#tiny rhett GIGGLES

[jungle-angel]

Home is the Warmest Place (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett know that despite your hardships of the past, your home is everything to you

Warnings: Mentions of breastfeeding

Rhett lay fast asleep on your bed with one arm curling around one of the twins who lay all swaddled up in his blue blankie, peacefully asleep in the circle of his father's arm. Tatum's soft little whimpers drew Rhett from his deep sleep, his gravely groan following the heaviness that had filled his whole body.

"Alright my little ghoul," he groaned. "I think you're wantin your momma."

Very carefully he picked Tatum up and cradled him in his arms. The day had turned to a dusky blue sky as the snow kept falling, the thick forests and the Abbott land completely covered in white. Rhett calmly rocked Tatum in his arms, but it was clear that his baby son needed to feed soon, his tiny pink tongue poking in and out of his mouth.

"You hungry buddy?" Rhett cooed to his tiny son. "Yeah, I know that look, that's the 'I want momma's boobies look'."

Rhett felt a hotness beginning to bloom in his chest, the sight of his tiny little son in his big arms filling him with a feeling of pure love that he held for you and the rest of the kids.

He headed downstairs, following the tantalizing smells coming from the kitchen, only to find Amy and Hannah playing happily on the living room rug while Tanner managed to stay asleep in his little wicker sleeping basket.

"Hey darlin," Rhett greeted happily, kissing your cheek and making you giggle. "Whatcha cookin tonight?"

"I'm cooking that roast that your dad gave us two weeks ago," you informed him happily.

Rhett groaned, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. Royal had gotten some beef butchered a few weeks before the snow had hit, the freezer filling almost to the top with the beef, elk and bison meat he had gotten on the hunt with Thomas Rainwater and one of Wes's uncles. You and Rhett had planned on doing a store run after the fervor of the Thanksgiving holidays had died down, but the birth of the twins had come much sooner than expected, leaving the drop-freezer in your pantry sparse and almost empty. The rib roast had been somewhat of a lifesaver along with the fact that Cece had told Royal to clean out or else he wouldn't be getting any until he did.

"Did he wake up?" you asked, looking up from the potato pot boiling on the stove.

"Yeah I think he's hungry," Rhett answered.

"Mind watching the potatoes?" you asked.

Rhett nodded and carefully handed a still whimpering Tatum off to you, carefully placing him in the curve of your arms before you were off to the big sectional in the living room and opening your shirt to feed him.

"Daddy, Daddy," Amy chirped. "Can I try the potatoes?"

"Nope, not yet doodlebug," he told her. "Daddy's gotta take the meat outta the oven first."

Amy made a little pouty face before she zipped off to the living room to peer into Tanner's sleeping basket.

Out of the oven came the roast, filling the whole house with its savory smell, the herbs, the spices, carrots, pearl onions, celery, red wine and garlic all mixing together. As soon as Tatum was full and good, you put him into the sleeping basket next to his brother, the two of them fitting in perfectly as you placed a crocheted blanket over the two of them.

You took care of plating the food while Rhett loaded a few more logs into the woodstove so that it would burn through the night and warm the whole house. Dinner was eaten with the girls chattering away, the boys asleep in their basket, the dogs in and out of sleep near the boys and the cats probably lurking about the house. You felt Rhett's hand clasping yours under the table, holding it tightly as he leaned in and kissed your cheek.

"I love you," he whispered.

"Love you too," you whispered back.

[rhettmotel]

Kittens and Bugs

￫ Description: Rhett gets a kitten for his little 💕 🧸

￫ c/w: age regression.

￫ a/n: no use of y/n, no pronouns, just nicknames

Animals finding their way onto the Abbott Ranch was nothing new. Usually, it was dogs, which Royal either fostered until they found the owner or trained them to help with herding. What was new was Rhett heading out into the early hours of the morning and hearing a meek little mewl under the porch stairs.

He paused, frowning in the direction of the sound until he heard it again, crouching down to look under the stairs and reach out for the tiny little kitten that seemed to be having trouble getting itself out of a rut in the dirt. He made sure to pull on his work gloves before he grabbed the small animal, just in case it decided to bite, but it wasn't long before he was brushing the dirt off and bringing it into his plaid-covered chest. "Bug?" He calls out, "Can you come out here for a sec?"

You wander out onto the porch, rubbing at your eyes, wearing one of Rhett's t-shirts and a pair of his ratty old boxers. You always felt little in the morning and Rhett knew that, so he made sure to address you by your special nickname. You were Rhett's little bug.

"Look who I found." Rhett smiles, holding the squirming little kitten tight enough that it wouldn't get away.

You gasp excitedly, suddenly awake. "A kitty!! Can we keep him daddy? Please, please, please?" You beg, rocking on the balls of your feet.

"You read my mind, bugs." Rhett chuckles. I think he needs a friend, don't you?" He has no idea if the kitten was a boy or girl, but he was happy to go along with you, as usual.

"Uh-huh, I'll be his friend," You nod, crouching down with Rhett to take the kitten from him.

"Careful, sweetheart, he's still a bit skittish," Rhett warns; he was apprehensive, but the kitten hadn't bit him, so he felt okay handing the small thing off to you. "Be gentle,"

"I'm gentle, Daddy, I promise," You assure, bringing the kitten into your chest and kissing his head without a second thought. Rhett makes a small noise like he might try to stop the action, but it's over before he can.

"What're you gonna name 'em?"

"Goose!" You shout, with a happy little giggle.

Rhett nods with a smile. "That's a great choice. Now I got my bug and my goose," He says, wrapping an arm around you and kissing your forehead.

(This was inspired by @sebsxphia I adore your agere stuff 🥰)

[whiskeynwriting]

I can’t help but imagining jack and baby cakes getting a tiny little cowboy hat for their baby

This is seriously such a cute idea, omg

A Blessing

Agent Daddy Whiskey x Female Reader

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Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, daddy kink (what’s new), breeding kink (ooh this is new), lactation kink (this is new too!), talk of pregnancy, unprotected vaginal sex, soft dom daddy whiskey, very brief mentions of loss/death

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A/N: I'm so in love with him I can't stand it.

Not beta-read, read at your own risk my friends

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Daddycember Masterlist

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In your opinion, there wasn’t a better way to tell him. After you found out yourself, it was only a matter of time before he found out, too. And you didn’t want it to be by accident, and you didn’t want him to wait. The moment just flowed so freely, his words sparking something inside of you.

“From now on, sugar,” When he looked up into your eyes, your smaller frame sitting snugly on his lap, you were able to see everything. Every bit of your husband’s love and genuine care on display. “It’s just you and me.” 

Swallowing, you felt your anxiety fizzle through your veins, excitement and worry all wrapped into one. And he noticed your change in expression, his own now frowning a bit. “Well… maybe not just you and me.” 

Almost nervously, he laughs. Feeling unsure. “What do you mean? Teddy?”

Your new puppy is already asleep in his crate, though it pains you to see. You can’t wait until he’s old enough to sleep on the bed with you.

“No… not exactly.” Giggling nervously, you sigh, looking down. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Jack,” Looking back up into his eyes, you take a deep breath, deciding to be forward with him. “I’m pregnant, baby.”

Immediately, the muscles in his face drop, a look of tender shock washing over him. Slowly, his head moves back, getting a better look at you.

“No, you’re not.” He says blankly, eyes searching your own for any sense of hesitation.

Smiling brightly, you nod. “Yeah, I am.” 

“What, I mean, you…” Those warm brown eyes then drop down to your tummy, staring dumbly at you. “Really? Are you s-sure?” 

Internally, his heart is racing, throat going dry as he processes this. I’m gonna be a dad?

“Yes, baby. I’m sure. I took like ten tests.” You’re laughing now, hands holding his cheeks to lift his eyeline to you. “I told you I’d give you babies, honey.” 

“I can’t believe this.” All at once, his emotions hit the surface, a gentle wetness forming on his lower lashline. “Baby, oh my god.” 

Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around you, face resting against your chest. It’s a tight embrace, forcing your body against his. He can’t even describe all of the emotions he’s feeling right now. Something between pride and disbelief and gratitude and love. Always so much love for you.

“How, how far along are you?” Chuckling, he shakes his head, kissing your covered chest. “Babycakes, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe this.” 

“I’m not sure.” Lowering yourself, you turn, resting your cheek on the top of his head while stroking his hair. “No more than a few weeks; a little over a month, probably.” 

“Well, let’s schedule you a doctor’s appointment, sweetheart. Let’s make sure you’re okay, that everything is ready.”

“Ready?” You giggle, looking down at him. 

“Well, yeah! We gotta make sure they’re healthy, make sure you’re healthy. Figure out how far along you are and start planning. You know, I’ve always thought about a ranch-themed nursery.”

This time, a big-bellied laugh escapes you. “Of course you have.” 

“Honey, we’re gonna have a baby.” 

While the two of you have talked about kids before, he never really came to terms with the fact that it would happen again. Ever since losing his first wife Anna, and their unborn son Rhett, he didn’t think it was possible to be gifted such a blessing again. But here you are, giving him everything he could ever want, giving him the entire goddamn world. 

“I’ll always be here, sweetheart. I’ll always protect you, provide for you - you know that, don’t you?” Immediately, worry consumes him, worry and determination. He won’t let what happened to them happen to you. You’re the most precious thing he’s ever had, he won’t ever lose you. 

“Of course, I do.” Kissing the tip of his nose, you smile. “You made those promises to me on the day of our wedding. But I knew it before then, too.” 

Your husband then sighs, sucking in a deep breath shortly thereafter. He’s holding onto you like he’ll never let you go. And he never will. 

“I know this is obviously really soon, but…” 

Jack’s eyes are on you as you speak, his attention unwavering. He can’t believe you’re his wife, can’t believe you’re going to be the mother of his child.

“Do any names come to mind?” You’ve discussed names before, but you’re wondering if any stand out to him now.

He nods, smiling. “You know I like Henry and Jasper.” 

At this, you hum. You’ve always loved the name Henry, and have had a fondness for the name Jasper since he introduced it to you. “And for a girl?” 

“Rowan or Violet.” Jack says firmly, “I love those names.” This makes you grin; you’d introduced him to both of them.  

“Jack?”

“Hm?” He’s still gazing up at you, resting his chin gently on your chest. The expression on his handsome face is entirely lovestruck, in absolute awe of the vision of you. “What is it, baby?” His hands are caressing your back, fingers tracing small, delicate circles.

“I love you.”

“I love you more than anything, baby doll.” He looks like such a puppy right now, staring at you with an incredible amount of adoration. “I can’t believe you’re giving me a baby.”

Grinning excitedly, you whisper, “What do you want it to be?”

“I don’t care.” Comes his immediate answer, shaking his head briefly. “I don’t care at all, not a single bit, baby. I just want ‘em, want a little kid runnin’ around here that’s half you, half me.”

“Just one?” You tease, smiling. And you’re still running your fingers through his hair, heart beating profoundly.

“As many as you’ll let us have, honey.” He tells you wholeheartedly. And then he releases another breath, and quite dramatically. Dropping his head, he kisses your chest, more passionately this time. “Honey, you’re going to look so beautiful with our baby.” 

One of his hands then retracts, sliding over your pelvis, thumb brushing against your lower belly. Truly, he can’t wait to see it, your stunning body growing from his baby. He can’t believe you want this; if only he knew how proud you were to have it. What a blessing.

“You think so, daddy?” 

Something about the moment shifts from sweet to sensual, Jack’s mouth slowly moving over you. Mhm is all he says in response, mumbling against your chest. 

“You know,” He then says, that southern voice growing deep. “I was wondering why you weren’t drinkin’ tonight.” 

“Yeah, it’s because I’m carrying your baby.”

“Oh, honey.” Closing his eyes, he forces out a heavy breath. “Say it again.”

“What? That I have your baby in me?” It’s said in a teasing voice; you love how he’s responding to this. 

Lifting his head, he captures your lips in a passionate kiss, one you return with overt happiness. Jack is absolutely overjoyed to hear this, all of it. And if it’s even possible, it’s made him fall that much harder for you. 

“Babycakes,” Just like that, his hands are sliding down to your ass, gripping your firmly while he groans. Sliding his face over your clothed breasts, he coos quietly. “Daddy wants you.” 

“Yeah?”

Now that you’re thinking about it, tonight was the perfect time to tell him - on New Year’s Eve, on the one-year anniversary of your engagement. You swear, life with him is like a fairy tale. 

“Baby, come here.” Jack’s mouth has moved up to your neck, his hands securing themselves to the bottom of your thighs while he stands up. 

Lifting you with him, he revels in the way you cling to his body, holding onto the sturdiness of him. You can feel the muscles in his upper back and arms, your own wrapping around his neck. Your thighs squeeze his waist, feeling the broadness of his palms slide up to your ass. 

“You’re mine? Huh?” He asks, turning his head to kiss your cheek. 

After striding down the hall, he nudged open your bedroom door, now lowering you to the bed. But his body doesn’t leave you, it covers you, crawling over your smaller form. 

Breathing out a deep sigh, he gazes down at you, a predatory look in his eyes. “Say it.” 

“I’m yours.” Already, you feel drunk on him, on this new feeling. Reaching out, you hold his face. And because of your compliance, he leans into your hold, coming down to kiss you. 

“Oh, baby, let me love on you.” Turning his head, he rubs his forehead over your chin, a gentle and loving nudge. “Daddy wants to touch you.”

Right now, all he’s thinking about is the beauty of your body. You were a gorgeous thing before, and he never thought you could be more amazing than you already were. But somehow, you are. Somehow, you’ve managed to mesmerize him even more. 

You let him move you, let him do whatever he wants. Gentle hands remove your clothing, leaving you bare while he remains clothed. He’s not focusing on himself, he’s focusing on you. 

Jack’s strong hands run down your sides while he sighs, eyes trailing over your naked form. Immediately, he leans down, lips meeting your lower belly. He kisses you softly, humming happily, rubbing your hips while he does it.

“Baby…” He’s already being so sweet, you can’t wait to see how he acts when you really have a belly.

Reaching down, your fingers slide easily through his hair, Jack’s handsome face relaxed in contentment. He feels warm, touching you softly. To get closer to your skin he leans back, lifting his shirt from his body. And then he’s returning to you, face snuggling into the slope of your neck. His one arm keeps him up while his other lays over your body, keeping a hand on your tummy. 

“You’re my girl, honey.” The curve of his nose slides along your neck, knocking your head to the side ever so gently. “Say it to me.”

Smiling, you lift your hands, holding the sides of his face. “I’m your girl, baby.”

“That’s right, honey.” He’s smiling that gorgeous smile, the one that made you fall for him. “You’re so pretty, babycakes. So beautiful, you know that?”

“Mhm.” Nodding, you keep your grin, melting beneath his praise. 

“Then say it.” He softly demands, whispering into your ear. “Say it to me.”

“I’m pretty,” Jack grunts slightly when you don’t say it all, shaking his head against you. But it makes him happy when you complete the phrase. “I’m beautiful.”

“That’s my girl, my good girl. Say it to me, honey. Let me hear you say it - you’re my good girl.”

“I’m your good girl.” He’s never done this before, never made you repeat his praise. But he wants you to know it, wants you to say it until you truly believe it. Jack wants you to know how wonderful you truly are. 

The hand on your stomach lifts to your chest, touching you kindly. He cups you, massages you, turning his head to press those plush lips to your cheek. And he continues, going on for who knows how long, making you repeat his wonderful words and feeling pride bloom in his chest when you say them. 

You’re the love of my life. 

Your body is amazing

You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen

You’re the person that completes me

“I want you to know it, honey. I always want you to know it.” 

The love Jack gives you is on an entirely different level than the love you’ve received from others. It’s like you didn’t even know what love was before him. 

“Mm…” He hums, hand dropping from your chest to rub between your legs. “Sugar, you’re wet?”

“Yes, daddy.” You’re nodding, whining slightly, heart skipping in its beat. 

“You want me, baby? You want it?” He’s kissing your cheek again, sighing against you. “Because daddy wants you.” 

Nothing would make Jack happier in this moment than to claim you, to mark your body as his all over again. Spiritually, emotionally, physically, you're his. And he is yours.

Your words allow him to move easily, shifting his pants off his hips and down his legs until they’re discarded somewhere behind him. Jack’s body keeps you down, the warm skin of his chest pressing into your own. This is when he finally meets your lips, his hungry and passionate. Your husband swallows every sound you make, every moan and high whine as he positions himself to slide inside. 

“You’re so pretty like this.” His breaths are already hurried, speaking when he pushes himself into the space between your legs. “When you let me lay you back, when you let me take care of you…” 

“I always want you to.” Reaching for his shoulders, you cling to him, walls stretching around his girth. 

He’s moving so slow that it’s becoming agonizing, finally deciding to lift your hips to speed up the process. And it works, Jack’s punched-out gasp fanned across your face as he looks down at you, down at where the two of you connect.

“If you think I spoiled you before…” He says, grabbing onto your hip with a grin. “You have no idea what’s comin’.”

“I know you’ll always take care of me daddy,” Something emotional overcomes you, one hand lifting to cup his handsome face. “I need you.”

Instantly, he’s diving down, bringing himself back to you. He lets you hold him, both arms wrapping around his neck. Keeping his one hand on your hip, he begins a gradual pace, ducking himself into the crook of your neck to suck sensually on your skin. 

“Daddy, faster, please.”

Already, you’re whining for him, and he fucking loves it, he always has. You succumb so easily to him. Since the first night you saw him, you’ve been addicted. 

“Uh-uh,” Shaking his head, he keeps himself against your neck. “We’re gonna go at daddy’s pace. Don’t wanna hurt your body, baby.”

“Baby, I’m fine. I promise, I just, I want it.” You haven’t even had your first ultrasound yet and he’s already treating you like glass. 

