. Big hand wrapping around his neglected cock, sucking in an audible breath from that alone.

You can't dig the lube out fast enough, popping open the cap and blindly pouring it into the toy. So half-assed that some of it winds up spilling out the side, running over your fingers and dripping to the floor. But you don't care; a mess is worth the sight of Rhett stroking himself, twisting his wrist just how he likes it, hips greedily leaning up into his own touch.

Lazy, you drizzle some of the lube right onto his hand, uncaring of the mess you're making. Almost entranced as he spreads it over himself, shimmering in the dull bathroom light. 

But then he's reaching out, sticky hand impatiently curling around yours, trying to guide the toy toward himself. "I want..." his head shakes, searching for words. "Want..." 

If this were any other day, you like to imagine you'd play dumb. Force him to put into words exactly what he wants and how. But the rodeo crowd and the booming voice of the announcer are still out there, anticipating his celebratory return, and that new, sparkling record ought to warrant him a reward. 

He knows that he's getting what he wants, too. Hand sliding back to his base, holding himself still as you lower that dripping toy onto him.

His head tilts backward with a gasp, falling onto your shoulder.

All that and you've hardly slid the thing past his flushed tip, almost have to squeeze him to you in order to keep him still, working down him inch by devastating inch. 

"Oh my god," a little waver in his voice, hips involuntarily jerking up into the sleeve. Those knees buckle, knocking into each other. "Fuck."

A giggle rumbles out of him, and you don't need to look in the mirror to know that his cheeks have turned a nice shade of strawberry, set off by the sound of his own voice. One of these days, you'll get him to believe that he sounds pretty like this, but right now, you've got a different agenda on your plate.

"Tell me how it feels," you whisper, slowly drawing that toy back up, squeezing your fist past his cock head, then beginning to draw down again. 

"Feels..." but he's forgotten how to talk, mouth floundering without a sound. "'s tight...and—mmh!"

Maybe it's your fault for twisting back up so quickly, but you just can't help it. Not when his ass is squirming back into you, unsure if he wants to push into the toy or wriggle away, mouth hardly muffling that long, drawn-out groan. Even through the thick silicone, you can feel the way he twitches, jerking in your hand like a live wire. 

So, so sensitive after a couple days of no fun.

Your hand is already quickening. Too eager to hear those breathy little oh, oh, oh's, set off by the flick of your wrist when you pass over his head. Thighs squeeze together, one of his hands flying out to brace himself against the mirror. The one that you can't quit looking at. Downright obsessed with the sight of this clear silicone hugging tight around his cock. The way precum is already spilling out of him and dripping onto the floor below. 

"Feels—feels good," tripping over his own words, voice so high that you hardly recognize it. "Fuck." 

And just like that, your hand stops. Squeezing firm at his base as he involuntarily jolts forward. 

A whine echoes through the bathroom. Pitchy. Frustrated. "Why...why did you..." He tilts his head to meet your eye. "You stopped." Speaking dumbly.

"I know." Grinning. Your hand loosens just enough for him to move again. "Try and fuck it by yourself."

Almost automatically, he tries to jerk forward. Boots stumbling across the floor, forearm flying up to catch himself as his upper body falls forward. Forehead against the mirror, dark blue eyes locked on the sight of that sleeve wrapped around his cock. 

Weak, his hips begin to move. 

Hissing as he draws back, almost hesitant to move, like he's afraid to slip out of the toy entirely. And it's...fuck that's a sight you haven't seen before. The obscenity of Rhett fucking a cock sleeve, how his balls sway with the motion of his body, perfect for you to reach down and grab. Heavy in your palm, so full that you worry what may happen if you do anything more than run your thumb up and down them. 

"This ain't—I can't," Rhett croaks, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "This is hard." 

The hand around his dick tightens, sends him jumping. "You can do it." 

And he just can't help himself. Feet shifting the slightest bit, trying again. Quicker this time, the lube squelching so loudly that it bounces off the wall. His mouth falls open, fogging up the mirror, panting like a dog on a summer day. Soft noises tumbling out of him, unable to stop a single one of them. 

"There you go," you murmur directly into his ear. "That's a good boy."

Pearly white teeth sink into his bottom lip. Eyes squeezing shut. 

He's trying. 

He's trying so, so hard. But he just can't move quickly enough. Trapped in the crevices of this awkward position, fucking himself into your hand, arms braced over his head, legs too close together. So frustrating that you can hear it in his little grunts, bubbling out of him with every thrust.

"Please," he rasps, head thunking against the mirror. "Please, please, please." 

You've got a feeling you know what he's after. "What do you want?"

"I wanna cum!" He's blurting before you've even finished talking. "Please—please let me cum." 

The buzz of yet another eight-second ride sounds. Loud. Booming through the walls and into this little bathroom. But it's not enough to cover up Rhett's sob as your hand begins to move once more. Pumping him in tandem with his frantic hips. Drinking in those airy cries rolling off his tongue, hanging halfway out of his mouth.

"This what you were wanting?" Coy, your teeth find the lobe of his ear, tugging gently. 

"Mhm," is all you're getting out of him. And he's reaching down between his own legs, dragging your hand out from where it's still toying with his balls and squeezing it tight. Needs something to cling to. Anything that isn't this cold mirror in front of him. 

Those darkened eyes peel open, locking with yours through the reflection, and his mouth is shaping around what you think is your name, but not a syllable is escaping. Almost immediately, they flicker shut once more. Your wrist flicks once. 

Rhett cums with a strangled moan. Body jerking against yours. Feet stumbling. And your hand is moving so fast that the toy catches that first rope of cum before it can splatter on the mirror, then the second. Smearing it across his spasming cock, creates a dizzying mess with the lube, so much of it that he's dripping, little spots of it scattering on the floor and the toe of his left boot. 

"Fuck," his breath fogs the glass. "That was...oh."

Your hand freezes halfway down his length. Almost forgot it was moving to begin with. 

"No, no, no," lazily tilting his head to peer over his shoulder, "keep goin' for a second."

And so you do. 

Slow as you can possibly manage, dragging the mess of a toy up and down his cock. He's sensitive. You know he is because he's shifting his weight onto the tips of his toes, fist tightening until his knuckles whiten, but there's a shiver visibly running up his spine. Cum spills out of his swollen tip. Hardly enough to count, but it's something. 

"'s good," Rhett murmurs after a moment. You've hardly got to do anything; he's already pulling away on his own, drawing that softening cock of his out of the toy altogether. Falls limp against his thigh, that sickly mixture of cum and lube already beginning to stain his jeans. 

It's a mess that'll have to be dealt with in the privacy of your hotel room because he's already tucking himself away. Pulling up his zipper and fastening that gaudy championship buckle. One of a kind. 

A selfish part of you hopes that tonight's buckle is a little easier on the eyes. 

One of his knees buckles as he turns, a big hand flying out to catch himself against the wall. "Shit," he's giggling, peering at you through the hair that's fallen into his face, "y' got me all weak in the knees, doll."

"Don't tell me you need to be carried," you're saying as if you're not intrigued by the idea of giving it a shot. 

"Nah," shaking his head, smile so big that his teeth glint in the overhead light. "Might need a few kisses to get me through the night, though." 

Eyeroll. Your free hand darts out, grabbing hold of his shirt collar and hauling him in, meeting those pale, swollen lips for a sloppy smooch. The first one lands awkwardly on the corner of his mouth, both of you leaning in the wrong damn direction. But then Rhett's tilting his head, nose bumping into yours, and he's meeting you properly. One little chaste kiss after another. 

A muffled voice creeps through the walls. Distorted, but you can still hear those two little words all the same. 

"They're calling for you, Abbott," speaking against his lips, making no real effort to pull away. It'll be a few hours before you get to steal this many kisses again. 

He hums. "Which one?" Kiss. "There's two of us standin' here." Kiss.

Weak, your hand thunks against his chest. "The dumb one who climbs on dangerous animals for fun."

"That's both of us, sweetheart," he had to have been storing that. There's no way he could have come up with that so quickly on his own, grinning like a cat that's gotten the cream.

"You're not a wild animal," adjusting the hem of your shorts, blindly feeling about to make sure that they've fallen back into place. 

Nobody will know what you've been up to, so long as they don't see the bite mark on your inner thigh. 

"I can be," Rhett winks. 

That's an argument that you'll have to settle in the hotel room. Before you can even say another word, he's darting for the door, sliding open the latch, a melody of laughter trailing behind.

"Hurry!" He's barricading himself up against the entryway. Feet dug into the ground, hair sticking up every which way. "Before Archie comes lookin' and figures out 'm not actually sick." 

You can't get to the sink quickly enough. 

And if anyone notices that Rhett is a little looser than usual when he climbs that stage to accept his award, nobody says a word. Too focused on the hoopla of a brand new record, the glimmer of a brand new belt buckle, tacky as all hell and a lifetime worse than the one that sits sideways against his belly. 

...but they might notice when he turns his head and flashes a ruby red bruise lurking just below his ear. 

Sure wonder where that came from.

[callsign-swan]

Gold

Chapter One

Marigold Winslow. An F1 driver flying through her first season. Rhett Abbott. An ex cowboy turned actor on a media circuit after his biggest role yet.

They weren't supposed to have any extended interaction. They weren't supposed to fall in love. They weren't supposed to make a mess of each others careers.

Rhett Abbott x OC

Chapter Two

Miami. It was hot. Too fucking hot. Sweat clung to her back as she made her way across the paddock, sunglasses covering her eyes. Unlike her fellow drivers, she didn’t wear her team shirt. Ugly, bright orange, with an equally as ugly hat to match.

It was just her first year in the team, just her sixth race. But it had been an incredible five races so far, each one ending with her in the points. Her team was leading the constructors championship, her teammate leading the drivers championship. She was only a couple of points behind him, waiting for him to slip up and take the lead.

Life was pretty good.

She walked into the paddock alone, phone clutched in one hand and bag in the other. For the first two races, she’d worn her team shirt into the paddock. The ugly orange one that didn’t suit her in the slightest. She’d walked in beside her teammate, she and Lando talking and laughing as they went. But then she started wearing her own clothes to races.

Every news article about her wasn’t really about her, calling her a WAG. Worse than that, it called her Lando’s wag.

So, she walked into the paddock alone.

A hand touched her back. Immediately, she stiffened up, readied herself to punch whoever was touching her with the hand holding her phone. “Relax,” said a familiar voice. “It’s just me.”

Carlos Sainz. Before she got her place on the grid, driving alongside his old teammate, Carlos was her celebrity crush. She was never supposed to get this close to him, wasn’t supposed to become friends with him in the month and a bit she had been driving.

But Carlos took her under his wing, in a sense. He had been there before, driving for McLaren, driving alongside Lando. He knew how gruelling and terrible this sport could be, knew how fast a career could go down the drain. He was determined not to let that happen to her.

“First Miami Grand Prix, huh?” Carlos whispered in her ear.

She swallowed as she nodded. “It’s gonna be good,” she said and slipped her phone to the pocket of her jeans. “I’m gonna win it.”

Carlos let himself smile. He pressed his hand more against her back, ignoring the sweat seeping through her shirt. Or maybe he didn’t feel it. But it had her swallowing, her steps becoming faster as she tried to get away from him just a little bit.

All so he couldn’t feel the sweat seeping through her shirt.

Carlos let his hands drop to his sides. “We’ve got celebrities for this one,” he said as he followed her through the paddock.

She rolled her eyes. “Today?” She asked, placing her bag on her shoulder.

“Some today, some tomorrow,” he answered.

“Great,” she mumbled and pulled her sunglasses from her face. Placing them on top of her head, she looked around the paddock. Searching for familiar faces of those she saw in movies, those she saw on album covers.

Nothing so far.

A breath left her lips. “Have you ever had your all time favourite celebrity show up?” She asked, ignoring the way her heart clenched in her chest. Not only was the rest of the world watching, but now the people she’d watched and admired since she was a kid (outside of the world of motorsport, of course. That was a different kettle of fish) were potentially so close, watching her so closely.