Dropping his forehead to your chest, he groans. “You think you know what’s best?”

At this, you whimper, his simple words putting you back in your place. 

“You’ll do what daddy says, babycakes.” Shaking his head, he sighs, continuing to slide in and out of you at a gradual pace. “Don’t make me say it again.” 

Your tiny okay daddy prompts him to lift his head, praise floating from his lips as he leans in to kiss you. Opening his mouth, his tongue slides against your own, tasting you with a sense of urgency. The way he moves his mouth is entirely opposite to the rest of his body. He’s still going slow, the firm drag of him along your walls making you cry out for him. 

“Oh my god, baby. You’re so fucking sexy,” Jack is panting, his hips rutting into you repeatedly. And you’re still clinging to him, lifting your pelvis to meet his every thrust. 

Sliding your hand down his back, it lands on his ass, pushing him closer to you, urging him to dive deeper inside you. 

“You can’t do that.” Feeling your nails scratch down his back, he bares his teeth briefly, feeling a surge of adrenaline kick in. “I’m gonna cum too quick if you keep doing that.” He’s referring to the way you’re moving your hips, and the way you’re touching him.

“It’s okay, daddy. I want it,” Leaning in, you whisper to him, “I already have it.” 

“Oh, honey,” And just like that, he’s thinking about the pregnancy, about how beautiful you’ll look with your belly. “Will you let me lick you?”

“Hm?” 

His free hand rises to your chest again, gripping your left breast. “When these get big ‘n full…”

Those brown eyes then look down, gazing at your chest with a sense of hunger you’ve never seen before.

“Will you let me taste them?”

Fuck, you never even thought about that. It’s never been brought up before, Jack having any kind of lactation kink. But it makes sense, he does love your soft, plump chest. 

“Baby, that’s so sexy…” Watching him dive down, he sucks your nipple inside his mouth, moaning. “Yes, of course I will, daddy.” 

Just thinking about it makes him throb, his imagination pushing him to the edge. He can already picture it, your sensitive tits spilling from the nipple, leaking down your chest. It would taste so sweet, the milk dripping from you. He’d massage them in his warm, strong hands, squeezing more out of you. 

“Fuck me, sugar, I’m…” Pinching his eyes shut, he groans. “Jesus baby, I’m gonna cum.”

You’re not sure if you’re feeling sensitive from your early pregnancy or just from the moment, but you feel like you could cum, too. It didn’t always happen, experiencing your high solely from his length. But the way he’s fucking you right now is making your body shake. 

He bites into your shoulder, groaning, hips jerking harshly into the space between your legs. Jack lets you guide him, your hand on his ass pushing him in even deeper than he already is. With your other hand, you grip his hair, your body rolling up against his. The feeling of him spilling inside you is what does it, and it shocks you both, your orgasm riding through you in waves. And then Jack slides his hand up the bed, holding the back of your head and kissing the bruise he left. 

The way he cums is something else; it’s like it has a different purpose now. Holding your body close, he wraps both arms around you, thinking about the life the two of you have built. He’s never been more confident that you’re the one for him. 

Jack’s aftercare was always top tier, you’re truly blessed to have such a doting partner. After cleaning you, he brings you a clean set of pajamas, placing a pillow beneath your head. He knows your nighttime routine pretty well, so he brings you your hairbrush and a hair tie, watching you brush and then braid your hair. When you’re done, he puts everything back, returning to your side in no time. Smoothing his palm over your forehead, he kisses it, doing the same to your belly. And it makes you grin. He then jogs downstairs, grabbing your water bottle so he can fill it and also bring up some snacks. 

“You wanna watch somethin’, baby?” Setting your bottle on your nightstand, he sighs, grunting slightly as he rounds the bed to get situated on his side. “Brought you some fruit and popcorn.”

“Baby, you didn’t have to do that.” Smiling brightly at him, your eyes dazzle with admiration. 

But while you’re looking at him, he frowns, eyes narrowing. Darting slightly to the side, he looks at your phone screen, now grinning. 

“What’s that?” He asks, nodding at your phone. 

Turning your head, you look back at your Google search, cheeks burning from your grin. Looking back at him, you nibble on your corner lip. 

“What do you think about a tiny cowboy hat?”

[mayhem24-7forever]

The Littlest Cowgirl and the Mean Old Bull (Whumptober 2022)

Whumptober Prompts (from this list): Lies - New Scars - Breathing Through The Pain

Character: Rhett Abbott (Outer Range)

Author’s Notes: If you are not over eighteen, this is not for you! I deserve a safe place to express myself and that includes not wanting minors to read my content, even when it is not sexual in nature. Thank you. I am REALLY sorry that this is late but I really am trying my best okay! I actually switched this with day 15 bc I had no inspiration for that day and I wanted to write this one lmao. HUGE thank you to @jostystyles for looking over this for me, this is for you baby. fic dividers by my darling @a-reader-and-a-writer, thank you so so much

Warnings: ANGST, bull riding, graphic descriptions of violence and injuries, blood and gore, low key religious trauma, hospitals, misplaced guilt, (AKA Jo traumatizes Rhett’s five year old daughter for 4.5k words)

“Momma hurry up! We’re gonna miss daddy’s ride!” the little girl called, dragging her mother towards the stands and through the crowd by the hand.

“Slow down Annie!” Y/N laughed, shaking her head as her five year old daughter plowed through the crowd of adults without hesitation. “We have time!”

Angelica Abbott was definitely her father’s daughter, all attitude and sass, just like Rhett. She stomped through, weaving through the legs of the crowd, her tiny pink cowgirl boots kicking up tiny clouds of dust as she went. For her outfit that evening (she always dressed up for daddy’s rodeos), she had chosen to dress in a miniature matching version of what her father was wearing, a dark blue flannel and jeans, her hair braided into two tails under her pink cowgirl hat.

She didn’t slow down, not satisfied until her and her mother had taken their seats in the stands with grandpa Royal. The rodeo was on the other side of the state from Wabang as it was a big competition and so Rhett and his wife had decided to make it into a little vacation for Annie. Royal had come to see his son compete in the biggest competition of his career, Cecelia staying home to watch Amy as Perry had gone on another bender and as such was unfit. Annie climbed up the stands and hopped into her grandfather’s lap as her mother trailed behind her, out of breath from chasing and calling after the rambunctious child.

“Angelica, what have I told you about runnin’ away from your mama?” Royal asked as sternly as he could, struggling to stop himself from smiling at her adorably grumpy face.

Royal’s grandchildren were his weakness and one look from Amy or Annie would have him giving in to give them whatever they wanted, a fact they both took advantage of. Y/N huffed out a final breath as she sat down next to her father-in-law.

“Mama’s too slow!” Annie whined and Royal chuckled. “Daddy’s about to ride and we were gonna miss it!”

“Your father doesn’t ride for another ten minutes, little one.” Royal supplied and Annie giggled as she shrugged.

Annie settled back in her grandfather’s lap, leaning back against his chest and peering down at the ring and the bull pens behind it. The three of them played I Spy for a while to kill the time, Annie giggling when she chose to describe the same trailer for the third turn in a row.

“Oh look! It’s daddy!” Y/N said and Annie sat up, looking to where her mom was pointing at the back of the ring to find her father getting ready to mount the bull in it’s tiny pen.

“Daddy!” she squealed and Rhett turned to wave at her with a big smile, Annie waving back frantically.

“I love you, Angel!” he called back, his nickname for her barely audible from so far with so much noise around them.

Rhett turned to focus on mounting the bull when Annie’s face suddenly dropped.

“Oh no!” she cried out and her mother and grandfather looked to her in concern. “I didn’t give daddy his good luck kiss! I always give him his good luck kiss before he rides!”

“It’s alright sweetheart, just you being here to watch him is all the luck he’ll ever need.” Royal assured her.

She watched nervously as Rhett struggled to mount the bull, the handlers barely able to get him on it. Annie had never seen that happen and it made her stomach twist into knots. She turned to her mother, leaning practically onto her lap and got her attention as the man on the speakers started talking.

“Mama?” she said quietly and her mother leaned in to hear her daughter over the announcer. “My tummy hurts.”

“Oh, I’m sorry baby, we can go back to the hotel right after daddy finishes his ride.” Y/N assured her and Annie frowned.

“Need to go now!” she insisted, pouting.

“Sweetheart, daddy is about to ride. Eight seconds and he’s off and we can go, okay?” her mother asked and Annie reluctantly nodded, settling back into her grandfather’s lap uneasily.

Annie had seen a lot of her father’s rides over her very short life, whether it was in a sling wrapping her against her mother’s body, nestled on her grandmother’s lap, or perched high up on her grandfather’s shoulders. A few times, her father had fallen off or had a rough landing but he always got back up with minimal injuries, usually just some cuts and bruises, a sprain or two at the worst.

Whenever that happened, Rhett would sit on a chair in the kitchen as Y/N cleaned and bandaged his cuts and put ice on his bruises. Annie would be perched on the kitchen table or on his lap, using her little toy first aid kit to help her momma. She liked playing nurse to help her daddy feel better when he was hurt. Rhett would always end up covered in dozens of flowery and sparkly little bandaids, whether he needed them or not (and usually he didn’t).

“Daddy just got a little banged up by the mean old bull, baby.” he would assure her, her little fingers tracing over the scars, both new and old on his chest. “I’m just lucky I have you and your mama–best nurses in Amelia county–to always take care of me.”

Annie usually loved to watch her father ride bulls but as she waited for the ride to start, that bad feeling in her stomach got worse and worse. The bullhorn sounded and the gates were thrown open, the bull launching out of the shoot, Rhett hanging onto its back for dear life. She tried to count the seconds like her grandmother had taught her to do between lightning and thunder to know how far away a storm was.

One-one thousand. The crowd including her grandfather shot to their feet, hooting and hollering.

Two-one thousand. The bull bucked over and over again, bellowing in anger at the man on his back.

Three-one thousand. Rhett’s hat flew off his head, landing in the dirt below the angry bull’s stomping hooves and quickly being trampled.

Four-one thousand. The halfway point, Rhett still holding on tightly to the reins even as the bull got angrier and angrier, trying harder and harder to throw him off.

Five-one thousand. The dust cloud kicked up by the bull got bigger and bigger, almost hiding the image of Rhett perched on it’s back, his hand up in the air just like in the tattoo on his chest.

Six-one thousand. One of the ropes on the bull snapped, Rhett’s grip slipping as the entire saddle was knocked loose.

Seven-one thousand. Rhett’s body was flung off of the bucking bull, hitting the ground with a sickening smacking noise inaudible over the loud collective gasp of the crowd as the angry bull charged in to attack with swinging horns and stomping hooves.

The handlers were good at their jobs, getting the bull roped and pulled away from him in mere moments. Within seconds, Rhett’s unmoving body was swarmed by about a dozen handlers and blocking the crowd’s view of him. The crowd had gone deathly silent but as the bull was pulled back into its pen, they began to murmur in hushed whispers. Royal and Y/N were frozen in shock, unable to stop Annie when she wriggled out of her grandfather’s arms and took off down the stairs and towards the pen.

“Angelica, no!” Y/N screamed, racing after her but Annie didn’t listen.

“DADDY!” Annie screamed, sliding between the legs of some officials and into the ring before anyone could stop her, tears streaming down her cheeks as she ran towards the circle of bodies surrounding her father.

Rhett’s brain was pounding in his skull, his eyes struggling to focus on anything but the bright lights of the arena as half a dozen dark figures hovered above him, their panicked voices overlapping.

“Don’t move Rhett! Just don’t move!”

“Jesus fucking Christ-”

“The paramedics are coming, alright?”

“Abbott, blink twice if you can hear me!”

“Oh my God…”

“Do not move!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

He tuned them out, lying there in the dirt as he attempted to breathe through the agonizing pain on every inch of his body. Something warm and wet was pooling below his left leg and he couldn’t move his left arm at all. He blinked hard as the figures above him came in and out of focus, the same horrified look on every one of their faces. His whole body ached and he groaned in pain when someone tried to touch him. But he didn’t care. All that mattered was making sure his baby girl didn’t see him like that, especially as he heard a small but loud voice shrieking “Daddy!” and wailing in distress. He turned his head as much as he could to look between the legs of the others to see a tiny figure sprinting towards him from across the ring.

“Stop her… can’t… see me… like this.” Rhett rasped, a bit of blood coming out of his mouth as he wheezed in pain.

Luckily, one of the handlers was able to grab her before she got close enough to see him and Rhett could hear her screaming as she was handed off to Royal, who had been hot on her heels. Her voice got further and further away, her grandfather evidently carrying her away despite her loud protests. The men around Rhett parted enough to let Y/N through and she collapsed onto her knees at his side, her terrified eyes raking over his body and taking stock of his injuries. The protective vest seemed to have shielded his chest from the bull’s horns but his legs were not as lucky. He had a huge gash on his left leg, blood pouring forth through a tear in both chaps and jeans. His left arm was smashed, bones jutting out at impossible angles and he was having great difficulty breathing, his chest rising and falling unsteadily at uneven intervals with a rattling wheeze accompanying each breath.

“Oh my God, baby…” she gasped, shaky hands covering her mouth in shock, tears beginning to pour out of the corner of her eyes as she turned to scream at the men standing around. “Where the fuck are the medics! We need a fucking ambulance! Don’t just fucking stand there!”

Rhett chuckled a little at his wife’s fiery rage before the laugh turned to a cough, more blood spraying from his mouth which pulled her attention back to him. Her hands flew to his face, cradling him as she moved strands of his long hair off of his sweaty forehead. Grunting with effort, he moved to place his right hand on hers and she eagerly took it, trying to keep him from moving too much.

“It’s okay baby, don’t move. The medics are coming through the gate right now, okay?” she assured him and he nodded slightly, gazing up into his beautiful wife’s sad eyes. “Just hold on, baby. You’re gonna be just fine, Rhett.”

He squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile.

“I love you, baby. If I don’t get to tell you again, I love you so damn much.” Rhett said and she shook her head, shushing him.

“No, don’t think like that, okay? You’re gonna be alright and you can tell me again later.” she replied, crying as she looked down at her husband. “I love you and Annie loves you and you’re not going anywhere.”

“Our little angel didn’t see me like this, right?” he asked and she shook her head.

“No, your father took her outside the ring.” she assured him and he breathed out in relief.

“Tell her I’m okay.” he said weakly and they both knew it was a lie. “Tell her daddy is just a little more bruised up than usual from the mean old bull.”

Y/N nodded, unable to speak through her tears as the paramedics kneeled beside them, dropping his hand reluctantly when a rodeo official gently eased her up and away from him so they had room to work. She felt like she was in a nightmare as she was led out of the ring, glancing backwards every few seconds to watch them strap him onto a board and carry him into an ambulance.

Everything had been a blur of tears to Annie ever since her grandfather had carried her out of the ring, ignoring her angry fists pounding on his chest and her screamed demands to be taken back. An ambulance with flashing lights and sirens pulled up to the gate of the ring and drove inside as some rodeo officials ushered Royal and Annie into an office in the back of the arena. When another official brought Y/N in a few minutes later, Annie was still blubbering into her grandfather’s neck as he shushed her and stroked her back. The second she saw her mother Annie reached for her and was pulled into her mother’s arms, Royal holding the pair comfortingly.

The officials talked with Royal and Y/N for a while but Annie wasn’t paying attention, instead continuing to cry as she clung to her mother. They were brought out to a car and driven back to their hotel, her mother telling her that daddy was going to the hospital but that they couldn’t see him until he felt a little better. Royal thanked the man who drove them, his comforting arm around his daughter-in-law’s shoulder as they headed for their rooms, Royal deciding to stay in their room for the night.

When they had made the reservations, Royal had his own room while Rhett’s family took a room with two beds, one for Rhett and Y/N and the other for Annie. Annie had been very excited to have her own big big-girl bed as a vacation treat, although most nights she ended up sleeping in her parents’ bed anyways as she found out she didn’t like sleeping in such a big bed all alone. Royal excused himself to go out onto the balcony to call Cecelia and let her know what had happened while Y/N struggled to get Annie through her nighttime routine.

Annie refused to take a bath and even threw her favorite bath toy (a rubber duck with a cowboy hat) at her mother, yelling that she wanted her daddy. Y/N tried to stay calm and keep it together, feeling just as upset as her daughter but unlike the little girl, she had responsibilities, trying to remember that Annie was only acting out because she was scared and she didn’t fully comprehend what was happening. Y/N was able to get her into her pajamas and coax her to lay down on her bed, falling into a restless sleep, crying in her mother’s arms, squeezing her favorite stuffed animal, Bessie the pink cow, tightly.

Rhett had been showing Annie all the animals on the ranch one day when she asked why some of the cows were black and white, but others were brown. He told her that the color of the cow showed what kind of milk they made: the black and white cows making regular milk, the brown ones making chocolate milk, and pink cows making strawberry milk. Annie had asked why they didn’t have any pink cows on the ranch and Rhett told her it was because they were “so super rare” only special pink cow farms could have them, which disappointed her. A few days later, she found a little stuffed pink cow sitting on her bed, her mother shaking her head and smiling at how much Rhett spoiled her.

Annie woke up a little bit later, the lights all off and she couldn’t stop thinking about her daddy’s accident, convinced it was her fault because she forgot to give him his good luck kiss beforehand. She crawled out of Y/N’s arms, careful not to wake her and hopped of the bed, kneeling next to it with her hands together in front of her like grandma had taught her.

"Dear Mr. Jesus, I know I don't pray to you as much as gramma wants me to but please save my daddy.” Annie begged, choking on her whispered pleas as tears began to stream down her face again. “I'm really sorry I didn't give him his good luck kiss before his ride but please make him get better. I swear i'll never forget to give him his good luck kiss again, I'm sorry. I’ll eat all my veggies without complaining and I’ll do my letter books for school and listen to mama when she tells me to clean my room. I swear I’ll be good, I swear I’ll be a good girl, Mr. Jesus sir, please save my daddy."

Satisfied with her prayer, she she padded across the carpeted room to the bathroom, dragging Bessie on the ground behind her. Once she had finished her business, she noticed that her grandfather was still out on the balcony with his head in his hands. She walked over and tried to open the heavy glass sliding door but couldn’t reach the handle. Gently, she tapped on the glass and Royal turned to reveal a tear-stained face. Wiping his eyes quickly, he leaned over and opened the door, giving his granddaughter the best smile he could muster as she stepped outside into the cool night air, her tiny feet quick to cross the cold cement.

“What are you doing up, little one?” he asked, voice hoarse and raw from crying as he lifted her up into his lap.

“Had to go potty.” she answered, reaching up to place her little hand on his cheek, still wet with tears. “Were you crying grampa?”

Royal nodded, eyes overflowing with tears again, and Annie gave him a big hug. She had never seen her grandfather cry before but she wanted to make him feel better so she did what he did every time she cried and hugged him tightly.

“Grampa?” Annie asked quietly after a minute and he pulled back to look at her.

“Yes, darlin’?” he asked and she looked up at him nervously.

“Is daddy gonna be okay?” she asked with wide eyes, the same blue eyes as her father and suddenly Royal felt as if he had been thrown back in time to when he had first held Rhett in his arms. “Are the doctors gonna make him all better?”

“I don’t know, darlin’...” he answered honestly, stroking her hair as she picked at Bessie’s fabric, avoiding his eyes. “The doctors are gonna do everything they can but ultimately we don’t know what’s gonna happen. But I’ll tell you what I do know…”

“What, grampa?” she asked, head snapping up to look at him as she listened intently.

“Your daddy is a fighter, he always has been, ever since he was as little as you.” he told her, trying to keep himself from crying again as he looked down at her, so full of fear and hope. “He’s one tough son of a bitch like me and he’s gonna fight as hard as he can to make it back to you and your mama.”

“You said a no no word, grampa.” she said with a little giggle that made him smile despite everything.

“I suppose I did.” he chuckled. “Don’t tell your grandmama I said that and I won’t tell your mama that you’re up this late. It can be our little secret, deal?”

“Deal!” she replied, curling up in his arms again with her head on his chest, holding Bessie tightly as she drifted to sleep listening to his steady heartbeat.

He waited until he was sure that she was asleep before he got up and carried her back inside, putting her back down next to her mother. He tucked them in, Annie instinctively curling up against Y/N in her sleep, and gave them both a kiss on the forehead before heading over to the other bed to try and sleep.

“Annie, baby, wake up.” Her mother’s voice said, gently coaxing her awake and she opened her eyes to find herself looking up at her mother’s smiling face. “The hospital called. Daddy is okay and we can visit him now!”

Annie sat up quickly, eyes wide with surprise.

“Really?” she asked and Y/N nodded.

“We’re gonna go get some breakfast while we wait for visiting hours to begin and then we’re gonna go see him.” she told her daughter with a smile, stroking her hair comfortingly.

“The doctors made him all better?” Annie asked.

“Well, he’s still not feeling all better yet, he’s still hurt but the doctors said that he’s gonna be okay now.” Y/N assured her. “And in a few days, they’re gonna let him out of the hospital and we’ll all get to go home, alright baby?”

Annie nodded and gave her mom a hug before they got ready to go, Annie deciding she wanted to wear her pretty yellow sunday dress to go see him, Y/N grateful she had the forethought to pack it even though they hadn’t planned on going to church. After all three were ready, they walked across the street to a restaurant, Royal carrying his grand daughter as she rambled on about what kind of pancakes she wanted and how they had to bring some to Rhett. Royal and Y/N talked about adult stuff Annie didn’t understand while they ate breakfast, Annie tearing into her chocolate chip pancakes and drowning them in syrup. She was very excited when her mama let her order hot chocolate and she sipped away at it while her grandfather talked about medical and financial stuff with her mother.

Annie made sure they ordered a plate of food for Rhett, telling the waitress that she needed to please make sure the box was closed tight because they had to take it to the hospital for her daddy and she didn’t want to spill anything. When Royal was paying the check at the cash register up front, the waitress gave Annie a cookie and handed over the box for Rhett, which she said was ‘on the house’, although Annie didn’t understand how it could be on the house if they were in it. Either way, Y/N thanked her and the trio headed outside and across the street again.

The car from the previous night came to pick them up again and drive them to the hospital, dropping them off right at the front doors. They stopped in the gift shop so Annie could pick out some flowers for her father while Royal asked the staff for Rhett’s room number. Annie held her mother’s hand tightly as they took the elevator up a couple floors and a nurse led them down the bright hallways that seemed so endlessly long before they finally stopped in front of a door. The nurse knocked and opened the door.

“Mr. Abbott, you have some visitors here to see you.” she said with a smile and Annie was ushered into the room, the nurse shutting the door behind her when she left.

The first thing Annie noticed was how bright and clean everything was, a big window with the curtains thrown open taking up almost a whole wall. Then she saw the very high bed, big machines beeping beside it. There were so many tubes, cords, and wires everywhere that it took her a minute to realize that her father was lying in the bed with his head propped up on some pillows. His left side was way more bandaged than his right side and his left arm was in a cast but he smiled at her anyways.

“Hey Angel!” Rhett exclaimed. “Did you get all dressed up in your pretty dress just to come see me?”

Annie noticed the big bandages on his head and looked down at the floor, clinging to her mother’s leg shyly.

“Annie, go on baby, it’s okay.” Y/N prodded her gently trying to usher her towards her father but she just held on to her leg tighter with her eyes squeezed shut, little tears slipping out as she began to cry into her mother’s side.

Startled, Y/N looked to Rhett and Royal in confusion before kneeling down at her daughter’s level, pulling her into her arms.

“It’s okay, baby. Look, daddy’s alright!” she assured her, picking her up and carrying her towards Rhett’s bed, stroking her hair comfortingly. “I know it looks scary but he’s okay, sweetheart!”

Annie looked at her father again before bursting into tears and burying her head in her mother’s neck.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” she cried out and the adults looked to one another in concern as she blubbered on. “I’m sorry I got you hurt daddy, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

“Angel, what do you mean? You didn’t hurt daddy.” Rhett assured her as Y/N sat in the chair by his bed so he could reach out to comfort his baby girl, Annie turning her head to look at him.

“It’s my fault! I didn’t give you your good luck kiss!” she sobbed and her parents sighed in realization. “I always give you your good luck kiss so you don’t get hurt but I forgot this time and you did get hurt!”

“Angelica, look at me.” Rhett told her, holding her hands as she turned in Y/N’s lap to face him directly, blue eyes staring into blue eyes. “This is not your fault. This didn’t happen because I didn’t get a good luck kiss, okay? So don’t think for one second that you caused this because you didn’t.”

“R- really?” she asked, voice catching on her tears and Rhett wiped them off of her cheeks, her mother rubbing her back comfortingly.

“Yes, Angel. I’m sure.” he told her with a smile. “Now, come give me a hug, I missed my baby girl so much.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, daddy.” she said quietly, looking at his bandages worriedly.

“You won’t baby. Just be gentle and stay on this side and I’ll be okay.” Rhett assured her, referring to his right side and she nodded.

Y/N helped her climb up onto the bed and gently lay down beside him, tucked into his side under his arm as he held his wife’s hand.

“See? I’m alright, Angel. I just got a little more banged up than usual by the mean old bull and I’ll have some new scars but I’m okay.” he told her. “And I’m never gonna ride another bull again, okay?”

“Really?” she asked, half in surprise and half in happiness.

“I pinky promise.” he said, letting go of his wife’s hand to link pinkies with his daughter as she smiled.

“Oh!” she said suddenly, dropping his pinky and digging in her pocket as her parents looked at her in confusion. “I got it!” she exclaimed as she fished out one of her flowery bandaids. She carefully peeled off the wrapper and stuck it on his hand, looking up at him proudly. “All better!”

“Yes, Angel, thank you.” Rhett said, pressing a kiss to her forehead and grabbing his wife’s hand, smiling at Royal as he nodded affectionately from his spot in the doorway. “I’m all better now.”

[wildbornsiren]

Bradley and Bob going to visit Bob’s family and it’s just so cute because they’re so welcoming and Bradley chokes up because it feels like home

Fe. Fe. FE. A brilliant explosion of color lined the road, the fall foliage on display everywhere he looked. Bradley glanced over at Bob, who was humming along with the song on the radio as he drove. One hand on the wheel, the other holding Bradley’s. Thumb smoothing over the back of his hand. It was still all so new, despite being together for nearly a year now, and when Bob asked him to come home to meet the family, Bradley panicked. Bob had put up with it all. The silence, the nerves, the eight million questions when Bradley decided that yes, he would go home with Bob to Tennessee. “You alright?”

The soft question startled Bradley out of his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. It’s gorgeous out there.” “It’s gorgeous in here too.” Bob grins, and Bradley’s heart skips a beat. He squeezes Bob’s hand gently. “Last chance to back out,” Bob says softly, turning down a dirt road. “I’m ready.” The drive widens slightly, winding along. Immense pastures spread out as far as he can see, the sunset setting everything ablaze in shades of oranges and reds. There’s a slight dip in the road, Bob taking a hard right, the crunch of gravel giving way to concrete. The drive ends in a loop with a sprawling ranch house. Bob pulls up next to another truck. There’s a blonde woman, a child on her hip talking to man who has an identical child on his hip while two more race around the truck. “My sister Ellie, and that’s her husband Jeff.” Bob says softly. “The twins are in a Dr. Seuss stage and only answer to Thing One and Thing Two. The boy with the cowboy hat is Jensen, and the little girl is Aubrey.” “We like Jeff?” “We like Jeff.” Bob repeats. “Margret is on the porch, and her boyfriend is probably in the house.” There’s a blonde woman standing on the porch, laughing as three dogs escape out the front chased by two more children, a teenager following lazily after them. “The two little kids belong to my cousin.” Bob says, “They’re staying with momma while Rhett’s working the circuit. The teenager is Charlie, he’s Margret’s.” Bob startles when there’s a thump to his window, turning to see a third woman with her face pressed against the glass comically. “That’s Cassie.” Bob says as Bradley laughs, seeing the slow realization in her eyes that Bob isn’t alone in the cab of the truck. “You ready?” “Absolutely not.” Bradley says with a soft laugh, but he’s got his hand on the door release. His feet hit the ground, and there’s a moment of quiet. He can feel all eyes on him, taking his measure. And then Bob gets out of the truck. He slams the door closed, walking over to Bradley taking his hand. “Behave, all of you.” There’s another moment of silence, broken by a thunderous crash, or the call of a very large bird of prey, Bradley’s not sure. The two kids who had been running around the other truck turn and barrel straight into Bob, taking him down while the dogs, and two other younger children join in. “Ellie,” the woman with a toddler on her hip, offers her hand. They shake, and he grins. “Hold this,” She hands Bradley the toddler. “Robert Floyd you didn’t tell me you were bringing your boyfriend?” Ellie takes a foot to her knee and she joins the dog pile as Cassie knocks into her. There’s a whole lot of wrestling and yelling and hysterical giggles. “Are you Thing One, or Thing Two?” Bradley asks the blond toddler who blinks brilliant blue eyes at him. The kid holds up two fingers, before there’s a tiny hand slapping against his mustache. “Pleased to meet you Thing Two.” Bradley murmurs and is rewarded with happy laughter. “It’s safer inside.” Jeff tips his head toward the house, Margret was moving down the stairs zeroed in on the mass of bodies rolling around in the dirt. They head up to the house, Bradley’s stomach rumbling when he smells something delicious coming from the kitchen. “Welcome to the chaos.” Jeff says with a smile. “Go find Nanna, tell her Uncle Bobby and his boyfriend are here.” He sets one twin down, and takes the other from Bradley. It’s warm and noisy, there’s toys strewn about, shoes piled up in the entry way. A television is playing cartoons, there’s music coming from the kitchen. Bradley feels his shoulders drop, the last bit of nerves evaporating from his belly. He hadn’t felt like this in years, and it was something that he had missed deep down in his cells. Home. The door bangs open behind them, bringing with it a gust of chilly autumn air. Bob’s draped on his back, Bradley supporting his weight, feeling himself blush when a soft kiss is pressed to his cheek. “Come on, let’s introduce you to Momma.”

[bradshawsbaby]

Sarah if you need some soft thoughts, I can certainly deliver, it's something I've incorporated into the fics for a while now but I hope it does you good.

When Rhett was a baby, Royal's mom made him a little quilt that had cowboys and bulls all over it. Royal used to wrap him in it on really cold nights and would often laugh about how Rhett looked like a tiny little five pound potato. When Rhett was about five to six months old, Royal's old pit bull, Chubby, used to drag a giggling Baby Rhett down the hall in it (lol).

Him and Cecelia held onto all that stuff and by the time the boys put in appearance, you can bet that both Papa and Nana Cece would wrap them both in Rhett's old baby quilt and Royal still says they look like a pair of little potatoes, just like their dad (lol).

This is very sweet indeed! Thank you for sharing it with me! 🥰

What I wouldn’t give to be on the ranch, barefoot and pregnant with Rhett’s children instead of dealing with the BS I have to deal with on a daily basis 😆

[beachbabey]

I GOT A COWPRINT BACKPACK AND IT’S SO TINY AND CUTE AND I CANT STOP THINKING OF GOING ON A LITTLE HIKE/PICNIC WITH RHETT AND HIM SEEING IT AND GIGGLING AND RUFFLING MY HAIR

“You little cutie pie, you got your water bottle and stuffie in there?”

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

Prompt: Rhett meeting links boyfriend after there break up🥺

Thanks for the juicy prompt, lovely anon! I've clearly given up on the drabble thing. Hope you like this!

---

Rhett’s been dreading this day ever since Link’s and his big blowout and the break up that followed. He knew it was coming. He’d just hoped it would have taken a little bit longer. A couple of years maybe. Or a nice round decade.

But no, it only took three months for Link to announce to their friend group that he was bringing a date to the dorm party. Everyone else met his news with vocal excitement. Rhett could only muster a half of a smile while the rest of his capabilities were rerouted to keeping his shattered heart on life support. 

That had been a week ago. And here he was now. Link’s new boyfriend. Brad.

Fuck Brad.

Rhett stood at the doorway leading from the living room to the kitchen and scowled at the pair over his half-finished beer. The guy was pretty. Of course Link would get a pretty guy. Link could have his pick of the guys of NC State—gay, bi, even supposedly straight guys on occasion—everyone tended to fall in love with his chaotic but sweet energy. The sparkling-blue eyes weren’t a hindrance either. Neither was that tiny grabbable waist and those soft lips he used so damn well… 

Stop that! Rhett shook his head, aggravated with his treasonous brain. Things Link did with his lips was not something Rhett needed to think about while in public, wearing pants that didn’t exactly help hide a possible hard-on. Rhett huffed and took an angry sip of his drink.

Yes, Link could have anyone he wanted, but did it have to be Brad? The guy stood there like he owned the place—he had his arm slung around Link’s shoulders and had this cocky grin on his face that made Rhett’s blood boil. Link was snuggled tightly against him, his arm wrapped around Brad’s waist with his hand stuck into the guy’s jeans’ pocket as if to make sure he wasn’t going anywhere else any time soon. Rhett wanted to gag. Or cry. Possibly both.

“Huh.“ Olivia’s voice startled Rhett and he turned to look at the girl who’d appeared next to him.

“Huh what?” 

“Don’t you think…?” Olivia started, tilting his head to the side. Rhett followed her gaze to the happy new couple. 

“Think what?” Rhett groused, bracing himself for some kind of a comment about how cute Link’s new boyfriend was. Olivia turned to look at Rhett, cocked her perfectly-sculpted eyebrow and turned back towards Link.

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. 

“What are you talking about?” Rhett asked, unable to hide his annoyance. She needed to spit it out, whatever it was, so Rhett could quietly retreat into the kitchen and move as far away from Brad as he could.

Olivia let out a stifled giggle. She covered her mouth and nodded towards the pair. “It’s you.”

Rhett’s heart stuttered. Was he that obvious? Was his gut-wrenching jealousy so easy to read? No one knew about his and Link’s relationship. At least, that’s what he’d thought. Before he could deny, deny, deny, Olivia continued. “Link’s gone and started dating your twin.”

What?

Rhett’s gaze flew back to Brad. And yes, Olivia was kind of right. There was a clear resemblance. Same shaved head and a goatee. Green eyes. Tall and lean. Now that he thought about it, even that annoying as hell smirk was actually quite similar to his own. 

Rhett couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face. Olivia was watching him carefully and matched his smile. 

“Yeah, you have nothing to worry about. He’s just a band-aid. You’ll be back together in less than a month,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She nudged Rhett’s side with her elbow. “You can breathe now, McLaughlin. He’s still yours.”

Olivia was gone before Rhett could react. She’d marched through the crowd and was already talking animatedly with Link, ignoring Brad’s attempts at taking part in their conversation. All she left in her wake was a lingering hint of her citrusy perfume and a kindling of hope that now bloomed inside Rhett.

[alilmusebundle]

It's raining.

Lore looks up as the first small raindrop falls at his feet, staining the dirt with tiny spots of dark brown. With the sun still glaring off to the side, it is disorienting to see the sheets of water beginning to fall. The heat of summer momentarily brushed aside as a singular cloud opens up overhead.

He reaches a hand out to feel the drops fall across bare bone, the rest of him sheltered beneath the trees. It does not feel nearly as cold as the rain did in spring.