“Relax, Mari” he said gently, his hand coming up to rest on her shoulder. “Whether that one celebrity you dream about is watching or not, you’re gonna do great. You’re going to win this.”

She nodded at him, hand touching his before she pushed it away from her shoulder. “You’re gonna get points, okay?”

Carlos grinned at him. “I’m going to get points,” he reiterated and she nodded at him. “I’ll see you on the track,” he said as she began walking away from him.

She tipped her head to the side. “Yeah, when I lap you.” At that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving those words hanging between them.

Maybe another driver wouldn’t have taken it as well as Carlos did. But, when she turned on her heel, he was laughing as he made his way to the Williams garage.

Marigold Winslow made her way towards the McLaren garage. There would be a hat for her in her drivers room, an ugly, orange one that she would wear between qualifying sessions.

“Hi, Mari,” her friends in the garage called as she walked past.

Marigold offered polite smiles as she made her way through. She dragged her nails across Lando's shoulder blades as she passed him, a shiver running down his spine. “Fuck, Mari,” be groaned. “Don't do that.”

“Don't be so ticklish, then,” she muttered with a grin as she walked past him.

Before anybody could stop her, she disappeared into her driver's room. The little couch always looked so inviting, but she never let herself sit down. Not if she wanted to get up in time for the qualifying.

She pulled her black fireproofs and orange race overalls from the little wardrobe. Getting changed, she laid her jeans and shirt over her little sofa and grabbed her cap.

It just didn't suit her. Her hair was too light to make the hat work. But she still placed it on her head and walked out of her drivers room.

“Goldie.”

Her heart clenched in her chest. She had always hated that nickname, the nickname her father had given her before he upped and left. It had been perfectly clear since her junior sessions that she was Mari or Marigold. Not Goldie. Never Goldie.

Unclenching her jaw, she turned towards the owner of the race team. He was far too involved with the team, according to her. At every race, acting more like their team principal than their actual team principal.

“Mr Brown,” she said as he stepped closer to her. She nearly tripped over her feet trying to take a small, subtle step back.

A chuckle left his lips and her entire body shuddered. What an awful sound. “You don't need to call me that, Sweetheart,” he said and reached out to touch her.

She was going to retch, but she was going to lose her seat.

“We've got some guests coming to the garage today,” he said as he gestured for her to walk with him. She did as she was told, just to keep him happy.

“Celebrities?” She asked as she followed him back towards the garage. “I'm not meeting your president, Zac. I won't do it.”

Zac shook his head. “Not the president, Sweetheart. Just some actors in a superhero movie.”

Mari furrowed her brows. “What superhero movie?” She asked, hiking up the race suit hanging low on her hips.

Shrugging his shoulders, Zac held out his hand, gesturing for her to stand beside Lando. “I need the two of you on your best behaviour.”

“We're not kids, Zac,” Lando said as he rested his arm over her shoulders.

Being in the junior programme had really helped their bond. For a solid two years, Mari travelled to races with Lando and Oscar. Not every race, not when she needed to be somewhere else for an F2 race. But she was there, by Lando and Oscar's side as she completed free practice drives.

When Oscar moved to Red Bull and she joined Lando in McLaren, they were already thick as thieves.

“Do you know what movie it is?” She whispered as she leaned towards him.

Lando shrugged his shoulders. He didn't care about the celebrities coming to the race; it was all some stupid PR stunt, anyway.

But Mari hadn't been through that. Lando had years of it. He was used to it, used to the police smiles and friendly conversation with people who thought they were better than him. They always acted so interesting, only to spew on about things he didn't care about.

“I got you, Mari,” he whispered.

“I got you, Lan.”

Leaning against the nearest surface, the talked as much strategy for the day ahead as they dared. So far, the strategy calls she and her engineer worked on together had been amazing, never putting her too far away from pole.

“How you feeling?” He asked as he repositioned her hat on her head.

She batted his hand away. “Good,” Mari answered. “Confident.”

“Yeah?” He asked, releasing a giggle. “You're gonna need it.”

She shoved at his chest, light and playful. Just what she needed to calm her pre-race nerves.

“Look alive, people!”

The two looked at each other, eyebrows raised. They stepped away from each other, still leaning against the nearest surface. When Lando folded his arms over his chest, she did the same thing.

The celebrities strode into the garage. On first glance, Mari recognised none of them. No familiar faces, nobody she recognised from her movies or album covers. Relief and disappointment sparked inside of her all at once.

Lando kept his face stoic, so she did the same thing.

He stuck his hand out to the first one. “Lavinia,” she said politely, an unexpected British accent leaving her lips.

“Yeah, I've seen you in things,” Lando replied, dropping her hand.

It clicked then and there for Mari. “Holy shit, you're Lavinia Fox!” She barely kept the squeal out of her voice.

Lavinia turned to her with a smile that was a mix of gorgeous and kind. “You've seen one of my movies?” She asked and Mari nodded. “I saw you as Jane in Pride and Prejudice and it changed my life.” She took her hand, shaking it insistently. “I'm Mari and I'm a huge fan,” she said in way of explanation.

Landos hand touched her back.

Almost sheepishly, too sheepish for a Formula One driver, Mari dropped her hand. Lando began speaking again, stealing Lavinia’s attention. For that, Mari was grateful.

She looked at the next celebrity in the group.

It wasn't just a passing lack of recognition, she really didn't know who this guy was. Tall, dark hair that was going ever so slightly grey at his temples. That alone made it hard to place his age.

His blue eyes were pretty, that was undoubtable. He stared down at her, shoulders hunched slightly, waiting for her to say something.

“Who are you?”

Lando's elbow met her ribs. Sucking in a sharp breath, Mari shoved him away and turned back towards the unfamiliar celebrity. She didn't repeat, just raised her eyebrows at him.

“Rhett Abbott,” he tried, his gorgeously deep voice pitching at the end, as if he was asking himself a question. “I'm in the same movie as Vinia.”

Mari raised her eyebrows at him. “That's not an actor's name,” she mumbled and Lando's elbow met her ribs again. She was going to bruise tomorrow. “It's not!” She insisted. “It's a cowboy name!”

“You don't have to say it, Mari!”

“It's okay,” Rhett said, interrupting the two drivers. “I actually used to be a cowboy.”

“No way.” Mari couldn't stop herself from grinning, wide and a little sly all at once. “I was only kidding, I swear.” She moved her fingers, made an X over her chest. But then she held out her hand towards him. “I'm Mari.”

She took note of the way his brown hair curled around his ears. “Pretty name,” he said, squeezing her hand once before he dropped it.

“Short for Marigold, by the way,” Lando jumped in.

“Marigold,” Rhett repeated, tasting the way it rolled off his tongue. “Does anybody ever call you Goldie?”

The grin dropped from her face, expression hardening. “Not if they know what's good for them.”

I was going through my Google docs and I found SOOOO MANY rhett fics - all multiple parts and all long

[thecowboyfiles]

Give Me Grace - Ch. 1

.°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃽 .°˖⋆

.°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃽 .°˖⋆

tags: Rhett Abbott x transmasc oc. Talk of religion, struggle with faith and coming to terms with sexuality. author's note: I know OCs aren't popular around here, but I put my whole heart into this, so please just give it a chance ❤️ Thanks to @enyalius for beta reading. Updates every Friday. | Check out my kofi

It’s too hot in Wabang for the time of year, but there’s a cool breeze rustling through the grass and giving them some reprieve, even though Perry is still sweating through his t-shirt. They’re fixing the fences for the millionth time, except that Perry is busy swinging the hammer and Rhett is a million miles away, staring into the horizon. 

Part of Rhett is still here; he can hear Perry’s excessive ramblings about worrying for Amy, and he can hear the dull whack of the hammer hitting the fence post over and over, but he’s not really listening, and he’s not even holding the post like he’s supposed to be. 

“Helloooo, earth to Rhett…” Perry stops and stands up, waving his hand in front of Rhett’s face. “Where the hell are you, man? You’re not even listening, and you’re also not doing your job.” He nods toward the fence. “I wanna get this done before dinnertime.” 

Rhett’s eyes clear up and return to the present, but he’s still chewing on the inside of his cheek, and he can’t meet Perry’s eyes. “I gotta tell you somethin’,” He mutters, eyes on the post rather than looking at his brother. 

“What is it?” Perry asks, lifting the hammer back up and bringing it down against the post one more time.

Rhett’s chest heaves with the deep breath he takes, clenching his jaw before he speaks. “I think m’queer,” He mutters out, low, like if he speaks at a normal volume, the rest of his family will hear him all the way across the pasture and back at their house. 

Perry makes the mistake of not giving Rhett his full attention, and the words that come out of his brother’s mouth make his head snap up just as he’s bringing the hammer down again. “Ah shit, fuck, god dammit,” The hammer comes down and clips the edge of his thumb before it falls into the grass and Perry brings his hand up and yanks the glove off to bring the throbbing edge of his thumb to his mouth as if he can suck the pain out. “So, we’re back on this again?” He asks once the stinging pain has dulled. 

“Again? The fuck are you talkin’ about Per?”

“You already told me about this, don’t you remember? When you were like thirteen, you came home crying about how you were going to hell ‘cuz you had some sort of sinful thoughts about a boy in your class.”

Rhett’s eyebrows are still knitted together, but there’s a pounding in his chest— he remembers. 

***

Rhett and Perry always get home before their parents. The school bus that goes out into the country drops them off a good thirty minutes before Royal gets back from bull auctions in town and Cecilia gets back from her work with the church. 

Normally, they walk up the dirt road and to the house together, Perry tasked with looking after his younger brother. Today, though, Rhett couldn’t get away from everyone fast enough, running up the dirt road as fast as his still-growing legs would take him. He can hear Perry calling after him, but he doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t look back, even as the screen door to their house slams behind him, he just runs up the stairs to his bedroom and collapses on his twin bed. 

He’s crying, his cheeks are wet, and his nose is starting to run, but it only makes him angry. He’s too old to cry now, Royal tells him so. He’s becoming a man, so unless bone is sticking out of skin, tears are prohibited, and even then, it depends on what kind of mood his dad is in. 

Perry doesn’t knock before he comes in; he never does, but Rhett doesn’t yell at him this time, he’s too busy trying to stop the tears. “What’s the matter?” Perry asks, almost sitting down on the edge of the bed, but he hesitates. Rhett’s long limbs are taking up too much room now; they wouldn’t fit together like they used to, maybe he should ask his mom to ask his dad to buy Rhett a bigger bed. 

“Nothing, go away,” Rhett huffs, sniffling pathetically. 

“I’m not going away, it’s my job to look after you, and you better stop crying before Dad gets home. If you tell me what it is, I can fix it, and you’ll stop.” 

“You can’t fix it, Perry, you can’t, no one can.” He’s still sniffing, but at least he’s sitting up and looking at Perry now, eyes shiny with tears. 

“You won’t know that until you tell me what it is,” Perry argues. 

Rhett wipes at his eyes again and looks at his brother. He can’t see his own face, but he knows he looks as terrified as he feels. He still follows his mom to church every Sunday, and he isn’t brave enough yet to question the scripture that the pastor recites. He’s not brave enough to ask his mom what things mean. 

He feels it every single time he sits in the uncomfortable wooden pews and looks up at the altar. A tightness in his chest and an itching of his palms. It feels wrong to be here, but he doesn’t know why. The entire room is always filled with a judgment that isn’t his, and yet it choked him all the same. Riding bulls felt like nothing compared to a thirteen-year-old boy questioning the church. “I’m going to hell, Perry,” He whispers. 

Perry’s own teenage face, that hasn’t been sullen by parenthood or the disappearance of his wife yet, crumples at his brother's words. “Why would you say that? You haven’t done anything worth going to hell for.”

“I have…” Rhett nods, eyes filling up with tears again. “There’s this new boy in my class, I wanted—” He starts, interrupted by a choked-off sob. “I thought he was pretty and I wanted to kiss him, Perry,” 

“No, you didn’t,” Perry responds without missing a beat.