Around them, the plants shift and sigh, greedily reaching for the rain. In the heat of summer, any amount of water is a relief.

The surface is strange. Beautiful, but strange. Nothing like the Underground. Their home.

They draw their hand back in and close their eye. Listening to the patter of the rain and the hunger of the world around them.

They indulge themselves in aching memory.

---

The echoing cavern was a beautiful place. Fresh water constantly dripped down from the stalactites high above, hitting the pools of water below in such a way that the cavern echoed with music, a haunting melody the flowers echoed in whispers. It was safe- heavily patrolled, heavily guarded- and so it was the perfect place to bring their friends, of whom there were many.

The drain hit them immediately. When they stumbled, exhaustion dragging at their marrow, there were many hands to catch them. Everyone they brought here, excitement momentarily dimmed by worry for them.

They opened their eye and smiled at their twin in reassurance. On their other side, an arm protectively wraps around them, soft and warm and steady, and it is all they could ever ask for.

"I got them." Says Draken, and it is all they could ever wish for.

It's all the reassurance Ulva needed, dragging Darcie of towards the wading pools, Sinclair lingering a moment longer before Ulva's excited shouts enticed one to follow. Zelah's hand rested on their back to steady them as Draken moved, sidling in front of them and down into a crouch.

"Piggyback ride?" He grinned over his shoulder.

"I'll make sure he doesn't drop you." Zelah teased, then giggled as Draken happily flipped her off.

Now that they were older, crawling onto the prince's back was only permissible when they were alone like this, away from the castle grounds. They greedily accepted.

They wrapped their arms around his neck and rested their head against his soft fur. As Draken moved to follow the others, Zelah's hand falls away from their back only to wrap loosely around their bare ankle, thumb tracing the lines of an old break.

They close their eyes to the sound of rain and rest, content.

---

They open their eyes from the memory to look at who approaches. Who they had been waiting for. A ray of sunlight cuts through the rain cloud above, illuminating exactly where they should look; the world guiding them once more.

Unnecessary, but appreciated. They could sense him.

Rhett rounds the bend with the usual smirk, waving at them in greeting. Judging by the confidence oozing off of the human, his meeting with the order of mages went better than the last. There is no trepidation, no regret, which means the near disaster the other day wasn't noticed.

If there had been any indication of the fell attacking when the mage's ambassador had been visiting the lab, then the world would have traveled an unfortunate path. It would seem that they are still on the right course.

As with every time they see him- see them- they must swallow down the frenzied, manic urge to kill him. They only just refrain from giving in to their own emotions. Killing them would completely destroy the path to peace.

Their gaze cuts to the side where the shadow of the prince hovers, indistinct and fuzzy from staying corporeal for so long to help Rhett with the meeting.

Killing Rhett wouldn't solve anything. Ignore your emotions, stick to the worlds most favorable path, or doom them all.

She look back to the human and offers out her hand, rain hitting it once more. Her voice cuts through the swell of chatter before he can really get started and break the calm she has imposed upon herself.

"Welcome back. Come: mother will be eager to hear how things went."

Rhett perks up like a puppy, bounding up the rest of the slope to slap his hand onto hers. From the corner of her vision, the shadow of the prince blinks gratefully to her before fully dispersing back into the humans shadow for the ride back. She carefully folds claws around the hand instead of digging them into fragile flesh, and pulls the both of them through her shortcut.

Back to the lab, away from the rain.

[delopsia]

nosedive | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 18,900 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader. Storm chasers AU, Kate, and Tyler appear but are so inconsequential that they can be read as OC's. You do not need to watch Twisters to understand and read this fic! Arguing, brief food mentions, undisclosed past trauma, storm chasing, vehicle accidents, anxiety attacks, friends to lovers, grinding, unprotected sex, includes a sketch that I traced from stock photos I stitched together. Brief Summary: You swore off storm chasing a long time ago. You haven't been able to look at that old truck since the accident, and if you could have your way, you'd never think about that part of your life ever again. You've moved on. Every time you touch that damn truck, something goes wrong. But when your friend and her so-called business partner become wrapped up in a never-ending quarrel, it's Rhett who becomes your biggest supporter. You think you're beginning to remember why you used to love this. How you used to live for your out-of-this-world builds and ideas. Or maybe…just maybe, you're beginning to fall in love with something that isn't a truck.

"So, at what point are we going to tell them?"

"What would that be?" Speaking with the straw against your lips, seconds away from taking another sip of that cheap gas station coffee. "That I'm the one who keeps filling Rhett's truck with tiny ducks?"

"No," Kate's eyes roll, her head shaking ever so slightly, not quite ready to admit to her part in it. "About Dallas."

A gust of wind blows past. Entirely invisible to the eye, and yet you catch Kate's head following as it twists through the field, the wheat rippling in waves. Strange how something you can't even see can cause so much trouble, ripping up the garage roof, blowing Rhett's hat down the driveway, and taking that long-awaited Amazon package across the lawn.

Worse, it blows your straw around, leaving you to gape like a fish as you blindly try to find it again. "Do we even want to tell them?"

Her brow furrows. Confused.

"You can't convince me it's not entertaining to watch them puff up like a bunch of peacocks when we mention him," you can't help but giggle, memories flickering through your head like a slideshow. Rhett grumbling about Dallas under his breath. Tyler pulling up his YouTube channel to prove he's done bigger things than this Dallas guy ever could. Overhearing them griping about him in the hotel gym. "Can you imagine the look on their faces when they finally see him?"

A smile bursts onto her face. "You drive a fair point."

Something clangs to the left. Appearing so suddenly that both of your heads swivel toward it.

Speak of the devil.

Rhett and Tyler. Hauling some kind of unnamed contraption to the trucks. You're pretty sure that it's supposed to put extra weight on the chassis to prevent them from being blown around as easily. Rhett's been muttering about having to build a new one ever since his original build cracked a few days ago.

If you weren't distracted, you think you would be able to recall more of the details, but all you can focus on is...

"Are they allergic to shirts?" Kate chirps after a long moment, but she's not making any effort to peel her eyes away.

Neither are you. Too wrapped up in the way Rhett's bicep flexes as he readjusts his grip on the steel frame. Not quite as bulky as Tyler, but he's got a wiriness to him that almost seems to hypnotize you, stuck staring until you run the risk of being caught. "Are we complaining?"

"Absolutely not," and you only peel your gaze away when you realize that they're walking toward your little afternoon coffee party. You're not dealing with the misery that is Tyler's cockiness again.

Kate's got the same idea, her cheeks dusted with a subtle shade of pink that wasn't there a few seconds ago. Something flickers behind her eyes, the same kind of glint you're used to seeing when she's caught the trail of a brewing storm, but she doesn't say anything.

You wonder if this new frame means they'll focus on upgrading those drills next. Anchoring two feet into the ground was likely an impressive feat when they first installed that onto the rigs, but the technology has progressed so much further since then. Longer augers would be a start, twisting deeper into the earth, harder to be ripped out by high winds. 

"So, do you know when Dallas is coming in?" Kate asks once the boys are within earshot, like she doesn't know the answer to her own question.

Rhett's head perks. Tyler peeks over his sunglasses.

"Few more days, I think," feigning interest in your drink, swirling the straw in circles, anything to pretend that you haven't noticed them yet. "Sunday at the latest."

"Dallas!" Tyler crows. So loud and sudden that you jolt in your seat. "Finally comin' to meet us, huh?"

Rhett peeks at you through the corner of his eye, either too focused on the task at hand or not quite bold enough to match Tyler's antics. Even from a distance, it's difficult to miss the way his gaze rakes up and down your frame as if transfixed by your pajama shorts and the beauty that is your half-awake face.

"He was supposed to be here earlier, but..." motioning toward the empty beer can blowing past. Budweiser's aluminum version of a tumbleweed. "Another wind delay."

Tyler scoffs, the heel of his boot thunking against the can and sending it flying. "How many more times is he gonna use that excuse?"

"As many times as he wants," Kate's stolen the words right out of your mouth, her shoulders shrugging as she turns her attention back to her cell phone.

Wind howls in your ear, rolling the ballpoint pen across the table and right into your cup. It tips before you can even comprehend what's happening, the remnants of your coffee spilling into the dirt. 

"I reckon that's my sign to head inside," you sigh, defeated. This battle was lost the moment you quit paying attention to your drink.

There's not much for you to gather, but nature herself had might as well be interfering with your every move. Blowing the cup toward the garage, rustling your notebook pages when you scoop it up, the pen jumping off the edge of the table just to rub salt into the wound. It's not bothering anything else, not Kate's hair, not the dumb hat on Tyler's head, just your things.

Talk about a personal vendetta.

At least the garage has never betrayed you like this. Cozy and windless, albeit a bit dusty, depending on the day of the week and what project Rhett is working on. The loveseat tucked into the far right corner is much softer than that sunbleached wooden chair, the beaten cushions enveloping you in a loose hug. The thick armrest is the perfect size to fit your notebook. Doesn't have you trying to cram yourself into an itty bitty space. 

And with the back of the couch being up against the wall, there's no opportunity for someone to mosey up and peek at your notes, either. 

The side of the pen is dented, the groove creating the perfect space for your finger to settle into as you begin to draw. This must be the pen that you forgot on the roof of your car and wound up driving overtop of. 

Ink drips from the tip in spurts, scattering across the page in small, ugly blotches. What's supposed to be your delicate sketchings of an idea are starting to look more and more like an interpretive art piece in a museum. Is it a component for one of the storm vehicles, or is there an underlying message about the beauty of mistakes and brokenness?

Whatever. The answer only matters if it's attached to a big, fat check from a private collector looking to hang it next to a myriad of other, questionably produced works. 

"Whatcha ya doin' over there?" Rhett's voice echoes through the garage, seems to come from so many directions that you don't realize where he is until you spot him in your peripheral. Red dirt and grease smeared across his forearms, sweat glistening in the overhead light. You already know he doesn't smell the best, but you can't say you hate the sight of him.

Your pen drifts across the paper once more, streaking through a blob of collected ink in your efforts to build the general shape of a truck. "Sketching." 

It's such a bland reply. Shouldn't intrigue him in the slightest, and yet you can hear the soft thunk of his boots against the cement floor, drawing closer. "Sketchin' what?" 

"A fantasy for an advanced anchoring system," your pen darts across the metal arms, extending from the roof of the truck, one on the passenger side and one on the driver, anchored into the ground. "Buildable, but it's not a feasible idea." 

The light reflects off of his rodeo buckle. Amelia County's bull riding champion. "Can I see?"

You're not sure why he wants to look at your fantasy sketches, but you don't have the energy nor the will to tell him no. Certainly not when he's bending down next to you, so close that his bicep bumps into your arm, hot and swollen from hauling around that heavy frame. You're making no effort to move away, either. If anything, you're moving closer, turning the notebook for him to see.

As if to guide his thoughts, his index finger traces across the lines, grease-stained and so, so much thicker than yours. "What's makin' ya think it won't work?"

"It's not realistic." Easy answer. There's a reason why nobody else has done this. 

But Rhett's head just tilts to the side, a thought visibly crossing his mind. You know it's there; can see it glisten in his eyes as it passes by. "Yes, it is." 

You feel the tug of your arm and the warmth of his hand around your wrist before you realize that he's pulling you up from the couch. There's a creak in your knee as you rise, helplessly stumbling after him.

"What are you doing?" You're chirping, but Rhett doesn't reply, too dead set on hauling you to the other side of the room.

He spins. So do you. The garage blurs into streaks of gray.

Then your back bumps into his sweaty chest, and you're staring at...a newly built drill for the frame. 

"Does this look unrealistic to you?" His voice rumbles straight through you, low as the thunder that you've spent too much of your life chasing. 

"Well...no," you croak after a long moment, "but you already know that it—"

"What about that?" His hand darts out, pointing toward the old radar, built out of scrap material and the sheer power of will. It doesn't work anymore, not after that hunk of debris split it down the middle, but it did for a good few weeks. 

Rhett isn't waiting for you to reply, already pointing toward another contraption. The roll cage, and the rest of the steel exoskeleton frame that hasn't been welded onto Tyler's truck. Then he's guiding your attention to the windshield and window cages; lord knows those glass replacements are getting expensive. The armor plating that has yet to be welded to the vehicles, the reinforced overhead spotlights, the custom grill guards, and all of the little, unnamed crafts that you have yet to see in action.

"None of this was feasible, either," his words are solid, fleeting things, dancing around your head like words from the gods above, "but we still gave it a shot." 

A puff of air breaks past your lips. 

All of that happened long before you and Kate stumbled across them crammed into the corner of a Waffle House. Their trucks were already built. Field tested beyond belief. But...well, you suppose his ideas had to have started the same way yours do, a random thought that evolved out of control until it became a reality.

"Your ideas are no more unrealistic than these were," Rhett murmurs, and it almost sounds like he's sharing a secret. A whimsical little thought meant to stay between the two of you.

...maybe he has a point. 

You turn, twisting to face him. The tips of your noses bump. Piecing blue eyes staring right back into yours, wide as can be. Too close. Way too close. But you don't make any effort to move, and neither does he. He should. Fuck, any closer, and you'd be kissing him, can already taste his minty toothpaste on his breath. 

"Rhett!" Boone's voice arcs across the room like lightning, sends you jumping apart as if struck by it. "You fixin' to bring that upper frame or what?" 

Whatever that moment was, it's gone in an instant. 

Your head comes so close to hitting the ceiling that you can feel it graze past. Seatbelt cinching tight around your chest. Ass bouncing against the seat. Struggling to keep both your hands on the shivering plastic handle overhead. Something clatters across the floor, landing in the mess of components and contraptions that met their maker three bumps ago.

You'd complain, but Tyler's rollercoaster of a truck looks even worse than whatever the hell you just experienced. 

"I'm shocked this old truck has survived this long," you're trying to sound calm, but it comes out resembling a yelp more than anything else. "I remember you driving to high school with this thing." 

Rhett's hands flutter across the wheel, a wave of mud kicking up from under the back tires. "These ol' ranch trucks last forever if you take care of 'em."  

"Doesn't care involve things like...not driving into ditches?" Your shoulder presses against the glass, sliding around as the truck veers to the left, loosely chasing Tyler's messy trail. 

"Probably," he laughs, "but we survived, didn't we?" 

"I'm not too sure about that," frankly, you think half of your soul may still be sitting on the road, milliseconds away from experiencing the horror of Rhett's truck diving into the ditch.

"Oh, c'mon," his hand darts out, nudging your arm, "ya worry too much."

You haven't forgotten about the clouds twisting up ahead, downward spiraling, growing thinner and thinner as it nears the earth. A plume of red dirt rises, staining what was once a perfect, white funnel cloud. Wind squeals around the edges of the truck, wedging its way through the nonexistent gaps between the windows and wailing in your ear. 

Tyler's truck rips straight into the center, unhindered by the mud and soybean plants being hurled against it. There's already a drone dancing around the upper part of the funnel, bobbing and weaving, serves as the eyes for however many people are watching the live stream it's broadcasting. 

Rhett's a little more conservative, looping out to the side and into the path of the tornado instead. Leaves scatter across the windshield, wedging beneath the windshield wipers. But the nose of the truck turns to face the cyclone, and the wind is already beginning to tear them away. 

"Wanna press the button?" You can hardly hear him. Only realize he's talking when you notice his mouth moving.

You're already reaching out, pressing the little green button on the dash. 

The drills whir to life, entirely inaudible, but it's impossible to miss their vibration as they dig down into the soil, the truck gradually sinking lower. 

One blink and the world around you turns to dust. The little ranch truck shivers under the battering of the wind; feels like you're going to blow away at any moment, but nothing around you is moving. 

Hesitant, you peek out the passenger window up at the tornado overhead. It's almost calm. A little quieter now. The crystal sky peeks through the twirling clouds, and if you tilt your head just right, it kind of looks like one of Rhett's gentle blue eyes. 

Rhett's elbow nudges yours as you settle back into your seat. 

You know what he's going to say before he's even opened his mouth. 

"Now, is this more fun than it is with Dallas?" Always comparing your ventures together to what you've done in the past, like he's aiming to jump up to the top of your 'Best Experiences' list.

"Nah," repeating the same thing you always tell him. He should have expected this answer from a mile away. "Dal still has ya beat."

His eyes roll, but he laughs nonetheless. Defeated again. "One of these days, I'm—"

Bang.

The truck jumps. 

Something sharp scatters across your face. Wind screams in your ears. 

The world flips on its head. Upside down. Rightside up. Upside down again. It jars you so hard that your teeth snap together, head smacking against the seat, and there's something yanking against your chest, and your ears are popping and, and, and—

You should have known that was coming. 

Why didn't you know that was coming?

You don't feel the pressure on your shoulders until it's gone. Replaced with something warm that you can't identify. Can't think to try and identify where it's coming from. Something about your head doesn't feel right, but it doesn't hurt. Tickles. Like something is running down the side of it.

The truck flipped. How did the truck flip? 

Fuck.

You, from three years ago, would have seen that coming from a mile fucking away. How have you gotten worse at the one thing you're supposed to be good at? You should've checked the drills, the circuits, the wires. Why didn't you run through any of the safety checks before you left? What if the tornado had been stronger? Sucked you up and spit you out several hundred feet into the air? 

Did you not learn from the last time? 

This was entirely avoidable.

There's something muttering near you. Sounds like thunder in a strange sort of way. Deep rumbles, rolling in one ear and out the other. But thunder doesn't pause in the middle of its booming, not like this. 

"We're okay."

Your throat is so raw that you can hardly speak. Dry, too. Chest heaving, sucking in air faster than your lungs can handle it. What, what...what...

"We're okay," Rhett. That's Rhett's voice in your ear. "We're okay." 

And he keeps saying it. Over and over, like he's trying to convince himself just as much as he's trying to convince you. But it's not working. You're still shivering, and his voice is lodging in his throat, and...

Your head goes dark. 

You don't necessarily know if you pass out or if your memory decided to stop writing things down. 

One moment, you're in the truck, and the next, you're sitting in the middle of a hospital room, squinting as a nurse shines a blinding light directly into your eye. She hums something to the woman next to her, then turns the light off. 

There's a spot in your vision now. Dead center, lingering as you turn your head to look at whoever is sitting next to you, entirely blocking out their face. Their hand over top of yours, thumb swiping idly across your skin, back and forth in a rhythm that you haven't figured out yet.

"What failed?" You know it's your voice, can feel your mouth shaping around the words, but it sounds nothing like you. 

"Hm?" Rhett's hum nearly disappears amongst the commotion going on around you. 

"The truck," trying again, a little more specific now. "What went wrong back there?"

Stitches line his forearm, probably sliced open by the same thing that left the cuts on the left side of his cheek. Glass from the shattered windshield, you think. 

"You'll never believe this," he leans closer like he doesn't want anyone else to hear what he's about to say. "We got hit by a tree."

That doesn't... "A...tree?" Parroting him. You're expecting for him to furrow his brows and ask how in the world you've managed to mishear him, but all he does is nod. You heard him perfectly. 

All of that was because of a tree hitting the side of the truck. Probably struck hard enough to rip the drills from the ground and gave the tornado all the leverage it needed to start throwing you around like a children's toy.

...huh. 

"Hey, is there a lug wrench sittin' over there?" Rhett asks, his foot kicking out toward the tool cabinet as if to try and point you toward it. Whatever he's doing up under the truck, he must not be able to see that you're already standing in front of the damn cabinet. 

You already see them, sitting amongst the mess of tools resting on top of it. "You've got two." 

His head pokes out from the side. "I do?"

"One is silver, the other is black," lifting them both for him to see. You don't see a difference between them; they both do the same thing, but you're not the one needing them.

"Give me..." his lips purse, "the black one."

You bend down, handing the tool off to him, but the silver one is still in your other hand. "Remind me again what drawer these belong in?"

He taps the thing against his chin. "Any of the middle ones is fine." 

"And here you wonder why you can never find anything," you tease, an ache blooming in your chest as you laugh, still a bit sore from being rolled around like Mother Nature's bowling ball.

Something metal hits the floor, audibly rolling away. A bolt, you think. Rhett swears, boots squeaking as he clambers out from beneath the vehicle. "'ts hard to stay organized when ya share a garage with someone like Tyler."

"That bad?" You would look to see what he's chasing, but organizing this mess is higher on your priority list. 

There's so much junk on the top of this cabinet that you can't figure out what is what, in such a disarray that it seems to swallow up everything you sit on top of it. Somewhere in here is your ten-millimeter socket. 

Kate's voice echoes from outside, loud enough for you to hear her but not enough for you to understand her. Tyler shouts back, the slam of a truck door punctuating whatever he has to say. You think he's still talking when Kate blurts something that sounds like an "I don't care!" Tyler doesn't seem to like that at all.

You turn to look at Rhett right as he does the same. Defeat. Confusion. An overall look of being absolutely done with hearing it from them. You recognize it all; you're feeling the same damn thing. 

And here you thought you'd found a place to escape from them.

"Are those two ever gonna get together?" Rhett whines after a moment. 

Your head shakes, "Kate's got a strict 'no dating business partners' clause." 

They're getting closer now, slowly but surely carrying their argument to the garage. You're not sure why. Everyone was there when the argument started in the restaurant, gradually clearing all of you out of the booth with to-go boxes and a migraine to boot. 

Rhett reaches through the open truck window, pressing the garage door opener. With a groan, it starts to close, taking away your fresh midnight air but granting more silence in return. "Does that rule apply to you, too?"

"I'm not sure," you'd never actually...considered if you were wrapped up in that law or if it was Kate-exclusive. "Why?"

Rhett's eyes dart away. 

Have his ears been red this whole time? Or maybe it's a trick the light is playing on you because it seems to disappear as he rushes toward the side door, sliding the deadbolts into place and twisting the locks. 

There's no way that he's... "Are you seriously locking them out?" 

"Do you wanna hear them argue for another hour?" He doesn't need for you to answer that; he already knows the answer. "Get me that padlock off the table."

Padlock. Shit, where did you last see that?

There's so much on this table. Jumper cables. Tools. Tools. More tools. Bolts. A box of nails. Your missing socket. A chocolate candy wrapper. Tootsie rolls. Another box of nails. Shit, is that a broken phone case? You push your hands through the mess, shoving it all to the side, but you don't see it. Where is it? Where is it? 

Someone knocks on the garage door. Rattling across the garage.

Fuck, fuck, where is it? You don't see—

There it is.

You don't feel it in your grasp until you're halfway across the room. Shoving it into Rhett's open hands. The garage door rattles. But Rhett's shoving the hook through a hole in the tracks, squeezing it closed until it clicks. 

"Are y'all in there?" Tyler's muffled voice is the last thing you want to hear. 

Something moves in the window. 

Your body moves on its own. Grabbing Rhett by the bicep. Diving toward the couch. 

He's too big to be tumbling after you, but he does, the loveseat squealing as he lands on top of you. An elbow finds its way into your ribs. Your knee slots between his thighs. His hair is in your face, and you can smell the vanilla of his cologne, and his hand is on your waist—

"Rhett?" Tyler tries again. Knuckles tap at the window. 

You know they can't see you. If they could, then they would be calling you out on it. 

This couch isn't wide enough for you and Rhett to be lying on it like this, your shoulder hanging off the edge, his knees awkwardly bent to make room for your legs. He's finding a way to make it work, though. Wedging himself up against the back cushion, granting you enough room to roll onto your side without falling off. 

You're not sure if you want to comment on the arm that drapes around your waist, securing you to him. 

"I entirely forgot about the window," he whispers. Does he think Tyler can hear him talking from outside? 

Laughing, you tap him on the nose. "I know you did." 

So much of his hair has fallen into his face that you can no longer see his expression, concealed under a mass of unruly, brunette curls, untamable by any means of the word. He can very well push it out of the way himself, but for some reason, you find that your hand is beginning to do that for him. Collecting locks of it with your fingers, sorting them to their respective sides, tucking some of it behind his ear. 

"Watcha doin'?" He asks as you unveil his hidden eye. It looks bluer than it was before.

Your touch falters. "I wanted to see your face." 

"Yeah?" The corner of his lip lifts a little. 

"Yeah." Nodding. 

And your hand just...falls onto his cheek. Idly resting there, like this is exactly where it belongs, where it's always gone after you've finished fixing his hair. 

Worse. He doesn't make any effort to stop you, lets your thumb swipe up and down his skin, meandering across the tiny cuts that linger there. If you didn't know any better, you would think he nicked himself while shaving, but there are far too many of them for that. Too high, too. There's even one up beside the corner of his eye.

"No!" Even the garage door isn't enough to muffle Kate's voice. "We're not doing that, Tyler!"

Tyler isn't quite as loud. You can hear the general sound of his voice, carrying through a sentence or two, but you can't make out a single word.��

"Because—because it's ridiculous," Kate's still going. Tyler says something a bit louder.

You don't know when Rhett started moving, but all of a sudden, you're way too aware of how close his face is getting. Inching closer and closer until...

He rubs his nose against yours. Slow little motions that don't stop until you can no longer fight off your smile.

"What're you doing?" You giggle, making no real effort to stop him. 

He's too close for you to see his mouth, but you recognize the way that the corners of his eyes turn upward with his grin. "Distractin' ya." 

It must be working because you no longer have the capacity to think about what's going on in the driveway. His hand smooths up your back, making its way up to your face, and he's so warm, heat radiating off his palm like he's got a small fire burning in his veins. Rough fingertips brush against your cheek, hesitant to make any solid contact. 

"Your cheek is still swollen," his palm gradually comes to flatten against your cheek, his hand so big that it seems to cover your entire face. 

Kate's voice echoes in the back of your head. No dating business partners. But something about his touch...it's addicting. "Well, that's what happens when you get thrown around by a tornado." 

He doesn't seem to have much else to say to that. 

To be fair, you don't know what you would say to that, either. 

His thumb swipes across the upper portion of your cheek. Your fingers find their way down to his jaw, pushing through the stubble there. It's soft, has had time to lose the stiffness that comes with being recently shaved. 

It seems that you may have finally lost Kate and Tyler; you don't hear them bickering outside, at least. You lift your head, craning to look over the arm of the couch and at the door. The window is impossible to see from this angle, but you get the feeling that they're no longer standing outside. 

"What's that?" You ask, nodding toward something that you know he can't see.

Rhett's fingers trace their way over to the shell of your ear, not interested in trying to look at what you're asking him about. "Hm?"

"The little contraption sitting next to the door," clarifying, "it looks like a bunch of pipes welded together."

"Oh, that's...supposed to be a tree to hold a bunch of different instruments," he tilts his head back a little, realizes he can't see anything without sitting up, then immediately lets himself fall back against the couch. "I can get everythin' on it, but I can't get it to stay on."

"Industrial glue and steel hose clamps." You have to pause for a moment, sifting through dusty memories, trying to recall how you used to protect Kate's old contraptions. "Maybe build a thin cage around it in case those two things fail."

Rhett's quiet again, his brows knitting together. 

Is he confused, or is he just thinking about what you said? 

It takes him some time to find his words, half-built sentences flickering behind his eyes. You can practically hear the gears turning up in his head. And then, hestiant, his lips part. "I feel like you know a lot more 'bout storm chasin' than you let on."

Something in your lower belly twists. "What's telling you that?"

"You're confident when you're in here," he doesn't need any more time to think on this, his thoughts flowing off his tongue like a waterfall, "most of the folks who walk in here don't have the slightest clue what we're building, but you recognize almost all of it." 

Your eyes dart away, looking down at your intertwined legs, bent and crammed onto this tiny little couch. His fingers curl around your jaw, gently guiding you to look him in the eye.

For reasons unbeknownst to you, you don't fight him on it. 

"You draw up some of the coolest concepts I've ever seen, you...you..." the corner of his lip wobbles up and down. The sight of it makes your head feel funny. "Shit, you make me feel like I'm not the only person here who knows how to do this kind of stuff." 

You suppose you should have expected this. It takes one to know one, and you haven't done yourself any favors by always working with him in this dingy old garage. But you don't entirely know how to respond to that or where you should even start...

"I used to work on an old storm truck that Kate and I owned," it comes out so easily that it almost surprises you, "but that was...god, that was forever ago."

Rhett's eyelashes flutter, his head tilting like that of a curious puppy. "Why'd you never tell me?" 

Shattered glass. The snap of hydraulics splitting in half. Blood blurring your vision. Ear-splitting howling. The world flipping on its head. Rain in your eyes. Steel digging through your back. Your chest tightens. Hail pounding into your skull. The screaming. It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault. 

And you're...warm. 

"'m sorry," Rhett murmurs, and you don't know when he got so close, but you can feel the vibration of his voice against your nose. A careful hand smooths up your back, another arm securing you to him, tucked up under his chin, shielded from the glaring openness of this too-big garage.

He doesn't move, and neither do you. But this time...this time, you think you know why. 

Rubber squeals against the pavement, so shrill that it soars above the roar of the engine. Your shoulder slams into the window, seat belt cinching tight as everything spins into a blur. 

"Tyler!" Kate yelps.

"Kate!" Tyler. Ever so mocking.

"You're gonna get another ticket." Her hand darts out, smacking his arm. Tyler's got something clever to say about that; you don't hear any of it. If you start listening now, you'll have a migraine before the funnel cloud touches the ground.

Rhett meets your gaze out of the corner of his eye. Telepathy must be real because you know exactly what's running through his head.

Here we go again. 

If you'd known this would start up again, then you probably would have faked an illness to stay home. A headache, an upset stomach, or a sudden onset of death that will miraculously cure itself when the storm chase ends. Anything.

Tires squeal again, the truck seeming to tip onto its front wheels. The seatbelt yanks on your shoulders, throwing you back into the seat. Rhett's phone smacks against the console. A scattering of papers, nameless weather instruments, and unlit rockets scatter across the floor. 

Wind rocks the vehicle back and forth. Squealing through the crack in the window like a kettle boiling over. Or maybe you're just hearing things because nobody else seems to hear it. Tyler's shouting into his camera. Kate's rattling something off about how the tornado is forming directly above the town you're driving through.

A wave of rain pelts the windshield. Hail pattering on the roof. Something silver flies past the nose of the truck, striking the building to your right. The brick splinters, debris falling like rain. Kate yells something. Tyler shouts back at her.

"Hang on, hang on," Rhett jumps in his seat, blindly smacking his hand on the console, looking at something you can't see, "stop the truck."

But Tyler is saying something into the CB radio, veering the truck to the right with one hand. Kate doesn't lift her head from the scanner. And they're still fucking arguing. You don't know if they even hear Rhett over the clash of their own voices, nevermind the storm.

Rhett yanks on the door handle. It peels open, rain spewing through the gap. "Ty, stop the damn truck!" 

"Rhett?" You yelp. Scrambling.  "Rhett, wait!" 

You can't stop him. 

He's jumping out of the truck before it's even stopped moving. Bricks and sheet metal hurl past. The door slams closed. You don't see where he went. Where is he? Where did he-where did he go? Why is the truck still moving—

"Stop the goddamn truck!" Screaming so loud that it doesn't even sound like you. 

The truck lurches. The seatbelt rips the air from your lungs. Taking it off is the last thing you should be doing, but it's already unclipped. Papers crunch as you scurry into Rhett's seat. Wind beats against the door. Does everything in its power to keep you from forcing it to open. You can't see a thing. Not even with the damn door halfway open.

"Where's Rhett?" 

You don't know which of them asked that. You don't care to figure that out. "If you two could stop fighting for two fucking seconds, then maybe you would know!" 

It's like someone flipped a switch. The wind and rain just...dies. There's a reason for that, a term and definition that Kate probably memorized in college, but you're not sticking around to hear it. Slipping out of the truck, you dart out into the mist. Fog already licks at your heels, so humid that it feels like you're wearing a second skin out here.

"Rhett?" Calling out. 

You don't see him. There's nothing but debris and disheveled produce stands, all the cracked open watermelons and runaway apples in the world, but no cowboy. But where did he... Turning around. Where did he get out of the truck? It was further back than this. Yeah. He must be further down the road. 

"Rhett?" You're trying again, toeing through the mess. 

There goes the rain again. Starting up so quickly that you wonder if Mother Nature accidentally pressed pause on her remote. Something carries over the rumbling thunder. Something that sounds like your name.

You hear him, but you don't see him. "Rhett?" 

"I'm over here." He's already walking toward you, must have seen you coming before you even realized where he was. The rain thickens, but you can see the rip in his shirt clear as day, blood pouring from his shoulder like the water falling from the heavens. 

"God, Rhett—don't do that!" It comes out a little too loud. A little too quick. "You can't just go hopping out moving vehicles—"

He throws his hands behind him, gesturing at something. "She needed help!" 

You hadn't seen the little old lady standing on the other side of the road until now, being helped back into the safety of an untouched house. You suppose that's who he's talking about, but... "And what if something happened to you?" 

"Nothin's gonna happen to me!" Thunder booms behind his words. Just as irritated as he is. 

Your hand flies out, gesturing to his bloody arm. "Clearly, it already did. Look at your shoulder, Rhett!" 

"God, why are you always so worried?" He spits. Doesn't hear a word you just said. 

"I don't know; maybe it's because we almost got sucked into a tornado three days ago?" You can feel your face getting hot. Teeth grit, jaw popping under the strain. "Maybe it's because I've seen storms kill people, Rhett!"

He stiffens. 

So do you. Glued in the middle of the street. Even the rain stabbing at your eyes can't make you blink. But the wind is one of those things that forces you to move—swaying sideways, shielding your gaze with an arm. A horn honks, headlights piercing through the silver veil. 

Getting back into the truck with him is the last thing you want to do. 

Gravel crunches beneath your feet. Shifting under your weight, seeming to drag you in like a thin layer of quicksand. Tiny little pebbles leap into the tops of your shoes, wriggling down through the gaps and working their way up under your foot. Walking barefoot would have been more comfortable. 

Ugh, but then you would have to worry about dodging the sharp metal hiding beneath the rocks, leftovers from experiments gone wrong, and backyard-tested explosives. 

The spare garage isn't much further up the driveway. Smaller, built to hold only one or two vehicles, depending on their size. There's no point in adding all of the extra space, not when the main garage is on the same property, fully decked out with its fancy tools, wifi, and air conditioning. 

Understandable, but you wish someone would have stopped to consider installing a light all the way out here. You can't see a damn thing this far out. Is there a bobcat standing between you and the building? Nobody knows!

There doesn't seem to be anything lurking in your path. You certainly don't feel anything brush past, even when you peel open the door and blindly feel along the inside wall, looking for the light switch. 

The grill of a truck glares back at you. Same old golden paint, still the same diamond-shaped chip beneath the left headlight. The dust is new, and yet, somehow, it's the same too. Exactly how it's always been.

And how it will stay if you can help it. 

It's a beautiful truck, really. Only one previous owner, still relatively new, decorated in gadgets that you've long since forgotten the specifics of. It's got everything. A roll cage. Bulletproof glass. Window cages. Augers hang on either side of the vehicle, in combination with the overhead arms, and those are only the things you remember installing.

There's a wire sticking out of the cables for the drills, has inexplicably wriggled its way out of the covering. That's what you get for choosing the cheapest company to haul this piece of junk all the way out here. You don't want to touch it, but...it's a simple fix. You've just got to slide this strip of metal up and—

Sparks scatter. A shock bolts through your fingers.