“I didn’t?” 

“No way. It's just all those new hormones in your body wreaking havoc. You ain’t going to hell cuz you ain’t queer, it’s not real.” The front door squeaks open loudly, and both boys' heads whip over toward Rhett’s open bedroom door. It was either a bad sale day or a good sale day because their dad is home early, and suddenly Perry doesn’t have all the time in the world to make Rhett see that his feelings toward this boy were nothing more than a blip that he can just forget. They can just stop this right here, and neither of them would go to hell or get in trouble, as long as it stops before someone sees or hears them.

“Say it,” Perry growls out, hard and demanding, gripping Rhett’s wrist tight enough to bruise. 

“I ain’t going to hell, I ain’t queer, s’not real.” Rhett recites, punctuating each part with an obedient nod, committing the words to memory, even as he tries to yank his wrist away.

Royal’s heavy steps clomp up the stairs, and he stops outside Rhett’s door, looking over both his boys, eyes moving more slowly over Rhett’s wet, red face. “You cryin’?” 

“Uh-uh,” Rhett shakes his head quickly, and Perry turns to face their dad. 

“No, he just fell off the bus and face planted into the dirt, that’s all,” And since when could Perry just lie like that?

Their dad’s sigh comes out wearily. “How many times I gotta tell you to look after your brother? What kind of man are you if you can’t even make sure he stays on his feet?” Royal shakes his head at the older brother, “Fuckin’ useless.” He mutters, walking down the hall and clicking his own bedroom door shut. 

Perry feels his heart sink into his stomach. He’s not useless; he’s the one who’s saving his little brother from a life of condemnation, his dad just doesn’t know it. Can never know it. It’s times like these that he would ask his mom what to do. He knows that she would know exactly what God would say in any situation. Except that what God would say about this particular situation is the reason he can’t talk to her about it. No, this has to stay between them. It’s going to be Rhett and Perry, just as it always has been— it always will be.

——

Tagging my favourite accounts for chapter 1, if you want to be added to the real tag list, comment below! @sebsxphia @withahappyrefrain @rhettsunshine @lewmagoo @girlcowboy @beachbabey @ohtobeleah @theoraekenslover @hesvoid34 @statichvm @arcanechariot @peachystenbrough @voidsxntry @voidpies @verricherri @voidpvllman @fairyheart @mustaaarrd @p0rcelainserpent @howtodisappear444 @abbysbenchpr @geminiwritten @reveryfics

[enyalius]

we ran from midnight (i)

i. the past

After nine years, Rowan Yao returns to Wabang to take care of his aging mother. The girl Rhett Abbott thought he'd buried in his memories comes back a self-made man.

tags: rhett abbott x transmasc oc. angst. slow burn. estranged childhood friends. yearning, pining, all that kinda stuff. rhett abbott comes to terms with his bisexuality. author's note: happy pride month! where are all the gay boys that love lewis pullman? make some noise, will you - it's a bit lonely on this side!

cross-posted on AO3

Rhett nurses his third Bud Light with a bitterness reserved for men who’d had their pride ground into the dust.

The Handsome Gambler is half-empty tonight. Not too many folks wanted to drink near the guy who could barely even last eight seconds on a bull. Most of the noise in the bar came from the cowboys who actually made it on the scoreboard, the ones with the big and shiny belt buckles and obnoxious laughs.

Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he was drawn a bullshit bull. Twister bucked like the goddamned devil was digging spurs into its ribs. Rhett’s certain he twisted his wrist on the fall — that’s another trip to urgent care tomorrow morning, if he could be assed to wake up early enough.

Or maybe Rhett needs to accept he’s washed up and past his prime. Perry told him he’d ‘hit it next time’, but Rhett’s been doing this for a whole decade. He’s not sure if he has any more next times left in him.

He used to dream of Cheyenne like it was the promised land, his one-way ticket out of Wabang. Now it feels farther than ever. Is cattle herding at the ranch all he’s meant for?

He rubs at his frown lines with the heel of his palm and forgets, too late, that it’s the bad wrist. A soft hiss slips through his teeth. Then a voice cuts through the noise of the bar, low and amused.

“I don’t remember you ever sulking this much, Rhett.”

Rhett’s jaw clenches. He turns, slow and deliberate. There’s a man next to him leaning against the bar, wearing a black denim jacket over a white tee, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. Dark hair and almond-shaped brown eyes that he doesn’t bother looking at for too long.

Jin Callahan, Rhett deduces hastily in his tipsy state. Holly Callahan and Paul Yao’s boy. They’re the only half-Asian family in Wabang, hard to miss around these parts. Holly, born and raised in the town, attends the same Bible study group as Cecilia. Their family used to come over for dinner, back when Rhett’s mom still did Sunday roasts after church.

Their two kids, Jin, and their youngest daughter, Rowan, were always around. But Rowan moved away with her dad long ago, after Holly and Paul divorced. Rhett remembers them in half-misted childhood memories. It’s a lot easier that way.

At Jin’s remark, he scoffs and rolls his eyes, lifts the bottle to his lips. “Shouldn’t you be sipping wine with your wife in… Italy, or whatever? Your honeymoon got cut short?”

Jin tilts his head and smiles a little. “...Wow. Do I really look that much like him now?”

Rhett furrows his eyebrows at the remark. His eyes sweep over the man again, slower this time. Then his stomach hollows out like the floor just gave way, and all the alcohol drains from his system in an instant.

“Rowan Yao?”

Standing in front of him like it’s nothing.

Rowan, who snorted when she laughed and sat with her legs spread apart like a man, who roughhoused with the other boys without a care. Rowan, who had trouble fitting in with the other girls, and always preferred denim overalls and jeans over the dresses she’s forced to wear on Sundays.

Before Rhett can take it back, he’s already said her name out loud.

…Her? No, that’s not who’s standing in front of Rhett now. That don’t sound right.

Rowan notices the stare, the stalled recognition. With his hands in his pockets, he shrugs, like he’s used to confusing the people around him. “Yeah. Been a while, I know.”

That’s one way to put it.

Rhett’s mouth goes dry; suddenly he feels like he’s thirteen again.

“I–I, uh…” he wants to punch himself. “I thought you were in Chicago.”

“I was. Jin asked me to take care of Mom while he’s out, so… Here I am. Got back here just a few days ago.”

Rowan’s voice is deeper. Her His shoulders are broader. Hair short. Jaw shadowed with stubble. But her his smile’s the same, lopsided and dimpled like Rhett remembers from summer afternoons at the ranch, barefoot and laughing, wrestling in the dry grass until Cecilia called them in for dinner.

He has that same spark in her eyes. Tawny, firelit. Like at any time he’s going to rag on Rhett for something he did or poke all the spots he’s ticklish, just like she used to.

Rhett clears his throat. “Oh, yeah. My mom’s mentioned Holly a few times. Said it’s been getting pretty bad lately? Repeats conversations within the minute, forgets people’s names.”

Rowan nods along. “She thinks I’m Jin most days, or even Dad. I just play along, I mean, I look like this now, after all.” he breathes out through his nose, a hollow and rueful noise as he gestures towards himself. “It’s rough. And that’s just the half of it.”

Rhett looks down at his bottle, thumb scraping the blue label. Holly, like most older women in Wabang, didn’t take shit from anyone. She never let anything slip by her – not at church, not in town. She always brought baked goods and the latest town gossip to the dinner table.

Rhett was always a bit scared of her. He can see exactly where her kids get their strong personalities. But to have a mind like hers unravel so quickly…

“I’m sorry to hear it,” he responds, “Can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like.”

“It’s fine,” Rowan shrugs, “Well, it’s not, but… you get it.”

At one of the corner booths, a group of bull riders let out a burst of laughter. Rhett grimaces at the noise.

Rowan jerks his chin towards the door. “You smoke?”

“Sometimes.”

“Good,” Rowan huffs and pushes off the bar, already moving. “Come back out with me. I can barely hear myself think in here.”

Rhett hesitates. His thumb smooths over the picked out label, then slides off the stool and follows suit.

The air outside is cooler than Rhett expected. Dry. Still. The kind of stillness that makes everything louder: the buzz of the fluorescent light above them on the roof trim, the crunch of gravel beneath their boots, his own pulse, steady and loud in his ears.

It’s a quiet that breaks him open and demands veracity. He’s not sure if he can take it.

Rowan tosses a glance over his shoulder as they step into the parking lot, as if to make sure Rhett hasn’t run off yet. He leans against the log siding of the building and fishes a Marlboro pack from his jacket pocket, thumbs one loose and holds it out for Rhett.

He takes it, lets it hang between his lips, unlit. Rowan lights his own first, cupping the flame from his zippo lighter against the cool breeze. The orange glow softens his face, catches in the edge of his jaw.

Rhett’s trying to turn his gaze away but then Rowan steps closer, just at an arm’s length. It’s close enough that Rhett has to hold his breath as Rowan brings the lighter to the end of his cigarette.

He must not be as casual as he thinks he is, because he can feel Rowan’s inquisitive gaze on him. “Relax. I’m not gonna bite,” he mumbles with a low, husky chuckle. Husky. Something Rhett never thought Rowan’s voice would sound like.

The lighter flicks back to life again. Rhett dips his head and draws in, smoke filling his lungs, hot and biting. Rowan’s eyes are trained on Rhett. He quickly pulls away from the flame before he can cough and make an even bigger fool of himself.

For a while, they smoke in silence, standing side-by-side in the parking lot. Their cigarettes burn slowly between lips, between fingers. Ash falls upon the gravel like snowflakes. Rowan flicks his zippo open and shut in a languid rhythm.

Click-click.

Click-click.

“So, how long are you back for?” Rhett asks.

Rowan shrugs. “However long Jin and Mari are in Europe for. Can’t be more than four weeks.”

Click-click.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d still be here,” he adds.

“Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know. Cheyenne, or Casper. Maybe even Texas.”

Rhett chews the inside of his cheek. Smoke spills from his mouth and he can only pray that all his thoughts go out with it. He shrugs and snorts without much humor. “Well, if you saw me out there tonight, you’d know why.”

“No, I saw,” Rowan laughs, “The bull was bucking before the pen even opened. I don’t think it was all on you.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that I ate shit in front of half the county.”

“You’ll get ‘em next time, cowboy,” Rowan nudges his shoulder gently against Rhett’s, echoing Perry’s words from earlier. “I’ll cheer for you on the next one.”

Click-click.

Now it’s Rhett’s turn to stare. He watches the curve of Rowan’s throat when he swallows, how he purses his lips with each puff of smoke. The air is still heavy with all the things Rhett has to relearn and unlearn about the brand new man standing next to him.

“You remember when we used to wrestle out back behind your dad’s barn?” Rowan says with a small laugh, “You got mud in my hair and my mom got so mad at you.”

Ah yes, one of the moments that made him terrified of Rowan’s mom for years. The corner of Rhett’s mouth twitches slightly and he hangs his head low as though to conceal it. His smile widens nonetheless. He shakes his head and says, “Oh, my God. You kept overreacting about it, too. Made it so much worse.”

“I was in the hot tub for almost an hour before dinner, and I could hear Cecilia telling you off outside the bathroom.” Rowan continues. The smoke leaves his lips while he laughs.

“And you tackled me first, by the way. Then when I returned the favor I got in trouble.”

“Oh, c’mon, you liked it. You had fun.” And there it is again, that mischievous glint in Rowan’s eyes. The same one he had when they were kids and about to do something stupid.

Rhett rolls his eyes and takes a long drag to keep himself from smiling too hard. It doesn’t help. Something warm creeps up at the back of his neck. He flicks away the ashes on the end of his cigarette.

The lull that follows doesn’t feel as oppressive anymore.

Click-click.

“Everything was just easier back then. I think about it a lot.”

I don’t, Rhett thinks. I try not to.

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so the silence stretches until it becomes uncomfortable yet again.