"You mother—mmh!" Yelping. Yanking your hand back. A twitch runs up your arm, the muscles in your hand shivering. 

And here you wonder why you quit messing with this goddamn truck. 

You peel the door open, blindly feeling around the console until you find the stupid tool you came all the way up here for. This old hunk of metal can sit here and rot for all you care. Why did you even try to mess with it? You know full well what will happen if you do more than open the door. 

Something always has to go wrong. 

You don't even feel your hand touch the light switch, but the room plunges into darkness all the same. To hell with—

"Am I interruptin' anything?" 

The door slams shut behind you, the knob jabbing into your spine. "Rhett?"

It's so dark out that you nearly miss the way his hands twist together, his head tilted toward the ground, not quite bold enough to look you in the eye. "I just...wanted to come and tell you I'm sorry," he pauses, peeking up at you through his lashes. You've never seen someone look more like a kicked puppy in your life. "I was actin' just like Tyler back there."

...huh. 

Can't say you were expecting that. 

"It's...uh..." What do you say? You can't say that it's okay. It's not okay. "Thank you?"

That seems to be enough for him. Shoulders falling, finally lifting his head to look at you properly. But then, his brows knit together. It's too dark to see where he's looking, but you can almost feel the heat of his gaze fixating on the garage behind you. "What're ya doin' out here?"

"Working on something?" This is what you get into focusing on creating an excuse and not rehearsing it beforehand. An amateur surrounded by Hollywood stars would be more convincing than you are.

"Top secret stuff, huh?" Is he buying it? He sounds like he is. "Somethin' broke on that gold truck of yours?"

...

Son of a bitch.

"How did you..." you don't...you don't know what to...say... "know about that?"

He jams his thumb over his shoulder, pointing blindly toward the heap of metal a few hundred feet away. "Was over in the scrap pile when ya brought it in a few weeks ago."

He's fucking with you.

He's got to be fucking with you.

"And you never said anything about it?" You feel like a deer caught in the headlights of a bullet train. Nowhere to run. Facing down your doom as it barrels toward you at a hundred miles an hour. 

"Figured you'd talk about it when y' wanted to," Rhett says it so matter of factly. Like this isn't a big deal. Like you haven't had Kate thinking that the truck has been delayed for the past month and a half.

It takes a moment to gather words on your tongue. It takes even longer to arrange them into a comprehensible sentence. "Does anybody else know?"

Rhett shrugs. "Not that 'm aware of."

You don't entirely know what it is that leads you to reach for the doorknob and twist it again. Nobody is forcing you to show him the truck. Hell, he's not even asking or acting like he wants to see it, but your body seems to be moving on its own accord. Maybe it simply can't handle another day of carrying around the secret, or maybe it's something else. Something that words aren't capable of describing. 

Rhett doesn't say a word. Quietly following you into the dark garage, winces when you flick on the overhead lights without warning. 

And then his eyelashes begin to flutter in that dumb, endearing sort of way. Intrigued. "What made ya wanna hide this?"

"Because if Kate finds out it's here, I'll have to work on it," you almost lean your hip against the front bumper. Almost.

Damn thing would probably blow up if you actually followed through with that impulse.

"I'm not followin'." Rhett runs his fingers across the hood, leaving behind little trails amongst the collection of dust. 

"Every time I touch this truck, it ends badly," now that you're saying it out loud, it sounds like you're trying to convince him that the thing is haunted. "I drove it here, and a headlight blew. Tried to fix that exposed wire on the driver's side and shocked the hell out of myself."

"What, two—"

"Time before that, the hydraulic arm snapped, and we turned into an EF3's playground toy." Not giving him any time to wiggle into the gaps of your argument. You're not touching it. End of story. 

He doesn't push it any further. Doesn't downplay what you're trying to tell him or try to sell you on the novelty of coincidences and misinterpretations. No, he just...hums and nods his head as if this is a story he hears all the time. 

A part of you hates that you ever expected anything less of him.

The cicadas take over. Singing their shrill, repetitive tune that somehow manages to get louder when you're inside. You don't know if it counts as silence when there are hundreds of bugs screaming the song of their people, like nature's rejected choir.

"Do y' want me to fix it?" Rhett's voice is like silk against the grating little pests lurking outside.

"Fix what?" You're lost.

"The headlight," he taps his knuckle against it, visibly disturbing the dust there, "and the wire that shocked ya." 

You're not entirely sure if you want to put the time and effort into this old piece of junk. There's a fairly large possibility that something internal has dry-rotted over the years and is bound to break at any moment, something that will cost a whole lot more than a cheap little headlight. But...

"Only if you want to," you don't mean for it to come out so miserable. Like you've had to strangle the words out of your own throat.

Rhett doesn't seem to notice it, his lips pulling up into a meager smile right before he moseys off to mess with the exposed wire. He taps his finger against the metal casing, following it up to where it ventures over the roof, then follows that until it guides him toward the driver's door. 

It's like he's got a blueprint of how you rigged this together, knows exactly where you've got the electric control box sitting, and which of the wires belong to the exposed one. The cover snaps back into place with the slightest bit of pressure. Easy as can be. No sparks, no shocks. 

The headlights are a bigger pain in the ass than they should be. You remember that all too well, the tediousness of removing the internal cover, several screws, and the grill, all to reach what should be an easily accessible headlight. 

"At the risk of soundin' dumb," Rhett's talking funny with that screw resting in the corner of his lip, "but you really built this thing?" 

"Once upon a time, yes." It doesn't even feel like you were the one who came up with all of this.

 The countless sleepless nights spent tweaking and redrawing plans. Building or scouring the ends of the earth for specific little parts. The perpetual stiffness in your neck from building your inventions into the truck. God, the grease stains that claimed so many of your t-shirts. 

The memories are all there in your head, and when Rhett tugs at the grill housing, your hands still twitch with a muscle memory you've yet to lose. He needs to tilt it up and towards himself. It's easier that way. But the memories don't feel like your own. Belonging to a past life, a glimpse of something that was never really meant for you. 

A stray thought draws to the forefront of your mind. "How's your shoulder?" 

"Hm?" He lifts his head, staring at you. Then, realizing what you said. "It's a'ight, jus' needed a couple stitches." 

You wonder what he defines as 'a couple'. But he doesn't push for any more history between you and the truck, so you don't push him for anything, either. 

There's a bunch of spare bulbs hiding in the main garage, and that really should be the end of it. Once the hood slams shut, there shouldn't be anything left to tinker with. The light works, the wire is no longer exposed, and everything is in order. You have absolutely zero reason to lay eyes on this truck again. 

To be fair, that's exactly what happens. 

For a day. 

"I thought they were s'pposed to quit arguin'?" 

You hear Rhett before you see him. Half-open eyes and messy hair stumbling down the unlit hallway, his arms full with his fuzzy brown blanket. Must have had the same idea that you did, seeking out the room furthest from Tyler's, hoping for another minute or two of sleep. 

You hate to tell him that there's no peace to be found in this damned house. 

"Bold of you to believe them," your attention darts back to the notebook resting in your lap, pen idly drawing across old lines, darkening them. Four in the morning is too early for creativity, but you can't fall back asleep, and you didn't bring anything to distract from the never-ending quarrel.

The couch cushion dips, Rhett's heavyweight settling in next to you. His cheek finds its way to your shoulder, landing there so naturally that you hardly even question it. "What're ya drawin'?"

"Same thing as before, just making it look a little less..." You don't know where you were going with that. Rhett isn't awake enough to catch it.

His gaze is so warm that you can feel it following your hand around the page, drinking in the careful strokes of the pen. 

It's almost enough to distract from Kate's muffled swearing, but nothing short of a speaker at full blast is going to drown them out. So the pen continues to dance across the paper, and the silence remains battered by two people who need to suck up their pride and kiss already. If not for the sake of their own mundane love lives, then for the sanity of those around them. 

"Have ya ever considered buildin' this idea?" Rhett reaches out to trace his finger around your crudely drawn wheel, the only spot he can touch without getting in your way.

"I started on it a long time ago," rattling it off without much thought. You don't have the capacity to consider what you're saying right now. "The sockets and connections are already built into the roof, but I could never get the hydraulic arms right." 

"I could help."

"Yeah?"

He tilts his head up to look at you, and you're just awake enough to realize that those aren't actually stars sparkling behind his eyes. But damn, does it sure look like tiny galaxies are lurking beneath the sea of blue. 

You don't know why you let him lean up and rub his nose against yours, but it must be the reason why you nuzzle him back. 

If there is one thing more awkward about sitting through Kate and Tyler's never-ending argument, it's having to survive their new form of fighting—the silent treatment. Each refusing to say a word when the other is in the room, resigning to comments filled with double meanings and glares out of the corner of their eyes.

You, quite frankly, might combust if you have to sit through another silent meal. If you wanted to be put in timeout, you would go back to elementary school.

"I see we had the same idea," you yawn, fighting to keep your eyes open as it takes over. One wrong step and your food is going to find itself in the gravel, and you're not looking to brave the wall of silence for a second time. 

"Great minds think alike," Rhett kicks his foot at you, perched up on the tailgate of his truck. "Unless your mind belongs t' two people I cannot name."

The initial plan was to wait until the weekend before you spent any time working on your truck, but it's hard to put it off when Tyler and his fleet of vehicles tear out of the driveway before noon, taking away damn near ever project Rhett had on the drawing board. You don't see Kate leave, but her car is missing from its usual spot, and you're in no mood to learn any more than that.

They'll get over it.

...once hell freezes over.

It's like you become caught up in a time loop. Every day, you wake up expecting to be put to work, to chase a storm, or to go on a supply run for weather equipment that you don't know the name of. Every day, you eat breakfast in the back of Rhett's truck and watch as every vehicle on the property flees the premises. Every day, you walk into that spare garage, roll up your sleeves, and begin tinkering with last night's project.

And Rhett just keeps coming around. Always the one to attach your creations to the truck, races you to pick up the heavier things around the shop, pokes at your sketches until you've explained every little thought and whim that went into why you created that particular part. 

Working with him is so much different than it was with Kate. She was never difficult to work with in the past; nothing big stands out in your memory, but you distinctly recall every frustrating moment she asked to change something that she didn't fully understand. Builds like these were nothing like what she was familiar with. She knew weather, not cars, and that was okay, but...

Fuck, it's like Rhett shares a brain with you. It's strange; he looks at what you're doing, and he just...understands it. Like you've finally found someone who understands a language that only you have spoken until now.

It's two weeks before the parts begin to fall into place, but once they do, it's all uphill from there. The hydraulic arms fit like a glove, and the batteries built beneath the seat offer more than enough electricity to operate them without sucking power from another operation. The drills spin as they're supposed to; they don't even warp when they sink into the rocky Arkansas soil for the first time.

Sunlight reveals that the cage protecting the windshield has rusted to hell. Rhett's sputtering about an improved design before you've even realized how bad it has gotten. A few of the tires need replacing, and if you don't let him fix those mismatching rims, he might just lose his mind.

"How d' you just let it look like that?" He's gotten heated so quickly, but that growing smile suggests he's only trying to bother you for the fun of it, "'n how did I miss this for so damn long?" 

"It doesn't affect the performance," you shrug, don't really recall when or how you wound up with one rim that doesn't match the others. Don't particularly care, either. 

"It's affectin' mine!" 

Your afternoon plans didn't originally include running between three shops in search of rims that match the aesthetics of the truck, but it's hard to say no when Rhett grabs you by the hand and guides you along like he does. 

And he...doesn't really let go. 

Maybe he does a few times, but he's loosely holding your hand in his while you walk from one store to another, and he's grabbing it to show you a set that he thinks is perfect for the truck's aesthetic. He's squeezing it when someone starts eyeing you up in the checkout lane. He's toying with your fingers at the stop light. And he reaches for it again at the end of the night when the rims are finally, finally on.

Now that you think about it, 'no dating business partners' almost definitely applies to you, too, but...

Oh, what the hell, why do you care? 

"Do you...want to try something?" Rhett's thumb swipes across your knuckles, idle little motions that seem to burn into your skin. 

You think you know what he's about to try and do, but... "Okay." 

He's gentle about it, guiding you forward toward the shimmering gold vehicle, sparkling in all of its post-bath glory. His other hand finds your waist, drawing you to stand in front of him, back kissing his warm chest. 

"What are we doing?" You know what he's doing. 

"Nothin' huge," he murmurs, voice low in your ear, so close that you can almost feel his lips brushing against the shell of it, "just...touchin' the door, a'ight?" 

His hand slips behind yours, grasping it from behind. Gently, he pushes it forward, so light that you can hardly feel his touch at all. Your stomach twists. That paint is too close.

Your arm stiffens. He doesn't push any further.

 It's too...well...if Rhett's not afraid of it, you suppose that...

It's cool beneath your touch, like ice, when you compare it to the burn of Rhett's palm. There's a scratch in the pain that you hadn't noticed up until this very moment, just deep enough to feel when the pad of your finger drifts across it. It feels...well, like a perfectly normal truck. You're not sure what else you were expecting. 

Your eyes dart to the window, peering at the silhouette of the steering wheel. 

Rhett's hand disappears from behind yours, leaves you cold and alone, up against this truck, but he makes no move to step away. Still here, even if you can't necessarily feel him. "That's not so bad, is it?"

"You're not gonna make me drive it next, are you?" You don't mean for it to come out sounding so annoyed, like a petulant child. 

His laugh echoes through the room and out the open door; doesn't seem to mind your tone at all. "Nah, we can wait on that." 

You don't touch it again until a few days later, your hip idly coming to rest against it during a conversation. And again, when Rhett's on the roof of the vehicle and needs you to climb up and hand him something. It doesn't shock you. The door doesn't magically slam shut on your fingers. It's...normal. Hell, it's at the very bottom of your list of inconveniences.

That's mostly because two names have taken over the rest of the page, but you digress. 

There's a moment when you catch yourself climbing into the driver's seat; you accidentally spilled a jar of bolts all over the floor, and the only way to fully clean it up is to get the truck out of the way. The key finds its way into the ignition without question, twisting so easily that you hardly realize what you're doing.

But then the engine rumbles to life, vibrating beneath your feet and echoing around the tiny garage like thunder, and ice forms in your joints. Stiff, freezing you into place like someone's pressed the pause button. 

Rhett tilts the broom handle toward you; those blue eyes are warm enough to melt you back into motion. Something about him keeps reining you in. Stops you before you can force yourself beyond your boundaries before you're ready. 

You're starting to love that about him. 

"I thought we were past this," you mutter, chin resting heavy against your knee. 

A midnight breeze swirls past you, bringing a chill that has you drawing your legs closer to your chest. At least the night is quiet, even the chirping cicadas have turned themselves down, nothing but a distant melody that you can hardly hear. Your ears catch the sound of a fork striking a plate, so sharp that it carries through the window and out into the parking lot. 

"'m sorry," Rhett's knees crack as he bends down to sit next to you, back coming to rest against the cool exterior of his truck. He's so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his arm, warm and cozy like the flames of a campfire. 

"You've got nothing to apologize for," it's not his fault. Nobody could have expected that bringing up the YouTube channel would end in...that. 

He hums. "I know."

Wind slams against the truck behind you, rocking it just enough for you to feel the motion against your back. Rhett's hair lifts. Dancing. Twisting along with it. Blowing into his face until he sputters and forces it behind his ear once more. If you had known you would be sitting outside, then you would have grabbed your coat before you came all the way out here.

But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and you've got nothing but this thin t-shirt and the warmth of your own body to get by on, hugging your legs even tighter. They've been in this position for so long that they've begun to go numb, but you prefer this to shivering.

"Cold?" Rhett leans over, nudging you with his elbow. You think he leaves a small fire behind, burning a little spot into your skin.

"Little bit," biting back the waver in your voice. 

"C'mere," and he's not really waiting for you to give him a yes or a no, already lifting his arm, beckoning you into his warm side. You shouldn't, but...

Oh, what the hell.

One little motion is all it takes to scoot under his arm, your head dropping to nestle against the expanse of his chest, and fuck, he's burning up. It's like snuggling into a big, cozy flame, one that envelops you before you can think twice about it. His head tilts, his chin coming to rest against your forehead, freshly shaven and a little bit prickly. 

You can hear his heartbeat right here. Deep little thump, thump, thumps, following an unnamed tune that you've never heard before. It seems the cicadas have drums now. Performing their little melodies for their barely-there audience, punctuated by the drone of a car crossing through the lot.

"What if I drive us to McDonalds?" Rhett's voice vibrates through your skull. Your head goes quiet. "Think there's a Taco Bell down the road, too."

Finding the ability to speak is...hard. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to move yet."

"That's a'ight," his lips press to your temple, "we can stay here, too." 

He doesn't say anything about what he just did. Neither do you, but it sticks in the back of your head like glue. You could convince yourself that it's just a ghost, one who has decided to follow you around and kiss the side of your head every time you think about him, the lingerings of a memory that refuses to leave. 

It's there when you lean up against the passenger side door, bent legs lazily slotting between Rhett's as you eat your greasy fast food. It bubbles to the surface when you run into each other in the living room and become sucked in by the Dr. Phil episode blasting from the neglected television. You can feel its presence when you spot him outside the garage while you and Kate are having coffee on the porch. 

You don't know if she realizes that you tune out of the conversation right then and there, mindlessly following the sight of his pale shoulders as he hoses something off. Muscles flex with the mundane effort, thick enough to cast a shadow. 

"I mean, can you believe he said that?" Kate's still going, the ice rattling in her cup as her hand moves about. "Yes, I'll admit I have feelings for him, but you know how that would affect the business!" 