Then Rowan shifts in front of him, blocking the breeze. The smoke curls and trails into the air as the cigarette dangles between his lips. He smirks and holds his arms up defensively. He resembles those tough guys in street fight movies. “What if we tussled, right now? For old times’ sake.”

Rhett blinks and stares at Rowan dubiously. That’s the furthest thing from what Rhett wants to do at the moment. “What?”

“What if we tussled right now?” Rowan repeats, “C’mon. You used to pin me every time. Thought you might want your ego back after tonight.” He gives Rhett a series of playful air punches to the chest, making dumb sound effects with each blow.

“I heard you the first time. No, I’m good.”

“Scared you’ll lose?” Rowan teases.

This time, Rhett’s tone is sharper. “I said no, man.”

Rowan doesn’t stop, doesn’t listen. Before Rhett can step aside, he finds himself grabbed by the shirt collar and shoved back against the wall. The log siding hits Rhett’s back with a thud. He braces instinctively, and a dull pain sears through his bad wrist. The cigarette falls from his hand and lands between their boots.

Rowan’s smoke rolls, hot and suffocating between them. Rhett doesn’t dare to breathe it in.

They’re close, too close. Rowan’s hand stays pressed against Rhett’s chest with a surprising amount of strength (yet another new thing Rhett is learning about him), but not firm enough to keep Rhett from breaking free if he wants to.

“You always act like you’re afraid of me.” Rowan grits out. The cigarette on his lips bobs with every word.

He gets a strained whisper in response. “I’m not.”

“Then what is it?”

He doesn’t have an answer. He stands there, unmoving. He swallows thickly and notices Rowan’s eyes trailing at his Adam’s apple.

Eventually, Rowan figures that getting Rhett to admit anything is a futile effort. He sighs and steps back like letting go of a live wire, hands in a placating gesture. He flicks the last of his cigarette away. It arcs through the dark like a meteor and lands with a hiss in the gravel.

Click-click.

He snaps his zippo shut with a metallic finality. Tongue in cheek and biting himself back from saying anything else.

“...I’ll see you around, Rhett.” he tosses one last look over his shoulder and heads for his car.

Rhett doesn’t move, still braced against the wall. He only allows himself to breathe after the headlights sweep the lot and Rowan’s car fades into the distance. A pathetic, shaky sigh.

The weight on his chest lingers after Rowan is gone. He tells himself it’s the drinks. It’s the shitty ride. The wrist. Just a shit night all around.

Whatever makes it all go down easier.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[bobfloydsbabe]

arranged marriage au | rhett abbott x oc | sneak peek

Author's Note: This story it set at the turn of the 20th century, somewhere around 1899-1901. I haven't quite decided yet, but it's important context for this story. Women did not have a lot of autonomy at this time, which is reflected in Rhett and Lou's conversation in this sneak peek. Is the timeline right in a historical context? Probably not, but it's fiction, so I can do what I want. Enjoy!

Release Date: Unclear

“Louisa.”

“What?” Her face is all hard lines and thundering eyes. Something twists inside him at the sight of her ire.

“I don’t want to own you,” he says and steps closer, dirt crunching under his worn boots. “Your life is your own, even after we marry.”

She shakes her head, tears pooling in her dark eyes, making his chest feel tight. He yearns to move even closer, wrap his arms around her, and assure her that he doesn’t mean her any harm. Despite not having a choice, he wants to marry her. He wants to build a life and have a family with her.

He’s halfway in love with her already. He hopes one day she’ll love him too.

“You say that now,” she says, tears in her voice as she speaks. “But then I’ll argue or refuse to listen, and you’ll remind me you’re the man and you get the final say. You may not want to, but you will own me.”

Now he shakes his head, disbelief coursing through his veins. It’s the most preposterous thing he’s ever heard, and he hates that she thinks that way about him.

“Louisa,” he breathes, her name like a prayer on his lips as he closes the distance between them. “You belong to you. Not your father or to me or to anyone, and I’ll do what I can to prove it to you.”

She meets his gaze, bottom lip wobbling as she tries to hold back sobs. “You swear?”

He nods, lifts his hands and tentatively cups her cheeks. “I swear.”

Tension hangs heavy in the air between them, and without thinking, Rhett bends his head down towards hers. His heart thunders in his chest as their breaths mix, and heat blooms under his palms as Louisa’s cheeks grow red.

Their lips are a hair’s breadth from touching when a horse neighs, making her pull back and Rhett’s hands fall back at his side.

“I should get you home.”

He offers the crook of his arm, and she weaves her hand into it, letting him lead her to their horses. Their boots drag across the dirt, and Rhett helps her up on Sally, the reddish brown mare that belongs to his almost wife.

He settles on Blazer, and they begin the ride back to the Kinney Ranch.

“Rhett?”

If her scent didn’t linger, he might’ve forgotten she was even there. He looks to his right and finds her watching him, maybe even with a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“The house is lovely,” she tells him, tone shy and withdrawn for the first time since he’s known her.

likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are golden

TAGLIST: @bobgasm, @attapullman, @cherrycola27, @bradshawsbaby, @kmc1989, @keyrani

[elizaaudreyy]

Late Nights and Laced Fingers

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x female!oc Word Count: 1372

The ride had been brutal.

Eight seconds of hell on the back of a pissed-off, two-ton beast named Devil's Backbone. Rhett had barely held on, his knuckles white, jaw clenched as the bull bucked hard enough to rattle his spine. When the buzzer blared, he dismounted with a stumble, landing rough on one knee. Shiloh's heart was still racing long after he gave his half-smile and raised a hand to signal he was alright. But she knew better.

By the time they got back to the ranch, Rhett was walking like he had steel rods jammed in his legs. His shirt was stained with sweat and dust, and his body winced with every movement. Shiloh didn't even let him argue.

"Sit down, I'll run you a bath," she said, her tone leaving no room for debate.

He opened his mouth to protest, but when she turned and gave him a look, one brow arched, he just grunted and sat on the edge of the bed like an obedient, aching cowboy.

She filled the tub with steaming water, adding the Epsom salts she kept for his rodeo nights and a few drops of lavender oil - though she'd never admit to that part if he asked. When it was ready, she came to the doorway, crossing her arms.

"Alright, cowboy. Strip."

He gave her a tired, crooked grin. "You gonna join me?"

She rolled her eyes but didn't say no.

Minutes later, Rhett settled into the steaming tub with a groan that sounded like relief and exhaustion all rolled into one. His muscles slowly began to unclench, the pain of the ride, dulling under the hot water. Shiloh slipped in after him, her back pressed gently against his chest as his arms looped around her waist, fingers brushing lazy circles on her stomach.

Neither of them spoke much. They didn't need to.

She leaned her head back against his shoulder. He pressed soft, lingering kissed to the side of her face, her jaw, her neck. The kind of kisses that weren't trying to lead anywhere. Just there - comforting, grateful, tired.

"I hate that bull," she muttered eventually.

"Yeah, well," Rhett said, his voice rumbling against her back. "Devil's Backbone hate me back."

She snorted and kissed his arm. It was quiet again after that, the only sounds he soft slosh of water and the occasional press of a kiss. Until -

Perry's voice rang out from down the hall. "Hey, I saw Rhett's truck, I thought-"

The door swung open.

Silence.

Frozen horror.

Then -

"Oh, shit!"

SLAM.

Shiloh yelped and ducked lower into the water, hands flying up to cover herself, even though Rhett's arms were already there, shielding her protectively.

Rhett blinked once. Twice. Then groaned, head falling back against the tub's edge.

"Jesus Christ, Perry!"

Shiloh's face was beet red. "He saw - he saw - oh my God."

"Yup," Rhett muttered, voice tense. "Saw everything. Just his dumb luck to walk in right when your boobs decided to make an appearance."

"Rhett!"

He winced. "Sorry, sorry."

There was a muffled voice through the door. "I swear to God I didn't know! I didn't see anything - I mean, I did, but I didn't mean to-"

"Go away, Perry!" Rhett barked.

"Already gone!" Perry shouted, his footsteps pounding down the hall as he retreated.

Shiloh buried her face in her hands, mortified. "I'm never showing my face at the ranch again."

Rhett wrapped his arms tighter around her and kissed her shoulder. "You'll be fine. Perry's the one who's gotta live with the trauma of seeing his baby brother's girl naked."

She groaned louder, slumping into his chest. "You're not helping."

He chuckled - then winced, the movement jostling a bruise somewhere deep. "Hurts to laugh. But damn if it wasn't worth it."

She peeked up at him, exasperated. "You're impossible."

"And you," he said, nudging her nose with his, "are perfect. Even if Perry now knows exactly how perfect."

She splashed him in the face.

He grinned anyway.

The next morning at the Abbott ranch was unusually quiet - too quiet, considering Rhett and Perry were both home a neither of them had managed to start an argument over coffee of the state of the fence line yet.

Cecilia noticed first.

She stood at the stove flipping bacon, her eyes flicking toward the table where her youngest son sat beside Shiloh, his arm draped lazily over the back of her chair. He was buttering a biscuit like he hadn't nearly broken his entire body yesterday, or - more importantly - like nothing had happened at all.

Perry, on the other hand, was acting like the biscuit in front of him might bite him if he looked at it too long. Or maybe if he looked anywhere but his plate. His face was bright red. He kept sipping from his coffee like it might help him disappear.

Amy, still in her pajamas, was humming quietly as she drew on the back of a feed invoice with her crayons.

Royal sat at the head of the table, newspaper in hand, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. Except for the way his eyes kept drifting over the top of the page to Rhett and Shiloh, narrowing just slightly.

Cecilia finally broke the silence.

"Alright. What happened?"

Perry nearly choked on his coffee.

Rhett paused mid-chew. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Cecilia said, setting the spatula down with a firm clatter, "Perry's been avoiding eye contact since breakfast started, you two are acting like nothing's wrong, and Royal's pretending not to be eavesdropping."

"I am not eavesdropping," Royal muttered without looking up from the paper.

Shiloh looked like she wanted to melt into her seat. Rhett, unbothered, popped a piece of bacon in his mouth and leaned back in his chair.

Perry groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

"No," he mumbled. "I can't. I can't talk about it."

Cecilia raised her brows. "Perry."

"I walked in on them," he blurted out, voice strained. "In the tub. Together."

There was a beat of silence.

Shiloh's face went crimson instantly. Rhett stiffened but stayed quiet. Cecilia's eyes went wide as she instinctively reached across the table and slapped both hands over Amy's ears.

Amy blinked up at her grandma. "Why are you touching my ears?"

"Just keep drawing, sweetheart," Cecilia said tightly.

Royal slowly folded his newspaper. "Define 'walked in'."

"I didn't know they were back!" Perry cried. "I was going to take a show - I opened the door and bam! there they were! Rhett was in the tub and so was Shiloh and - and I saw - things I didn't wanna see!"

Ceclila let out a horrified, strangled gasp and covered Amy’s ears even harder.

“Perry!”

“I tried to leave immediately!” he defended. “I slammed the door! I ran! My brain is permanently damaged!”

“You’ve got a kid, Perry, I think you’ll survive a pair of boobs,” Rhett muttered.

Perry pointed at him, eyes wild. “Those boobs were not for my eyes!”

Shiloh groaned into her hands. “Please, can we stop talking about my boobs at breakfast?”

“Thank you!” Cecilia huffed, finally removing her hands from Amy’s head. “This is a family kitchen, not a frat house. And Amy does not need to be hearing about any of this.”

Amy, ever curious, blinked. “What’s a frat house?”

“Nope,” Cecilia said quickly. “Not today.”

Royal leaned back in his chair and took a slow sip of coffee, hiding a smirk behind his mug. “Guess next time you two decide to soak, you oughta lock the damn door.”

“Next time?!” Perry cried.

“Royal!” Cecilia snapped.

“What?” he shrugged. “They’re adults.”

Shiloh buried her face into Rhett’s shoulder. Rhett, now grinning like the troublemaker he was, kissed the top of her head. “Told you it’d blow over.”

“I hate all of you,” Perry muttered.

Amy looked up again, totally unaware. “I drew a horse.”

“Good,” Cecilia said quickly. “Let’s talk about that. Please.”

As the conversation mercifully shifted to Amy’s artwork, Perry reached blindly for his coffee, still red in the face. Rhett leaned toward him just enough to whisper out of the corner of his mouth:

“Nice to know my girl made an impression.”

“Rhett!”

“Alright! I’m done, I’m done.”

[lskywalkers]

My OCs

Noah Stark- Marvel

Born: February 6th 2001

Parent: Tony Stark

Powers: trained assassin (trained by Natasha Romanoff), eventual Ironman suit

S/O: Peter Parker

Sexuality: Gay

Pronouns: he/ him

Age as of Thunderbolts*: 21 (blipped)

Eventual CEO of Stark Industries

Elio Bridor -Star Wars

Born: 18 BBY

Planet: Alderaan

Age: 18 (ANH), 20 (ESB), 21 (ROTJ)

S/O: Luke Skywalker

Sexuality: Gay

Pronouns: he/him

Starfighter pilot

Rebecca Reynolds- Marvel

Born: January 29th 1996

Sibling: Robert Reynolds (twin, estranged)

Age as of 2027: 26 (blipped)

Powers: self trained assassin

S/O: Ava Starr

Sexuality: lesbian

Pronouns: she/her

Member of The New Avengers

Ivy Mitchell- Top Gun

Born: April 12th 1998

Parent: Pete Mitchell

Age as of 2022: 24

S/O: Robert Floyd

Sexuality: straight

Pronouns: she/her

Medic

Jackie Houston- Outer Range

Born: June 14th 1996

Age as of 2022: 26

S/O: Rhett Abbott

Sexuality: bisexual

Pronouns: she/her

Barmaid

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

Cowgirl Royalty - "I'm...A princess...Shut up!" At twenty-four, Tessa Abernathy pretty much has her life figured out. A barrel racer, a volunteer at the Amelia County Boy's Home, running the cabin rental side of her parent's business, and going on a casual date with her high-school crush Rhett Abbott. But when she learns that her birth father has died and her estranged grandmother is coming to town, Tessa learns far more than she ever bargained for. In fact, it's going to change her life forever. ╰┈➤ the princess diaries rhett // tess au that is a little silly but everything to me. an official post for this moodboard cause i like the way it turned out

[theres-a-bea]

Penance and Piety | r. abbott

pairing: rhett abbott x ofc (original female character)

word count: 3.2k (to be updated)

warning/s: mentions of death, nicotine and liquor use, depictions of depression and ptsd, angst, yearning, yearning, yearning...

summary: Rhett Abbott finds himself meeting a pair of eyes he once thought he would never be able to see in his lifetime again.

ao3 link here

The walk back to his truck was a haze as he nursed his wrist with his good hand, hoping to catch a drink at the Gambler after the loss he’d just had. Last ride of the year, and he’d come in last with the furious hunk of a bull paired with him. There was no riding in Texas by January, not until the spring, where he’d be back to working his way up to regionals again.

As much as he hated being idle, he hated how far he is again from leaving for good, his step forward useless from the three he had to take backwards after that loss. It was still the goal, of course, the thought of Maria wasn’t going to be an obstacle for him eventually leaving town. He’d be grateful for it, even, to no longer be able to see any traces of her or anyone else who’s ever left him behind in every place he stepped foot in.

He gave a kick against his tyre. It was weak, a lame one that couldn’t possibly express the despondence in his stomach. If he were angrier, maybe it could’ve been a little harder, but he found he was numb to anything else beyond exhaustion.

There would be no time for a drink tonight.

My hand slipped oopsie tee hee I didn't mean it

I country boy I love youuuuuu 👅'd too close to the sun and ended up with a new fic outside of my other wips please I need to be shot in point blank I wrote this after watching the crush edit one too many damn times and realised I had to MOVE

[sarahsmi13s]

|| multiverse of masterlists | sarahsmi13s ||

hello my darlings and welcome to my multiverse! here you can find all of my main masterlists! from fanfics to moodboards -- it's all here! and i hope you enjoy your stay!

pssst you can also find me on wattpad

have fun!!

everything is under the cut 💜

hello my little cassettes!

as most of you know or don't know, i'm vinny! or sarah! whichever you're familiar with is fine!

here are some guidelines!

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alright, now onto the fun stuff!

here you can find moodboards -> vinny's moodboard multiverse

here you can find stories about our lovely aviators -> top gun masterlist

-> general taglist

here you can find stories about cowboys -> outer range masterlist

-> general taglist

here you will be able to find some of your favorite heroes -> there will be a masterlist here soon

here you can find random characters and events!

-> whumptober 2023/2024

-> walt 'finn' finnegan

-> taglist

-> charlie young -- coming soon

-> taglist

in progress…

[delopsia]

Please [Rewrite] | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 9,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, begging, handjobs, teasing, grinding in public, riding, unprotected sex, surprise orgasms. Cock warming and edging if you squint. Brief Summary: Getting Rhett to beg isn't as easy as it's cracked up to be.

It's not easy to break down a man like Rhett Abbott.

The kind of blue-collar man who has only ever known one way of life, maybe two, if he's lucky. Expected to be tough from the moment he took his first breath; raised to forget emotion in favor of building up a mountainous, rocky exterior that does not give way when the west wind blows. Thick-skinned and with a backbone made of steel, the kind of man who can roll with the punches but carries just enough humanity to avoid coming off as soulless or dull. 

So strong, yet so afraid of the word 'weak'.  His power, his dominance, clutched tight in an iron fist, never to be let go of, even for a second. Too used to this one way of life that he fears the slightest hint of an unknown, of losing control, getting himself hurt, and being stripped of the precious title of being a man. 

And it's small towns like Wabang that will forever cry about such nonsensical ways of living for the sake of tradition. A place trained to think that change—that weakness is always a bad thing. 

So many generations of passing along crippling expectations have led you to this. 

Here. Gazing into the wide, frightened eyes of a cowboy who has long since tucked himself into the far side of your couch like a cornered animal. 

"Absolutely fuckin' not," you wonder if he knows how pitchy his voice has grown within the past thirty seconds. "I ain't...that's—what kind of man do y' take me for?"

A man who's too horny to be so vanilla, but that's neither here nor there.

Your eyes dart to your laptop screen, still paused on the video that sent him into this downward spiral in the first place, then back up to his pale face. "It's not that bad in the grand scheme of things." And you're about to follow that up with a list of worse suggestions, but he doesn't give you the chance to.

"I ain't beggin' to cum," he blurts it like he won't be able to say no if he doesn't get it out of his mouth quick enough.

Curious, your head tilts to the side. "Not even once?" 

"No. That's..." hesitating. Hasn't gotten to think that far, gears twisting and turning in his head as he searches for the words he wants to say, "It's demeanin'. That's what it is."

You suppose you can guess what his reaction to toy handcuffs would be. 

The conversation drops just as quickly as it was started with closing up your laptop and pressing play on the movie that you've long since forgotten about. Resuming that same steamy scene, the main character grinning at the way her love interest's face contorts as she squeezes him at his base, denying him what she's just worked him up to.

"Say please," she whispers, so eloquently and feather-light that it sticks in your head. 

But you can hardly pay attention because, in the corner of your eye, you've caught him. 

Those ocean-blue eyes have long since fixated on the screen. Shameless. Doesn't realize you've caught the way his cock twitches in his sweats, hand curling into a shaky fist. Clinging to a composure that you've only seen him lose when he's had one too many at the bar. 

...so that's how it's going to be. 

Alright, two can play this game. 

Or maybe you're the only one who's playing because Rhett seems to forget the conversation before the night is over. Blissfully unaware of the plan that's formulating in the back of your mind. Bits and pieces of thoughts and memories coming together to build a grand scheme so elaborate that you catch yourself taking notes on your phone.

And so what if you let him bend you over the kitchen counter when you know full well that your plan explicitly involves denying him sex out of hopes of him getting desperate? You needed the refresher on what makes him tick. 

Starting out slow is the key to flying below Rhett's radar. Observant to a fault, so sensitive to change that he notices the tiny, inconspicuous things, like that time your thermostat was set a degree higher than normal. All you had done was accidentally hit the button one too many times, but there he came, kissing up the back of your neck as he asked if you were cold.

So it's a fine line that you straddle when you begin to take up extra shifts at work. Offhandedly telling him that one of your co-workers is pregnant and needs the help. It's not a total lie. You just...happen to be leaving out the fact that she's only three months along. 

And so what if you start spending more time with your friends? Always seeming to be wrapped up in a new outing that leaves you too sleepy to entertain the sweet cowboy who grinds up against your ass. His lips peppering across every inch of exposed skin he can find, three-day-old scruff tickling you. 

"You sure you're feelin' alright?" He murmurs, and you can't see him, but you can feel the way his eyebrows furrow, laced with a concern that you've seen too many times recently. "Y've been tired all week."

Oh, oh, oh, you shouldn't have looked down. 

Had only been meaning to avoid meeting his eye in the mirror, but now you've found yourself fixated on the forearms that have long since wrapped around your waist. Rippling muscles and protruding veins, putting on a mouth-watering show, all for you. 

"Haven't been sleeping well, I suppose," your weight shifts, leaning back into that familiar, firm chest, tilting your head until your cheek bumps into his. 

The entire point of this plan is to string him out until he's desperate. So worked up and needy that rationality and higher thinking go out the window, too focused on getting what he's craving that he doesn't care about how. The same kind of tunnel vision that he gets when he climbs on the back of a bull fixated on the title, the infamy, the belt buckle that comes with winning the Amelia County Finals. 

But God, settling for toys after he leaves your house just isn't the same as the real thing. 

And maybe that's why you don't stop yourself from pressing your ass against him. 

Can't stop. 

A soft grinding backward that has him twitching up into you, hard cock straining against the thin material of his sweats. Firm. Dripping. All for you to feel and gasp at. Giving in to him one time can't hurt.

Yeah...yeah, one time isn't all that bad. 

"Thought y' were tired," that sinful, hot mouth presses wet kisses at the juncture of your jaw, where it meets your neck. Has long since figured out that it'll make your knees wobble if he does it right. "Not that 'm complainin'."

Your socks slip against the tile floor as you spin in his arms. Noses bumping into one another. So close that you can spot the vague constellations of freckles hidden along his pale face. Not quite as expansive as the ones on his shoulders, but just as marvelous. 

The open palm of your hand flattens against him, blatantly cupping him through his sweats, "I guess it's up to you to keep me from falling asleep then."

Those long eyelashes flutter. Each pass over his iris leaves them a shade darker, shifting like a mood ring. The corner of his lip rises, a chipped canine tooth glinting in the light, "think I can help y' with that." 

You don't make it to the bedroom, finding yourself bent over the arm of the couch as your oversized cowboy fucks you from behind. His thighs trembling against yours, grunting into your ear. So, so sensitive from your lack of rendezvous. You're getting somewhere with him. Making progress. Grinding him down to a neediness that overrides the thoughts drilled into his pretty head. 

But oh, is it difficult. 

Getting out of bed the next morning had might as well be the worst thing you've ever done. Because as soon as you turn around, toothbrush in your mouth as you peek into the bedroom, you meet a pair of sweet blue eyes. Big hands open, fingers wiggling as he tries to lure you back into his arms, tucked up against his naked body. 

"Come back," he whines, squinting to see you through the blinding bathroom light, "'m cold."

You've still got to get yourself dressed and ready to go out; you've got festival plans and friends that will badger you to no end if you cancel on them for the second year in a row. But your sweet cowboy provides such a convincing argument when a yawn breaks across his face, still trying to beckon you back into bed.

"I promised I wouldn't cancel this year," you don't know if you're justifying it to yourself or him, maybe both. "I'm sorry." 