"Who says that kind of thing?" You wonder what it would be like to dig your nails into those shoulders. What it would feel like for those jean-clad hips to slip between your parted—

"Exactly!" Kate hasn't the slightest clue what kind of daydream she just interrupted.

The memory of a kiss has zero reason to make itself known in the middle of an auto parts shop. When your hands are stained in indescribable grime that has no doubt managed to mar your face, the rattiest clothes you own hanging from your body with all the grace of a cardboard box. If you don't already look your worst, then you certainly feel your worst.

So why do you have the audacity to think about crossing the aisle and kissing him until you get kicked out? What provoked you to start thinking about this? You're supposed to be looking for that stupid...battery...damn which of these...did... 

"Which brand were you looking for?" The question is so prominent in your mind that it slips out of your mouth before you can realize it, already turning to look in his direction.

"The purple one," he rattles off, staring down at something in his palm. 

The...purple one? 

Huh, you'd thought it would be a lot more complicated than that. 

"I..." Rhett lifts his head, a lone curl casting across his cheek, wide blue eyes staring back at you. There's not a thought behind them. "I...forget the name." 

Not your truck, not your fight. If he wants the one with the purple label, then that's what you'll pull off the shelf—

Shit, you forgot how heavy these damn things are. Your elbow pops, shivering under the sudden weight. It's not too heavy; you were just...not ready to actually carry something heavy. If you'd remembered, then you would have lifted it differently.

Rhett's arm drifts past your chest, his hand curling around the plastic handle, taking it from you so easily that you hardly feel it leave your grasp. "I got it." 

You understand why you were so unprepared now. 

It's because he makes the thing look light as a feather, only needs one hand to hold it as you walk to the checkout together. He doesn't even need help to put it up on the counter, so nonchalant about it that he doesn't even pay attention to what he's doing.

An ancient little television buzzes in the top right corner, directly above the chair of the missing cashier. You don't think it's been touched since it was hung when this place was built, a mountain of dust resting atop its boxy shape, but it still plays. A blurry newsreel crosses the screen, a bald-headed man pointing at a live weather radar. 

The nameless man waves his hand across a patch of red and purple on the screen, rattling off words that take you a moment to process. "As this growing storm bears down on—"

"Y'all ready to check out?" The cashier is right in front of you all of a sudden. Rhett says something that you don't entirely catch. 

This is the storm Kate was muttering about earlier, up in the northwest corner of the state, projected to produce conditions ideal for one of her beloved little tornadoes. The tiny ones that do nothing but rock the trucks back and forth, maybe striking a few unlucky houses but not taking out entire towns.

Your lower belly twists. 

You're not entirely sure why it happens, but it does. Stomach churning back and forth like you're about to be sick, all over the sight of a television screen. Something in the room begins to ring, quiet but gradually growing louder, right in your ears, this piercing noise that you can't seem to shake. Your tongue is numb in your mouth, the air cold in your chest. 

The scene changes. A woman in a raincoat, holding a microphone to her lips as she gestures broadly at the road behind her. Cars rush past. A Prius, a minivan, two Volkswagen Beetles, a silver truck, a red truck, an ancient motorhome...

"There they are," Rhett mutters, just barely audible over the ringing. You and he are supposed to be out there with them. 

You think your hand is shaking. 

Again, the cameras change, jumping back to the same bald weather forecaster as he points to something you don't understand. But they've laid it out for people like you, all of Kate's unexplained terminology has been dumbed down into vague, simple terms that you recognize loud and clear.

"That storm is gonna be too much for their trucks to handle." It darts out of your mouth before you can think about what you're about to say, teeth chattering around the letters.

Rhett tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"The storm trucks," your jaw shivers, muscles fighting to disobey your every command. "Are any of them rated for tornadoes stronger than an F2?"

"None of 'em are," he reaches to pull his card from the reader, then, pausing, "the only rig that can handle that sort of thing is..." 

You tear your gaze from the television, the reporter's voice droning on and on about something you don't entirely understand. Rhett's already looking back to you. Still frozen in place. You think you catch one of your own thoughts flickering behind his eyes. 

But you can't help yourself, looking back up toward the grainy screen. The weatherman is still talking, his warbled voice drowning in the squealing filling your ears. You think you catch the card reader beeping, yelling about a forgotten credit card. The storm wasn't this big when it crossed Kate's screen; you remember it fit perfectly between these two towns. The forecast entirely covers them now, extending out to the areas nearby.

Something warm curls around your hand.

The ringing stops. 

You don't know where the cashier has gone or when Rhett walked up next to you. But you can hear the shallow sound of your own breath, the sharp ins and outs that mismatch with the slow puff of Rhett's. 

It's still audible, even as the room changes. Ever so present when the tile floor morphs into smooth concrete, that familiar musty scent swirling around your head, assaulting your nose and drying your mouth out. Shimmering gold paint glares back at you. But your right hand is still warm.

"You've got this," the keys jingle as Rhett talks, awkwardly holding them out with his other hand. They're right there for you to take. You don't even have to reach. "I know y' do."

You're still not so sure about that. But the radio in the corner is blaring its muffled severe weather alert warnings, the old television screen is burned into your retinas, and this damn old truck isn't going anywhere, regardless of how hard you glare at it. 

Rhett's shoulder nudges yours, his hand squeezing a little tighter. "It's just a grumpy ol' truck."

The truck roars. Back tires squealing as your hands fly across the wheel. Cinching all twelve thousand pounds of machine to the left. The guy behind you blares his horn.

"Prick." Rhett snarls under his breath. His hand on the overhead handle tightens. Muscles and veins flex so harshly that you can see it in the corner of your eye. The front right tire dips off the pavement, the steering wheel almost ripping itself to the right. 

Where are they? Where are they? 

"I thought you were navigating!" You don't mean to yell. Too focused on jumping your foot between the brake and gas pedals, fighting against a speed limit that you know isn't being enforced right now. 

"I am!" Rhett's nail taps angrily at a screen. "Wherever they are 's got no fucking service."

The storm seems to be further to the east, right might be your best bet. But this road doesn't look like it goes on for at least another mile, and you can't take another dead end. Not with the rapidly darkening sky overhead. Looming. Waiting for the right moment to drop an ocean's worth of hail and rain upon you.

"Right!" Rhett yells. "Go right!" 

The tires scream. Foot tapping the breaks. The steering wheel spins. You're vaguely aware of your body tilting in the seat. Shoulder bumping into the glass. 

But you never teeter off the road. 

Even if you come close to it. 

"What made you decide that?" You feel as if you're still spinning, even as the road straightens out in front of you. 

His hand lifts, middle finger pointing toward something you don't have time to identify. "I remember them passin' them grain silos before the live stream cut off." 

You see them. A cluster of six, up in the distance, towering over the corn fields that have swallowed you whole. Maybe a mile or two up the road, give or take. Plenty of time for you to lean on the gas pedal again, the floorboard rumbling as the speedometer crawls back up to seventy. 

Everything still seems attached. No sensors are going off on the control panel crudely built into the center console. You know Rhett would have said something if one of them lit up, but you're looking at them anyway. Just in case one magically decides to light up with a catastrophic error in the next thirty seconds.

You've already got to tap the brakes again. Stupid, winding country roads forcing you to crawl back under fifty to avoid tipping over. It would be so much easier to cut through this patch of field that has already been harvested, barren, until spring rolls back around. Dodge the curves and jump right back onto the main stretch. Actually...

If Kate can accidentally drive this truck into a small river and come out fine, then a little offroading shouldn't hurt it in the slightest.

What's stopping you? 

"What the hell?!" Rhett squeals. "You coulda damaged the damn—!"

"Dallas has handled worse." There's no way you're doing this. There's no way you're really driving this rig. Never mind hauling it straight through someone's old cornfield. Bouncing up and down with every little bump in the soil. 

Rhett's head whips toward you. Still clinging to that oh-shit handle. "Dallas?"

...well.

He had to find out eventually.

All it takes is the slightest nudge to the left to jump back onto the road. And you never realized how quiet driving on the pavement is until now. Virtually silent as you reach for the turn signal, easing through a turn that you were definitely supposed to stop for. 

The cornfields break apart up ahead, diving down into the much shorter soybean crops, expanding as far as the eye can see. No police cars around to catch sight of you blowing through another all-way stop, straddling the thin expanse of pavement. 

There's a van parked on the side of the road, tucked away in a little patch of gravel. Lights and cameras flash. Yellow and white ponchos scurry back and forth. Dressed in t-shirts and shorts and flip-flops, not one of them prepared for more than mild rain. 

"There's no way they didn't come this way," Rhett's echoing the very thought that just crossed your mind.

The first drops of rain come in one thick sheet. Slamming against the windshield. Blurring sight of the rapidly deteriorating road. You've only just turned the windshield wipers on, but they're still not enough. Whirring back and forth as fast as they can possibly go.

Everything around you has gone white. You can't—shit, you can't see the road. "Can you see anything?"

Rhett leans forward, chin bumping the dashboard. The tablet in his lap beeps. Once. Twice. Three times. "Not a fuckin' thing." 

The console lights up. Purple in color. The wind gauge. 

"What does...?" Rhett doesn't finish that question. Doesn't really need to.

"The wind speeds are higher than a hundred-fifty miles an hour," your mouth is moving, but you don't recognize what you're saying. Don't have time to focus on that. "Tell me if the green one comes on."

Gravel abruptly appears under the tires. Panging against the sides of the truck like hail. 

Rhett reaches for something on the dash. "What does green mean?"

"That we should go in the opposite direction." And you don't want to remember if that light is meant to detect two hundred mile-an-hour winds or two hundred fifty. 

Fog melts from the windshield. You didn't recognize it was even there. Fading away into a clearer world. You can see the fields again, mere feet away from the vehicle, as you tear down a road too tiny for your tires to fit on. 

Clouds stir overhead, so dark that they're visible even through the rain. Twisting in a slow spiral, gradually descending to the earth below. But she's not here yet. She still needs a minute to gather her momentum before the clouds can kiss the ground. 

Red flashes up ahead. 

Your stomach drops.

"Take this left!" Rhett's order is your command. Shooting off onto an even smaller dirt path. A windmill shudders to your right, swaying back and forth. 

There they are.

Drills whir on either side of Tyler's truck. Digging deep into the earth. But there's nothing to help the aluminum trailer hitched to it, shivering violently under the wind. 

"You're sure they don't have this covered?" Rhett has to shout for you to hear him. Even then, you don't think you do. 

The back of your throat is sour. It's crawling into your eyes, clawing at your belly. Your hands shiver. The steering wheel briefly slips from your grasp. 

Something isn't right.

Your foot slips off the gas pedal. Sporadically tapping around, struggling to jump back on. Dallas's engine roars louder than the winds squealing past. 

"It's not working!" Tyler's voice arcs across the radio.

Hail crashes into the roof. Scattering across the windshield cage.

"The barrels aren't deploying!" Kate. 

The backend of their trailer jumps. The left auger slips through the soil. Tyler's truck twists a few feet. Was never meant to withstand this kind of wind. 

Dallas is slipping. Tires fail to cling to the ground as you rush forward. 

"Rhett—"

"I'm on it." He's already got his hand on the overhead button. Thumb hovering over the red light.

You're almost—you're almost. Just a few more yards is all you need. Almost. Tyler's door parallels with your passenger side. Little more. Little more—

The brake pedal spurs beneath your foot. Kicking back. Dallas lurches. Something internal shrieks. 

"Now!" 

Drills spin. Digging into already saturated ground. The engine roars impossibly louder, and the lights begin to flicker. All power concentrates over your head. Groaning to life, the hydraulic arms resting overhead begin to extend. Arking high into the air. Twisting outward. The tip of a drill bumps into the trailer, but it's still moving. Swinging over top of Tyler's rig, drills sinking into the ground on the other side. 

A blackened wind takes hold of the outside world. Dallas shudders. But the steel arms never let Tyler's truck out of their hug. You don't think they're slipping any further. Fuck. Fuck you couldn't tell even if they did. Why did you think this was a good idea? Why did you think this was a good idea? Why did Rhett let you do this? It's too loud to hear if they've blown away. And you can't see a single—

"Hey." 

Your shoulder is warm. And that sensation is crawling up the back of your neck, forcing your head to turn. Rhett's hands crawl up to your cheekbones, blocking out your surroundings. You're trying to look out the windshield, but he's not letting go. 

He's the only thing in existence. 

The console digs into your side as he pulls you toward him. His forehead kisses yours. Noses resting against each other. It's so dark, but the blue of his eyes is still as bright as the sky lurking above the clouds. The howling tornado softens into a hum. 

"We're okay," it's nothing but a whisper in the rampage, "we're okay." 

You hear him. There's no reason you should be able to. His mouth is moving. The words never greet your ears. Lost. Drowned out by a muffled sound that you're no longer capable of comprehending.

But you hear him. 

This mattress...is the lumpiest thing you have ever felt in your life. A bed made of bubbles would be more even than this is, digging into the curves in your spine and nudging awkwardly beneath your hips. But you can't bring yourself to move. Not when the tension is easing from your back and shoulders. Has been there for so long that it almost hurts to let it slip away.

The television is on, multicolored lights flickering across the screen, playing what you think is another newsreel, but you can't look at it. Not today. Not tomorrow. You're dying here in this cheap motel bed. The last thing you plan to hear is either the slow drone of the weatherman or the boom of thunder outside. 

Someone knocks at your door. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

"Who is it?" Using your voice requires far too much effort on your behalf.

A muffled sound works its way through the scratched wooden door. You don't know what he says, but you know who it is.

Your body tells you that getting up is impossible. Your heart already has you sitting up, sore feet falling onto the thin carpet without complaint. Something twitches in your back as you walk toward the door, wordlessly begging for the comforts of that shitty bed.

"Hey," you breathe.

Rhett's eyelashes flutter. "Hey."

Neither of you say anything further. It's as if all of your words have spilled out of your brain and carried off with the breeze, venturing off into the storm, never to be seen again. You think the same thing must happen to Rhett because he doesn't seem to have any words left, either. 

Wind twists through his hair, whirling past and into your hotel room. Its invisible hands find your backs, pressing until you fall together like a pair of dolls. Like two trucks who needed one last nudge to nosedive off the cliff. His arms curl around your waist, and your nose is buried into his shoulder, and he's so warm and real. 

"So Dallas, huh?" His breath tickles your ear, almost enough to make you shudder.

"You gotta admit, I had you convinced," talking into his shoulder, unbothered by how muffled it makes you sound.

"Sure y' did." It's his laughter that does it, sends a shiver racing down your weary spine. You think you're going to collapse into a million tiny pieces. "I would've never guessed that it was your fuckin' truck." 

There's a part of you that wonders how he never figured that out; you're pretty sure that you scribbled Dallas's name into the license plate of your sketch that he's looked at so many times. Or maybe he did and simply didn't make the connection that Dallas was a truck and not another man.

"Found out why those two losers were always arguin'," he makes no effort to draw away from you, his arms remaining comfortably looped around you.

"Really?" Perking up. Maybe you've got a little bit of energy left after all. "What was it?"

Rhett leans back a little bit, enough for you to see his face, but he's yet to let you out of his grasp. "Dallas."  

"Oh, so you both fell for it!" You giggle, and you're only vaguely aware of the door slamming shut on its own, cutting off the shrill embrace of the midnight air. 

"Hey, at least I didn't make snide remarks about 'em," but you can still see the lingering embarrassment coloring his cheeks, unusually rosy. He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, but...

Your hand darts up, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "To be fair, you have always been the sweet one."

The corners of his lips quiver, gradually curving upward, but his eyes refuse to meet with yours. "Y' think so?" 

You know so, but those words don't dare to make their way out of your mouth. Even if they did, it would be no use because they fizzle away the moment the bridge of Rhett's nose bumps into yours. He's been eating those butterscotch candies again; you can taste them on his breath, sweet as can be.

You could kiss him if you wanted to. 

All it would take is the littlest nudge forward for your lips to collide. A clever gust of wind could even do it, forcing you to take that final step forward, throw yourselves into fate's palm, and see what she decides on the matter. You could spend the rest of your life doing just this, gazing into soft hues of blue, kissing him through every storm that will ever pass. Or, this could be the only night that you ever experience this. 

Thunder rumbles outside, the overhead light flickering with it in perfect synchrony. There's no stopping this one. No amount of magic powder can ease up the onslaught of rain and hail raging outside of your window, pelting everything in its sight. 

"'s probably my cue to get out before the rain picks up too much," he says, so suddenly that you're almost shocked to realize that this isn't a dream. 

He disappears so easily. Slipping away as easily as an afternoon daydream, those eyes daring to linger for a second longer before he turns to reach for the door. That big, bruised hand of his dwarfs the knob, gingerly wrapping around it like it'll break at any given moment.

Your lower belly coils. Sour. 

You should kiss him. 

And that might be how his name tumbles out of your mouth. That might explain where you get the nerve to grab a fistful of his t-shirt, yanking so hard that he stumbles. His gasp is the last thing you hear.

It's messy. Chapped lips collide, and noses crash. His chin bumps into yours too hard, and his chest hits you with the force of a freight train. But he exhales when you do. He tilts his head forward, and you think you're beginning to fall, plummeting off the cliff and into the nebula. 

Rhett draws back just as quickly. His eyelashes flutter. You release your grasp on his shirt. Maybe you shouldn't have—

The corners of his eyes curve with his smile. You blink, and he's leaning back in. 

You're not falling into the abyss alone.

Except, you literally might be falling because you're vaguely aware of the world spinning around you, seemingly weightless for a few fleeting milliseconds, before your back finds home in the lumpy mattress you paid fifty-something dollars to sleep on. 

"Shit—" Rhett blurts, jerking away as if burned. "'m sorry, I..."