The corners of his eyes fall, almost pouting. Like a puppy who's just been kicked, those big eyes drop down to the bed. Only to flicker back up at you, some insistent spark of hope glinting across his face, "five more minutes?"

...oh, what the hell. 

"Five more minutes," you repeat, and this time, you know you're directing them toward yourself. 

Because Rhett Abbott's arms are like velcro. Nearly impossible to escape once he's curled them around you, securing you to his broad chest as he subjects you to a flurry of thank-you kisses peppered across your cheeks. So soft and ticklish, the kind that has you squirming and dodging his incessant mouth.

As quickly as it starts, it ends. Settling into a comfortable silence as Rhett nuzzles his cold nose against your forehead, absolutely determined to steal your body heat away from you. His icy fingers dancing up and down your back, tracing idle shapes into the skin there. Any colder, and you think he might start getting icicles in his hair. 

And it's only October. Winter isn't even in full swing yet.

"You're so busy anymore," he whispers, not quite meeting your eye, "ain't got to cuddle in forever."

Your hand tangles through his hair, unable to avoid acknowledging the way he nudges into your touch, "I'm sorry." 

On its own, your mind wanders. Unleashed, free to roam the possibilities and what ifs. Whether this whole shtick of yours is even worth it or not. If sitting him down and getting to the bottom of his fear is what you should actually be doing. If he would even listen or if he would fly into another stonewalled panic.

And then there are your plans. You've been jittering over the thought of this festival for weeks, but you've missed these arms, this man, even more. Him, the sweet kiss he's pressing to your forehead and the muscles that ripple as he pulls you closer. Like he'll be able to keep you here forever if he tries hard enough. 

"Do you want to come with us?" You mutter, after a moment, or twelve. 

His eyebrows rise, forehead wrinkling with it. "Hm?"

"To the festival, I mean," you're pretty sure you can already hear the answer; he's never been much for these types of events. Not the type to peruse through shops and look at things that you don't technically need. 

Blue eyes dart across your face, searching for something. Or maybe he's thinking, considering. "Well, I ain't got nothin' else planned," he says after a moment. 

Inviting him goes against every bit of meticulous planning you've done these past few weeks. Completely uproots the purpose of your scheme and turns it on its head. But for some reason, you can't bring yourself to be worried about it in the slightest. Holding his big hand as you walk out to your car like it was always meant to work out this way.

Even as you settle behind the steering wheel, fumbling with your keys, the only thing you feel is giddy. 

The car shakes as Rhett all but falls into the passenger seat. Knees knocking into the dash. 

"Holy shit," he swears, legs awkwardly propped against the glove compartment. The seat far too far forward for his stature, quite nearly folding him in half. "Was your last passenger a gnome?"

Over his shoulder, you think you can see his hat sitting on the ground. Knocked clean off his head.

"How many times are you gonna do this before you learn to quit falling into my car?" Your eyes roll on their own accord, twisting the key in the ignition. You've long since lost count of how many times he's done this, foolishly tossing himself into the seat without bothering to check if he's big enough to fit. 

"Dunno," the seat groans as Rhett pushes it as far back as it'll go, freeing himself of his self-made prison. "How many more times are you fixin' to be a gnome chauffeur?"

At least your car doesn't have a busted side mirror from a bar fight, but you'll be saving that comment for another time.

A part of you isn't entirely sure why Rhett agreed to come to this festival. He said he didn't have anything else to do, sure, but if that's the case, then he would have tagged along to a lot, lot more invitations. So what gives? Is he lonely? Longing for the tranquility of being by your side?

Or did he just want to stare at your ass this entire time? 

You can feel him. Heated gaze locked onto your backside as you meander through booth after booth like he'll miss something crucial if he tears his gaze away for too long. Thick arms crossed in front of his chest, biceps straining against his white t-shirt, and chewing on the inside of his cheek. Looks like he just walked out of a damn magazine. 

But he always looks like he just walked out of a magazine, and he's looked you over with that hungry gaze so many times that it shouldn't make your knees wobble. Weakened just by his sheer presence, and it's not fair. 

This wasn't a part of your plan at all. He's the one who's supposed to be so eager and desperate that he throws reason out the window. But instead, it's you who is considering pushing him up against the trunk of this Oak tree, dropping to your knees, and sucking him off right in the middle of this festival. Uncaring of the greedy eyes and unwitting ears who may become witness to it.  

You don't quite recall picking up this knick-knack, a ceramic cow, pink and white in color, and missing one of her legs. It's cold in your palm, just enough to draw you from your stupor, brushing away the heated clouds fogging your thoughts.

If you're aching, then surely he is, too. His sex drive has always been a smidgen higher than your own, raring to go at the drop of a hat. So if you're weak in the knees over his sheer presence, then he must be even worse. 

Your head turns; fully prepared and ready for what darkened gaze you may find. 

...except he's not looking.

No, he's got something small in the palm of his hand, grinning down at it like it's some great discovery. His warm eyes flick up to meet your face, setting your cheeks alight. 

"Found the fella you've been drivin' 'round," he chirps, holding the little thing out for you to see. A three-inch tall gnome with a tall orange hat, oversized nose poking out the bottom. Fits perfectly in his grasp, fluffy, unruly white beard waving in the breeze. "Think I should grow a beard like that?" 

"Only if you wear the funny hat," you wink, just for extra measure. 

The last thing you're expecting is for him to buy it. Carrying the little thing about like it's a faithful companion, only putting it down to fight with you over who is paying for your things because he might just die if you pay for that t-shirt with your own money. Unaware that you'll just stick the cash in his wallet when he's asleep tonight. 

You've been foiled by a two-dollar gnome. 

Takes a good two days for you to get ahold of yourself, fighting urges that aren't helped by the cowboy who keeps reminding you that he's feeling it, too. The both of you dangling by a single thread, waiting to see who breaks first. 

And it's almost you.

God, it's almost you. 

Because Sunday rolls around with a vengeance that torments you from the moment your eyes open in the morning, overcome with a heat so strong that it ought to burn you alive. Biting at an invisible bit, getting yourself off in pure silence while Rhett bustles about in the living room. Mere yards away, one call of his name and you know he'd be on his knees in an instant, eager to taste you on his tongue, but your plan. You can't abandon your plan.

But it's nothing compared to the rodeo. The adrenaline that leaves your hands shaking even after Rhett has fallen off the bull and stumbled out of the arena. Trembling like the leaves in the brutal autumn breeze, crisp but with a sinister bite that you recognize as the beginnings of winter. 

It's the kind of sharpness that almost manages to distract you from the chapped lips kissing up the back of your neck. The vibrations of a cowboy's voice as he murmurs your name over and over like an incantation. A spell thats got you leaning into him, feeling the way he strains against his tattered jeans, pressing into the curve of your ass.

"Darlin'," blazing breath tickles your ear, his teeth grazing the shell of it, "what d' ya say we got outta here, hm?"

The edges of your composure are crumbling faster than you can glue them back together. Rhyme and reason whisked away by the wind, and suddenly, you can't remember all the reasons why you've been holding out on him. No longer caught up in the possibilities of what Rhett must sound like when he begs.

All you can think of is this. Now. The oversized hands dragging up your sides and the gentle suction at the soft spot of your neck. This man and the faint remnants of his leathery cologne, and how you're going to make it to the truck without getting—

"Rhett!" A familiar voice calls out, spurs echoing down the empty walkway. "Rhett!" 

All of a sudden, your backside is cold as Rhett steps away. Mere seconds before the familiar, gruff face of his best friend comes around the corner. How did he know to look for you behind the concession stands? 

 "The fuck y' doin' out 'ere?" It's dark, but you can still see the way Archie's hands fly up, only to fall back down and smack against his thighs. 

"Fixin' to go home?" Rhett grumbles it like a question, his head tilting to the side.

Archie's silence is...deafening. His shadowy figure is still as can be, and it's not directed at you at all, but even you can feel the daggers he's staring into Rhett's forehead. You don't recall any post-rodeo bonfire being scheduled for tonight, and it's far too quiet for the rodeo to be still going. 

But right as you're beginning to think that the vicious wind has frozen Archie solid, his mouth opens. "Y' done fuckin' forgot 'bout th' paper comin' t' take pictures t'night."

Pictures. 

That's right, the Amelia County newspaper was planning to put the bull riders on the front page. How did you manage to forget about that?

To say that you were saved by the skin of your teeth is an understatement. By the time they let Rhett and the other riders go home for the night, adrenaline has worn off, leaving behind a yawning husk of a man who can hardly keep his eyes open. Struggling to stand upright in the shower as you rinse the shampoo from his hair, too tired to bend you over the nearest surface and break you down.

He's cracking. 

You're cracking. 

Getting up for work in the morning is harder than you ever remember it being, and those extra hours drag by slower than a snail race. You want to go home. Fuck, you want to snuggle up to Rhett on the couch and let his chaste kisses devolve into sloppy ones that trail down your naked chest. But giving up now means all of this was for nothing. 

So you keep drowning yourself in work. Turning down every too-heated kiss and stepping out of his arms before they can start to test the waters. Getting up early to walk back into the gates of hell, away from the heaven that is Rhett Abbott. 

Until once again, your week is over, and Sunday has rolled around with the same vigor as it did before. 

This week's rodeo is different, about two hours away from home, on the border of Wyoming and Idaho. Some tiny town you've never heard of, the kind of place that only recently got two stoplights installed. Home to a whopping three hundred, with incredible landmarks such as a mom-and-pop gas station and a bank that's been set up on the first floor of someone's townhouse. 

The hotel is a floor above the only bar in town. It's not much, just enough space for a queen-sized bed, a television stand, and a bathroom so small Rhett can hardly turn around in it. Still better than driving an hour to a motel whose Google reviews promise a complimentary inclusion of bed bugs.

By some catastrophe, the rodeo grounds are far too small for the amount of people traveling to see the event. Already flooded with locals by the time you get there, a sea of fold-out chairs taking up every bit of free space that can be found. Even Cecelia's been outwitted, forced to dig her stash of chairs from the back of Royal's truck. She's brought just enough to seat all of you.

At least, she did. 

"You're in my seat," you grumble, squinting down at the cowboy who has already locked his eyes on the cheese fries you've got in your hand. The fruit of your efforts for standing in line for thirty minutes. 

"I know it," Rhett's big hand pats his thigh, inviting you into what is certainly a trap. 

But all you can think about is how he's supposed to be over by the chutes, warming up for a ride. Your head twists to look over at the empty side of the arena, then back to his stupid, smug face. 

"We got delayed," he continues, seems to have heard your question without you needing to voice it, "Somethin' 'bout technical difficulties." 

You're going to have technical difficulties.

Sitting in his lap isn't anything new. Not by a long shot. But there's something about doing it now. When you're still hanging on to your composure by a singular thread, nearly set off by the wrinkles of his jeans against your thighs. 

A part of you only means to readjust yourself. To squirm a little further backward so that you can comfortably lean against his chest. You don't intend to push your ass into his half-hard cock, but you do, and it's got him choking around the fry he's stolen.

"Oops" is all you can be bothered to provide because, though it wasn't on purpose, you certainly intend on doing it again. 

It's not hard to disguise. Not when Cecelia covers the two of you in a blanket, fussing over your choice of a short-sleeved shirt, saying that just the sight of you is making her cold. Unintentionally handing you the perfect shield, blocking the view of your hips as they begin to squirm. Subtly grinding down into that rapidly growing bulge, basking in the way his breath hitches, a strong arm curling across your waist.

"Y'd better not be tryin' t' get me all riled up, sweetheart," he murmurs, that low tone of his tickling down your sensitive spine. Only serves to spur you on more, squirming against his cock like it'll kill you to stop. And those arms are growing tighter around you, drawing away every bit of that precious wiggle room, but he's shamelessly twitching against you. A soft noise falling from his lips as you fully settle into him now. 

Your head tilts, peering at him through your peripheral. "What're you gonna do about it if I am?" 

If he had a response conjured up, then he must have forgotten how to speak because he doesn't say anything. Just dips his head down and rests against your shoulder, helpless. So needy for something that he has no choice but to lean against you and take what you give him. Grunting under his breath, eyelashes fluttering against your exposed neck. 

The muscles in your neck strain as you crane your head back, "Not gonna stop me?" Your lips brush the lobe of his ear, a visible shiver rolling down his spine. 

Just as quickly as his head dropped, it rises, blank blue eyes staring back at you. Not a thought behind them. "Nuh-uh." 

"Rhett!" Archie's voice slices through the evening air like a knife through butter. His hat waves through the air like a flag. "Get yer ass up outta that chair! We're on!" 

Rhett's head buries back into the juncture of your collar and neck. Unshaven jaw scratching the delicate skin there as he hugs you tight, grumbling. Hardly wants to let you step out of his lap, never mind letting you escape from his wandering arms. But you're getting up anyway. Because the rodeo waits for no one, and he didn't spend the past eight years of his life chasing this dream just to give it up now. 

...that doesn't mean he won't sulk as he walks away. Broad shoulders drooping, hardly has the forethought to readjust himself in his jeans.  

Your chair feels too big now that you're alone in it. Still warm from where he once sat, and if you focus hard enough, you can almost convince yourself that you can catch the sweet notes of his cologne lingering in the breeze. Wrapping around your senses like a hug on the last day of autumn.

Or maybe that's because he's tearing through the crowd. On a one-way path back to you. 

"Rhett?" You're already rising to your feet; did he forget something? Is the rodeo being called off again? So many questions, and yet you can hardly get anything off your tongue. "What...?"

But you're only met with the chime of his spurs. Darkened eyes anchor you in place, leaving you standing in the grass like a deer in headlights. Helpless to do anything but watch as he stalks closer and closer, not a word leaving his mouth, until, until—

It's the sudden gust of wind that carries those two muttered words to your ears, "forgot somethin'." 

And then his mouth is on yours, and it's the sweetest thing you've felt all afternoon. A mere chaste peck on the lips that steals your breath from your lungs and the thoughts from your brain. 

The bumping of your noses is the only thing to shake you from your stupor. "Still needing that good luck kiss, huh?" 

A cowboy like Rhett shouldn't have the audacity to let his gaze drop to his feet, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with his million-dollar grin. But he does it anyway. Shyly peering back at you through those thick lashes. You know it's merely from the stadium lights, but that doesn't stop you from fooling yourself into believing that his eyes sparkle at the sight of you.

"Can I have 'nother?" He whispers it like a secret, only meant to be shared between the two of you. 

You would consider denying him if you hadn't already lost the ability to do that. Already reaching to curl your hands around his cheeks, drawing him in for just one more. Then you're tilting his head down and pressing another kiss to his forehead. 

"For extra measure," justifying it to yourself more than anything. 

And oh, the things you would give to stop time, just to have him a little longer. 

It feels like entire days pass before you hear his name echo from the speakers. An announcer crowing at the top of his lungs as the chute opens, and Rhett bursts out of it. His right hand held high as he clings to the back of that raging bull. Two thousand pounds of muscle threatening to throw him off. Spiraling clockwise. Never seems to have more than two feet on the ground at once. 

He's sliding. Fuck, fuck, fuck he's starting to lose his grip. But he's still on. Clinging to that thin rope. Numbers rising on the billboard. 

Five seconds.

Six. His hat flies off. You're too frozen to look and see where it went.

Seven. Perry jumps out of his seat. Shoulders blocking your view. Fucking—move! 

A shrill buzz soars through the air. So loud and abrupt that you jump at the sound of it. But Rhett's on his feet already, and so are you. Those eyes are already looking your way, full of something that you can see from all the way over here. A sparkling want, a need, spurred by the adrenaline of a ride. 

A ride that's put him further into the finals. Another advancement that'll take you further away from home. 

But you can't think about that right now. After all, it's hard to worry about whether or not you'll be able to join him for next week's rodeo when you're tearing through a crowd in an unfamiliar arena. Dodging groups, twisting past couples, and squeezing between lines that extend to the parking lot. Your head tilting. Turning. Fighting to remember where that damn riders-only entrance was. 

There he is.

Between the stand-by ambulance and the parking lot. Rubbing the juncture of his left shoulder as he stands on his top-toes, trying to pinpoint you in the crowd. There's a group of girls next to him, dressed their best as they chatter, greedy gazes looking Rhett up and down like he's a tall drink of water in the middle of a desert. 

They're pretty, the kind of girls who can pull just about anyone they want in an event like this, but Rhett's only looking at you. An oversized grin breaks across his face as he darts forward, untamed hair flowing in the breeze, all but slamming into you. 

"D'you know what y' do to me?" That deep voice rumbles into your ear. So ready, so eager that he's speaking before he's pulled you off to some place private. And he's got just enough of your leg between his that he can press that aching bulge against you. Shameless. 

"I have a little bit of an idea," and you had a follow-up to that statement, but Rhett's gotten ahold of your wrist. 

Downright hauling you toward that forbidden riders-only section, past the sign declaring that the general public isn't allowed inside, and beyond. Through crowds and past the chutes, your feet nearly tangling as you try to keep up. Until Rhett's spinning and your back is thumping against a wall before you can realize you're moving backward. 

"Someone's got it bad," you're giggling; oh, the lips on your jaw tickle. A desperate frenzy that you aren't warmed up for and can't squirm out of.

"Yeah, wonder why," but you can feel the way he smiles through his words, so big that he can hardly press another kiss to your skin. Working his way up, up, up, until his chapped lips cover your own. 

Unyielding, his rough stubble scratching against your chin as his hand slides across your cheek. A gentle cradle of your jaw that holds you still. Doesn't let you squirm away from the other arm that wraps around your waist, drawing you near until you're chest to chest. So close that you think you can feel the drum of his heart.

Maybe that's what gets you moving. Your arms rising to wrap around his shoulders, hands tangling in his messy hair, as you lean into the kiss. Lips parting as he hungrily licks into your mouth, such a dizzyingly hot feeling that sends your head spinning. Every bit as strong and commanding as he's ever been. 

And yet, as your hand drops to cup him through those too-tight jeans, he jumps. 

"Fuck," he inhales so sharply that you can feel it against your lips. And it's been so, so long since you last heard that sweet sound. Since the last time you watched his head tilt back, swollen lips glistening under the twinkling lights set up for a collection of booths. Selling knick-knacks, homemade signs, and everything in between. Some little thing for after the rodeo—

shit.

As quickly as it pressed against him, your hand falls away, returning to dangle limply at your side. 

"Wh—" His eyes flash open, lashes fluttering like butterflies. Confused. "Huh?"

"I forgot," your head nods toward the unoccupied booths as you speak; their surfaces undecorated for the time being, but the moment the rodeo begins to wane, they'll be packed full of more items than you can possibly think of. "We agreed to see the sales booths with your mom, remember?"

"We really gotta stay 'n buy useless junk with my momma?" The corners of his lips turn downward, a perfect pout that you'd like to kiss until it rises back into a smile. 

You try. God, you try. Have already found yourself leaning in to press one, two, three chaste kisses to those perfectly thin lips. But it doesn't disappear, not even a little bit. "But you bought a useless gnome. the other week."

"He ain't useless!" Rhett sputters against your mouth. A little too loud. His voice carrying farther than it should have. "He keeps my cupholder warm."

"It's just another hour, cowboy," smoothing your hands against his chest as you speak in that slow sort of fashion that he once told you he liked. 

"But..." trailing off, his eyes darting down to his feet. Gaze too heavy for him to look at you. A wayward boot kicks at the gravel, stirring up a small plume of dust. "Please?" 

So faint. So quiet that you don't know if you've made it up in your head or not. "I'm sorry?" 

Rhett's shoulders stiffen, his breath catching in his throat. It's dark back here, but it's hard to miss the way he peeks up at you, a hint of red lingering in the tips of his ears. 

"Please?" Barely audible. A tiny noise that's carried away with the wind, but you've heard it. You know you've heard it because his Adam's apple is bobbing, and he's fully turning his head away from you now. "I'll...that, that thing you wanted...we can try—I want..."

It's shaky. Uncertain. Hardly sounds real. But it's there. 

There's something about the wait that's made this all the more sweet. 

A mouth-watering expanse of pale skin and rippling muscle, defined from a lifetime of manual labor, so rarely put on display like this. That thin sheen of sweat glistening as his hips squirm against this wine-red hotel comforter. The same one that he's clutching between white knuckles, clinging to it like he's seconds away from floating up to the ceiling. 

"Does that feel good?" You ask, hand tightening around his pretty, leaking shaft. So wet that he hardly needed you to drizzle that packet of lubricant over him, leaving him with a glide so slick that every pass of your hand squelches.

Untamed locks of hair bounce with his nod, "uhuh." 

The toned muscles of his stomach flex as he bucks up into your touch, chasing the sweetness of your touch. A whine rolls off his tongue, long and drawn out; you're not moving fast enough for his liking, but the hand that's gingerly rolling his balls in your palm is just enough to keep him from fussing. 

"Feels good," he rushes out, in between breaths, "fuck, it feels good."

He's yet to tell you, but you can already tell that he's close. Know it in the way that his jaw has slackened and in the way he's forgotten to blink. Too focused on the feeling to think of anything else. 

"Do you wanna cum?" Cooing in the softest voice you can muster, temporarily allowing your eyes to dart back to the mess that lies between his legs. Where his cock head has long since flushed a shade of ruby red, raging and desperate for a relief that has yet to come. "Talk to me, cowboy." 

"Uhuh," if he hadn't just spoken a moment ago, you'd think he forgot how to talk. 

But 'uhuh' isn't what you're looking for. No, no, no, you haven't spent the past weeks in sexual misery just for a huffed noise. 

"What do you say?" You're fighting to keep that smug grin at bay, the corners of your lips wobbling. The throbbing length in your hand feels too real to be a dream, but the edges of your vision have that trademark fuzziness that comes with the subconscious wanderings of your mind. 

This is too perfect to be true. 

But the widening of Rhett's eyes is so him. A detail that your wildest dreams could never capture. Always missing the fragments of uncertainty, the waver in his breath, and the anxious tongue that pokes out to wet his chapped lips. "I..."

Your hand stops firm at his base. Squeezing. Unmoving even as his hips jerk upward, seeking more of a touch that he doesn't receive. 

"Baby," he grunts, voice suddenly so worn and ragged that you hardly recognize it. 

Curious, you tilt your head, "hm?"

"'s fuckin' mean," that weak chuckle vibrates all the way down his belly and up into your hand, but despite the back-and-forth rocking of his head, he refuses to crack fully. Taping himself back together at the seams, clinging for that little bit of power that he was so desperate to hand over earlier. 

"All you gotta do is say please," you whisper, thumb swiping up to collect a bead of precum rolling down the underside of him. 

His Adam's apple bobs. 

...maybe this will convince him. 

Your grip slips off his cock, letting it audibly slap against his belly as one of your hands reach for that forgotten bottle of lube, the other taking hold of his wrist. He doesn't fight when you drizzle some of it over his fingers, even idly rubs them together to spread the fluid before it begins to drip into his palm. Makes it so, so easy for you to scoot further up until you're comfortably straddling his belly, able to guide those perfectly shaped digits between your legs.

He doesn't need any further help. Dipping his fingertips between your folds, stroking down to circle around your entrance. The delicate pressure of them punches a gasp from your lips, that aching stretch so dizzyingly perfect. 

"So tight," he muses, absolutely fixated on the way his index finger disappears into you. So, so much thicker than your own, and not one of your toys can curl to stroke against your walls like Rhett does. Rubbing past a spongey bundle of nerves that has your thighs tightening around him, only for him to slip out and nudge two back into you. 

The palms of your hands settle on his chest, just about the only thing you can do to brace your weight as he pumps those fingers into your cunt. Shamelessly paced, trying his damndest to work you up just as quickly as you did to him, and fuck is it working. Rough pads of his fingers swirl around sensitive nerves while his thumb rises to nudge against your clit. A touch that doesn't fully make contact but sends you jumping as if it did. 

"Rhett," whimpering high in your throat, oh, you've missed this feeling.

On its own, the corner of his lip rises. Smug. "Can feel y' pulsin' 'round my fingers, darlin'." 

And you can feel a heat bubbling up in your lower belly. Arising with a certain kind of fury that has you growing wetter around him. Only makes it easier for him to quicken his pace, fucking those thick fingers into your pussy with a fervor that makes your heart skip a beat. 

"Hold on, hold on," you sputter, and as abrupt as it is, Rhett freezes. Letting you drag his hand out from between your legs in favor of you reaching for his neglected cock. Has long since leaked a small puddle of precum onto his belly, still just as red and angry as it was when you last touched him.

You don't know if Rhett's the first to gasp or if it's you, but that first nudge of his cock head against your dripping sex is enough to have both of your mouths opening. Sensitive. So, so sensitive.

God, sinking down on him is even worse. Because there's an aching stretch that comes with the fat head of his cock, already splitting you wide and setting a tremble in your thighs. Only worsened by the calloused palms that smooth across them on their way up to settle on your hips. 

Rhett's always been big, not obscenely so, but thick in all the right places. Enough to have you shivering but not enough to have you struggling to take him. But fuck is it a tremendous task to keep yourself steady whilst you sink down on him. Forced to take it slow, to feel the way he twitches inside of you, blunt tip pushing deeper and deeper and deeper.

The hands resting on your hips rise, sliding behind your naked back until familiar, warm arms can comfortably curl around you. "C'mere," Rhett whispers, and it doesn't take much more for you to lean down. 

Your forearms brace against his broad chest as your mouths meet. Lazy. More of a clash of lips than anything else, too focused on chasing a breath that neither of you can catch. Your head spinning from the lack of oxygen as he slides further into you. That coil winding tighter and tighter—

"Fuck," you breathe as your hips come flush together. So full of him that it aches. "Rhett..."

It's only when you lean back onto your haunches that you realize how his eyes have glazed over, caught in a hazy trance that shatters when you involuntarily clench around him. His hips jerking upward, jostling himself inside of you. So eager for you to start moving. 

But that's not what you were going for at all.

"What are...?" Rhett's question evaporates as you guide his still-wet fingers back between your legs, "What're y' doin'?" 

Confused about your intentions. Yet his thumb presses to your clit all the same, almost eager to feel it throbbing under the pad of his finger. Gradually gaining confidence on its own, doesn't need your guidance for him to start toying with the little button in earnest. A gentle sort of pressure that has you clenching around his cock, sends him into a twitching spasm that nudges against your walls just right. 

"Y' ain't movin'," he observes aloud. Like it's something you haven't noticed. 

"I know," wriggling from side to side, if only to selfishly chase the sensation of him moving inside of you. "And I'm not planning to."

Eyelashes flutter. Incredulous. "Huh?" 

"Not until you say please," because you didn't work this long and hard to give up now, but God, you've been craving the stretch of him. The ache that comes with having his cock wedged so deeply in your cunt, taking up every bit of space you have to offer and then some. 

Those eyebrows furrow in the same fashion as when he climbs onto the back of an angry bull. The kind of reckless determination that glues him to the back of that thousand-pound animal, ready to win or go down trying. 

You recognize that look so well that you're hardly surprised when his thumb aggressively changes gears. Working your clit with a fervor you haven't seen in weeks, massaging exactly how you like it. Not too direct but just enough to have your thighs clamping around his hips, head tilting backward.

But you're not moving. 

Fuck, you can't. Not when all you want is to chase the feeling, pushing further against his hand, unable to even think about drawing yourself away from it. Your vision is blurring, nearly makes you miss the way Rhett's lips part, whining at the way your pussy spasms around him. A perfect hell. 

And then you hear it, the whisper of an ever-so-faint, "please." 

"What did you say?" You can feel how your eyebrows raise, blinking away that blurriness to get a better look at his face. 

"Really?" Rhett's squint dissolves the moment you shift on top of him, his eyelashes fluttering once more. "Okay—fine." 

His head rolls against the pillow, gaze skittering around the room like he's searching for something. A hidden camera. An escape. Something to save him. But he doesn't find it. Has no choice but to look back up at you, a sudden wateriness in his eye, as he whispers. 

"Please fuck me."

Not another word needs to be said. 

Finally, finally, you draw yourself upward, teeth sinking into your lower lip, and the cowboy beneath you just about squeaks. A choked-off noise that rips out of his throat when you pull halfway off of him. Sends you sinking back down on him quicker than you should. Such a sudden thing that it makes your head spin, only worsened when you repeat it, weakly searching for the only rhythm that you can handle.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Rhett's sputtering, in his own little world, unfocused eyes rolling. 

If the image in your head had been a work of art, then you have no idea what to call this. The thick veins of his neck protruding, sweat running down his chest as his back arches up from the bed. Desperately chasing your every thrust, keening high in his throat, uncaring of who may hear or how far it may travel into the hotel hallway. 

"Is this what you wanted?" Your question punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin. God, you don't know if it was you who was being tortured or him. 

Brown curls bounce against the pillow as his head nods, mouth moving, but only a garbled cry comes out. Something torn between a "please" and a whimper. 

He's got no right to be hitting the little bundle of nerves within your walls, rubbing against them with every rise and fall of your hips. An indirect massage that has you biting back a noise. If Rhett wanted his control back, he could take it right here and now because your head is floating higher and higher into the clouds. Only able to focus on this, this, this. 

But he doesn't. 

"Wanna cum," he croaks, lucid if only for a moment, "'m gonna—I wanna..."

There's a tremble in your arms that wasn't there before, the kind of shaking that works its way through your entire body. Thighs shivering, weakened by the drag of his plush cock head inside you. And his thumb is still working around your clit, in those same frantic spirals, and it's too much, it's so, so...

You don't know how it happens.

One moment you're being greeted by his hip bones against your ass, and the next, you're clamping down around him like a vice. Mouth falling open with a silent cry as you cum around his cock. The edges of your vision go white. A ringing blooms in your ears that nearly covers up the wail beneath you. 

The cry of a cowboy who doesn't quite know what to do. Brought so, so close to the edge by the involuntary spasming of your pussy, but not quite enough to give him what he wants. Forced to lay beneath you and whimper until you can pry your eyes open once more. 

"Please." He pants, cheeks so red that he matches the comforter.

But what's meant to be a one-word plea devolves before you can comprehend what he was trying to say. "Please, please, please let me cum," he babbles, his head rocking back and forth, the hand on your hip squeezing tight. "Please, I need it, I need it, I want, please, I—" 

You're not ready to move, but you're pulling yourself off him anyway. Downright collapsing next to him, mattress springs squealing at the sudden weight. It feels like ice has formed in the joints of your hand, struggling to wrap your fingers around the flushed length lying against his belly. So heavy that you can feel the way he throbs.

"Darlin'..." there's more to Rhett's sentence, but it never comes out. His heaving chest effectively revoking his ability to speak.

"I've got you," delicate, your hand begins to move. Stroking him in that loose, lazy sort of way that doesn't overwhelm him too quickly. Drawing that pretty whimper right out of him, so beyond the point of trying to swallow his noises down. 

It's the kind of loud, unmistakable noise that you've spent months coaxing out of him. One of your favorite sounds of his, selfishly proud that it's you who is able to draw it out of him. Not the girls who bat their lashes at him at the rodeos. Not the girl who has had her eyes on him ever since she came back from college. 

Only you. 

Nobody else gets to lay him back and make him beg to cum. You're the only one who gets to hear the way he cries out when your palm runs over his sensitive tip. Only your eyes get to watch how he jerks up into your fist, too impatient to wait. So close that his jaw trembles with it.

Large fingers wrap around your other hand, fumbling with it until he can hold it. Squeezing. Like you'll leave if he doesn't keep you grounded here, with him. "I'm..."

"It's okay," you soothe, wrist flicking a little quicker, in the way you know he does to himself. His jaw falls open, another one of those whimpers gracing your ears. Back arching up off the bed, the muscles in his thighs trembling. Jerking up into your touch like its the only thing he's ever wanted.

"Wanna—I'm..." he's rattling on, muttering little things that don't quite meet your ear. A red flush spreading down his neck and into his chest, the hand in yours squeezing tight. 

Your grip tightens by a mere fraction. "Cum for me, Rhett."

Blue eyes roll backward. His mouth agape as he tips off the edge, a dizzying melody of whines rattling out of his throat as thick ropes of white paint his belly. Coating your hand, unintentionally spreading it down his throbbing cock, creates some sickly wet noise that seems to echo through the room. 

And for a moment, that's the only sound in the room. Your wet hand works his softening cock as he comes down from his high, drawing those soft whimpers out of him like it's your job. Shuddered breaths soar through the air, suddenly so sensitive that he's squirming up the bed to escape your grasp.

His bicep flexes as he pulls your laced hands toward himself, drawing you into him. Soft blue eyes still glazed over as he rolls onto his side, rubbing his nose against your arm. Yet his hand doesn't let go of yours, even as you try to pull it away in favor of wiping away the stray tear that's run down his flushed cheek. The back of your cum covered hand will have to do because he's not letting go. 

"You still with me?" You ask, your voice soft as you lean in to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead. Lazy, his head nods, the corner of his lip rising. Not a full smile, but it's a start. "Will you let me get a cloth to clean us up?" 

As quickly as his lip rose, it falls into a pout. 

But his hand unlaces with yours, freeing you to drag your exhausted frame off the bed and to the bathroom. Only takes you a minute to run a cloth beneath warm water, but it had might as well take an entire hour because Rhett's already reaching for you. Hand lazily waving in your direction, falling to the mattress with an audible thump.

"I'm here," you whisper, running the cloth across his belly, "I'm here," 

It's only when the wet material runs over his messy cock that you get a noise out of him. A soft little "ah" accompanied by the unhappy wriggle of his hips. So oversensitive that he can hardly stand it when you rub the inside of his thighs, chasing off remnants of lube. 

You can't be done quickly enough. Settling for tossing the cloth into the sink because there's a cowboy who needs your attention more. He's already squirmed under the sheets, his big, needy arms opening up to welcome you in. Eagerly wraps them around you and pulls you as close as he can get, cold nose nuzzling against yours.

"Are you alright?" You murmur, stroking his hair out of his face. In the back of your mind, you already know he's okay. He would have used his safe word if he wasn't, but you're asking anyway.

Humming, he leans in to steal a chaste peck from your lips, then another, and another, until he's stolen a total of six of them, "'m alright, doll."

"Was it as bad as you thought it would be?" It's too easy to comb your fingers through his hair, a tangled mess from tonight's escapades. Will surely be a bitch to brush out in the morning, but you'll worry about that when you get there.

For a moment, he's quiet, and then, "I...think I liked it?"

"Yeah?" You can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you as he nuzzles his face into your neck. Determined to fit himself into the small space and disappear completely. "Maybe we'll have to give it a second try then."

"Mm 'kay." And that's the last thing you get out of him before his eyes flutter shut. 

There's no doubt that he'll ultimately get you back for this. Use all of this pent-up desperation to wring you dry and remind you of just how competitive he can be. You haven't a doubt that you'll soon be waking up to lips kissing down your naked chest, eager to give you a taste of your own medicine. 

And that's alright. 

Because it's not easy for you to break a man like Rhett Abbott. 

But oh, when you do. 

[callsign-swan]

Gold

Marigold Winslow. An F1 driver flying through her first season. Rhett Abbott. An ex cowboy turned actor on a media circuit after his biggest role yet.

They weren't supposed to have any extended interaction. They weren't supposed to fall in love. They weren't supposed to make a mess of each others careers.

Chapters:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Moodboards:

Rhett Abbott: The Actor

Marigold Winslow: The Driver