You only realize you're moving when you see your hand coming to rest against his cheek, coarse and unshaven. It's been a few days since the last time it was trimmed, has had time to soften and lose that sand-papery texture. 

"I don't mind this," you confess. Lightning crackles outside, so bright that you can see the flash of it through the curtains. 

Rhett meets you in the middle. Your noses bump once more as teeth unexpectedly clash, such a disaster that it ought to make you embarrassed, but you don't have the capacity to think about that right now. Not when he's letting himself settle against you, his heavy body slipping between your parted legs, fitting against you like he was built just for you.

Kissing him is...kissing him is like running into a tornado head first. He's so strong, pressing you down into the bed, anchoring you here with his weight alone, and he's just...Fuck, he's everywhere. His hand is curling around your face, and his belt buckle is digging into your lower belly and he smells like the rain that has enveloped the outside world. 

He's traveling. Working his tiny, open-mouthed kisses across your cheek, the tip of his nose tickling the side of your neck as he finds his way to a spot beneath your ear. 

Your hips jerk up into his.

He gasps.

"Is this...can I...?" Breathy. Hesitant. Like he's lost the ability to think.

It must be contagious. All you can do is nod. Dumb. But it's enough. It's more than enough.

No dating business partners, but surely they'd make an exception for a pretty cowboy, right? Kissing him doesn't count. Tangling your fingers in his hair doesn't count. It doesn't count if they never find out. Whatever the repercussions may be, they're not enough to stop you. 

They would understand if they knew he tasted this sweet. If they knew that he hums when he tilts his head, leaning deeper into you, as if he hasn't gotten enough of you yet. His chapped lips tangle with yours so easily that you almost think you've danced to this tune before, falling into a routine that you haven't thought about in years.

The hand on your cheek disappears, fingertips idly tracing across your skin, down your neck, and then up to the corner of your eye, doing nothing but feel you. Something rumbles outside, in perfect tune with the slow roll of his hips, grinding down into you.

"Rhett," your head is spinning, idly grabbing at his biceps like that will somehow anchor you down. 

"I ain't goin' nowhere," uttered like a sacred promise.

But the need for oxygen strikes you at the same time. Reeling back. Gasping. Eyes peeling open for what must be the first time in hours. Days, even.

Oh, he is something. Swollen lips and pink cheeks, his unruly hair ruffled and stubbornly falling into his face, so long that the ends of it tickle your face. You can only tuck so much of it behind his ear before some of it escapes and falls forward again.

Your eyes meet.

He laughs. "I feel like a damn mess."

"I'm sure I don't look any better," your thumb wanders out, tracing across his bottom lip. His tongue darts out, timidly wetting the pad of your finger. It's the last push you need to lift your hand and tap him on the nose with it. 

Those eyes scrunch shut. Overreacting just a little bit.

Thunder slams into the ground with its heavy iron fist, shaking the motel and rattling you back into motion. Leaning back up to drown in him once more, almost sighing as he meets you, grants you the luxury of settling your head against the pillow. You think he only means to shift his position, but the bulge in his jeans grinds into you all the same, a little spark of heat bolting up your core.

"This is okay?" He whispers against your lips, those big forearms settling on either side of your head, seeking more leverage.

Your tongue is limp in your mouth, distracted by how the dim light catches on his bicep, illuminating a bulging vein there. Thick, winding down into his forearm and into his big, meaty palm. 

Rhett's nose finds your cheek, gently nudging. 

It takes a moment to recall his question. "More than okay." 

Rhett's chuckle is a fleeting thing. There one moment and dissolving the next, overtaken by your sudden movement, too impatient to wait any longer. But you miss. It's hard to find any leverage when you've got him between your legs. 

His hips roll down; you're convinced that you feel him twitch in his jeans. "That what yer after?" 

There's no reason why this should work the way that it does. These layers between you should be making this harder to feel, but you're nearly convinced that the clothes are a minor hallucination because they do nothing to stop the feeling of him slowly rutting against you. The coarse material of his jeans drags against your thighs, the tent in his jeans heavy against your core.

You can't help yourself. One of your hands are tangling in his hair, and the other is grabbing hold of his bicep, greedily squeezing the thick muscle that you've spent too much of your life staring at. It flexes in your grasp, shamelessly showing off. You'd call him out on it if not for—

"Your ass is vibrating," you can feel it against your knee, a steady buzz that wasn't there before. 

"Think it's Ty," he doesn't reach for his phone. Instead, his finger curls into the pearl snap buttons of his flannel, raking down and popping them open one by one. 

His pale chest is...distracting.

"Are you gonna answer?" You croak, already fixating on that bucking bull tattoo. Old. Faded. Some little thing he picked up right after he turned eighteen, a discount job that has already begun to wear down. You recall him saying that his momma almost kicked him out of the house for it. 

"Nah," the thin fabric falls from his body like a distant memory, landing somewhere on the floor. "Whatever it is can wait 'till mornin'." It's the tiniest motion, reaching into his pocket and tossing his phone off to the side, but the light catches on his chest just right, and...

"Rhett, this is..." You had a feeling it was worse than just a few stitches, but the image in your head wasn't this.

It's just below his collarbone. Healed at the top but opening up into a wide gash that is far too wide to be stitched closed, scabbed over, and surrounded in a sea of yellow and purple. You can see where the stitches once were, little red dots following the space that has already scarred.

"I know," he mutters, almost sounds ashamed. 

You don't know what makes you do it. But you lean up, lips delicately pressing to the thin line of pink skin. Just two slow pecks, steering clear of what you know is a sore wound.

"'re you kissin' me better?" His voice is right in your ear, his smile shifting the tone of his words. 

"S'ppose I am," there's an unexpected twang to your tone; you're starting to sound like him. 

Your foreheads meet. Softly thunking together, noses rubbing back and forth in their own unspoken dance. He squirms, pulling himself a little higher on the bed, and—

"Shit." He's hissing, dragging his hips against yours again—something about that angle, fuck. 

Rhett's the one who's taken charge of this, deliberately grinding himself into you like he can't think of doing anything else, but it's you who pushes things further. Craning your head up to find the prickly underside of his jaw, pressing your lips to the space beneath his ear. It's just so hard to stop yourself, lightly sucking on the skin there, enough to hear him gasp and leave a faint red patch in your wake.

One after another, gradually making your way down his neck, his heavy breaths enough to make you dizzy. Only stopping when you can no longer reach, forced to reel back before the ache in your neck begins to grow. 

Rhett picks up right where you left off, his tongue poking between his lips as he kisses down your neck, leaving behind little wet spots that seem to freeze over in the chilly bedroom air. His big hands dip beneath your shirt, callouses dragging against your sensitive skin. You know what he's about to ask, and you're already arching your back off the bed.

But he doesn't take it off. Stops right as he pushes the fabric up to your neck, skipping across it, lips finding your naked chest instead. "You'll get cold if I take it all the way off," he murmurs as if he can hear the question floating through your head. 

Without warning, his mouth finds your nipple. Delicately pulls it into his mouth like you'll shatter if he's too rough, his tongue swirling around the little bud in such a way that your head spins in tune with it. Your hands are in his hair, clinging to those curls resting at his nape, a little noise whistling out of your throat. 

He draws away, and—shit, it really is cold in here. 

Your hips jerk on their own accord. Impatient for something you weren't thinking about. 

"Hang on, hang on," Rhett's chuckling at your antics like this is a little game you've been playing for years on end. 

You're playing into it. Lifting your hips when his fingers curl beneath your waistband, shyly drawing your legs together when you realize that he's taken your underwear with your shorts, all in one go. It's easier to ignore the sudden over-exposed sensation when he reaches for his belt, pinching it open and squirming out of those too-tight jeans that have no right to cling to him like they do. 

He's here before you hear the clothes hit the floor. Slipping between your legs once more, his body so warm against your chilly skin. Melting away the metaphorical frost that has already begun to call you home.

Oh.

You didn't realize he was—fuck, that's so much better without clothes in your way. His cock slipping between your folds, the thick underside massaging against your swollen clit so easily. 

"Rhett..." aimlessly babbling, grasping at his biceps before you can think twice about it. 

You don't know if it's because you never gave it much thought or if it's because it's been a while, but he's so much bigger than you thought he'd be. Just the sight of his thick, weeping tip is enough to make you dizzy, the kind of size that almost makes you feel minuscule in comparison.

"So fuckin' wet already," you don't know when he got so close to your ear, a violent shiver quaking across your body as he whispers in that stupidly low voice of his. "were y' wantin' me that bad, sweetheart?" 

You can't respond. Not when he's using his own body weight to keep you pinned to the mattress as he ruts his big cock against your pussy, deliberately targeting your poor clit over and over. Little fireworks rattle up your spine and explode in your head with every motion, glittering behind your eyelids, staining your view of his face. 

"I...shit, Rhett..." speaking is like swimming through a tsunami, words there and gone in a matter of milliseconds, washed away to the back of your mind. "Rhett..." It's no use. You can't...you can't...

The bridge of his nose kisses yours, one of his stray brunette curls coming down to tickle your cheek. You fear the day he cuts his hair short. "Say it again." 

He's said...something, you know he did, but it's so—it's so hard to focus. Too distracted by the way precum obscenely spills out of his slit, mixing with your own wetness, sickening the glide of his length, his every motion punctuated by a quiet squelch that's too loud for this little hotel room. Kate can hear it from down the hall; you're sure of it. 

Hell, maybe she's too busy with Tyler. Maybe she'll throw that 'no dating business partners' rule to the wind and shut that loud-mouthed cowboy up once and for all.  

"...huh?" You think you were supposed to be figuring out what Rhett said. Still haven't done that. 

"Say my name again," he sounds a little breathier now, his sharp hips forcing your thighs to rise and fall with the motion of his body, clinging to him like he's the only stable thing in this big, blinding world. 

"Rhett." It slips out like you've been uttering it your whole life, tongue hand-crafted to do nothing else but form the shape of his name. Can't really stop yourself now that you've begun to say it. Mindlessly mumbling his name with every long thrust. "Rhett...Rhett!" 

Pressure unexpectedly blossoms. Air catches in your throat as his cock head dips into you. 

"Shit—!" Rhett's yelp dissolves into a muffled groan. "I didn't mean..."

But your legs are curling around him, your heels digging into the swell of his ass, urging him deeper. More. You want more of this. 

Oh, and he gives you exactly what you want. Softens and lets you draw him in, so overtaken by the sensation that he visibly fights to keep his eyes open. You weren't ready for this at all and you don't even care. It's hard to think about the ache when he's already dragging against a sensitive cluster of nerves, his cock so thick that it rubs against them without even trying.

"'s it feel good or 'm I hurtin' ya?" Rhett's voice is like gravel. So much lower than what you remember it being. 

"'s good," you're whining, absently squeezing at his biceps as he sinks further and further into you. There's just so much of him to take, slowly splitting your poor pussy wide open inch by fucking inch. 

Thunder booms outside, but it's not near as scary as the monster between your shivering thighs. Lightning flickers as you feel him bottom out, buried to the hilt, and you don't...you don't know if you have room left to even breathe. 

There's no real waiting. He can't, with you taking it upon yourself to dig your heels into the bed and impatiently rutting yourself against him. Shallow little ins and outs that very nearly punch the air out of your lungs.

"So fuckin' impatient," his chest settles against yours, anchoring you into the bed and forcing your squirming hips to hold still. "Needin' my cock that bad, baby?"

You've got just enough of your bearings left to glare at him. No, you were wanting him to buy you a snack out of the vending machine. What else could you want?

"Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't give it to ya," he chuckles like he can hear every little snarky thought that crosses your mind; maybe he's been reading your mind ever since the day you met. 

All of a sudden, he's moving, drawing those strong hips back, only to rock back into you, doing nothing but shallowly rut his cock into you. If it were anyone else, this wouldn't work, but fuck he's already got this figured out. Massaging against those little nerves you haven't touched in so, so long, such a simple thing that has you clenching around him. 

And you're helpless to do anything but cling to him and take it. Pinned to this shitty motel mattress as the storm rages on outside. 

"'s that better, hm?" He coos, nuzzling your noses together as if to soothe the pitchy noises he's gently punching out of you. "I can feel your little legs just a shakin'."

There's nothing you can say. Stunned into mindless sounds that you can't seem to stifle, all too aware of how he's beginning to pull out further, fucking you in long, heavy strokes that leave stars sparkling in your vision. 

Your hips involuntarily buck. The angle shifts. 

"Aha—!" You're crying out. Way too loud. The neighbor absolutely heard that.

But you can't think about that because Rhett's caught onto it, swiveling his hips. Misses on the first try. Drifts closer on the second—

Not a thing escapes your lips, but your back rises up off the bed, clenching around him as he strikes that spot again, and you're only vaguely aware of how you're getting wetter. Absolutely dripping around him, every little motion punctuated by a sickening squelch that you can't possibly ignore. 

"This poor lil pussy of yours," he's so talkative, purring those filthy words against your lips like they're gospel. "Gonna have ya limpin' all tomorrow."

You can't...you can't keep still. Wriggling helplessly, not sure if you're pushing up into him or trying to pull away; whatever it is, it's not working. That fat cock of his is still sinking into you at his own pace, balls lightly smacking into your ass, heavy and full and...

"Probably have to tell 'em a little lie or two," kissing him only briefly shuts him up. He's talking the moment you part ways. "'s not really acceptable to tell 'em the shop mechanic was—mmh between your pretty little legs all night long." 

Your hand finds its way up his arm. Crossing his shoulder blades. On a one-way track to tangle in his messy hair and pull. It's enough to yank his head back, that pretty, pale throat on full display as a warbled moan jumps out of him. 

Rhett's teeth sink into his bottom lip, muffling something you wish you could hear. "Talk to me, baby."

"Wanna...wanna hear you," that doesn't sound like your voice at all. If you couldn't feel it coming out of your own mouth, you'd think it was someone else entirely. "Please." For extra measure. 

You'll fuss about begging on another day. When you're not—oh, when you're not...

The tiniest noise stumbles out of Rhett's throat. Music to your fucking ears. You want more of it. 

It takes a moment. Gathering the strength to use the rest of your body. But then you do, and you're deliberately clenching around him, shivering thighs squeezing his pistoning hips as tight as you can, and he whines.

"Fuck, I...I..." Stumbling out of him. Aimless, but it's damn near enough to make you dizzy.

"Uhuh," is all you can utter. Dumb.

Lips collide. Crashing so clumsily that it's a wonder you don't knock a tooth out, nothing but open-mouthed entanglements and tongue. Calling this a kiss would disgrace the very word. Kisses are meant to be elegant. A beautiful sort of dance that no language will ever be able to properly describe. 

Soft little whimpers creep past his defenses. Faint at first, but it's so hard to stop once he starts crying into your mouth when you clench around him once more. You don't know if it's the sound itself or the delicious drag of his cock that sends the wave of heat roaring into your lower belly. Hell, maybe it's both. 

"Sound so fuckin' pretty." He's the one who says it, but you utter it in the back of your mind, too.

This room is so damn hot all of a sudden. A familiar pull has you fluttering around him, spasms that you feel just as much as he does. And he's driving directly into those little nerves so easily that your entire body is beginning to tingle with it, his weeping cock head striking them over and over and over.

Rhett shivers. A bead of sweat runs down his flushed face. "Fuck, I'm—"

"Close!" You blurt. Didn't mean to finish his sentence for him, but it's already out there, and oh, oh, oh.

His motions are quickening, unexpectedly thrown off of his rhythm, only for his hips to slam into you so hard it rocks the headboard. An unfamiliar heat blossoms, and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you and—Oh, he's cumming in you. 

That's all it takes. 

Your ears go numb as your back arches. Heart hamming in your chest. Crying out something that you never get to hear as you cum around him without warning. Little sparks firing across your nerves, and for the briefest moment, you think you've been swept up into a twister. Swirling 'round and 'round, nothing but Rhett's sweaty body to keep you from flying away entirely. 

And the storm whispers your name, barely audible over the hammer of your own heart. Echoing as the color drowns to black, warping until you can't no longer hear that, either. 

One of your eyes peeks open. 

Did you fall asleep? 

Because you feel like you fell asleep. Don't quite recall feeling so groggy, gravity weighing heavy on your eyelids, fighting against all odds to stay closed. Your tongue is almost stiff in your mouth, difficult to move. 

Rhett's hand has long since curled around your face, his thumb stroking the thin skin beneath your eye. Delicate. You don't think he's realized you're back yet, so distracted that the proof of it is evident in his face. Those deep blue irises flickering across your face, trailing across your forehead, your cheeks, your bitten lips, cracked and dry from the elements. 

You're far from looking your best. That you know for sure, but something about the way he looks at you...has you feeling like the prettiest thing this side of the country.

The corner of his lip rises the moment your eyes meet. "There ya are."

"I think I fell asleep," you croak. That still doesn't sound like your voice, but there's nowhere else it could be coming from. 

"'s only been a few minutes," pausing to press a kiss to your temple. That might be a faint hickey forming beneath his ear. "had me thinkin' I killed ya."

You can't help but giggle, an image emerging to the forefront of your mind. "Could you imagine having to explain to everyone that your dick killed me?"

His eyes roll as hard as they possibly can. You're almost disappointed that they don't get stuck. "'s not that big."

"You'd sing a very different tune if we could swap places," you mumble, reaching for his hand. So much bigger than yours, you can hardly even cover half of it. 

"Who says we can't?" He says it so...bluntly. 

...is he already implying that pegging is on the table?

You can't find your words. Neither can he. All too quiet as you stare back at each other. 

You crack at the same time. Sputtering into laughter like a pair of dumb kids, collapsing into perfect synchrony as you scramble out of the bed. Don't need to utter a word to Bare feet stumble across horrendously patterned carpet. His hand guiding you along on a one-way race to a too-small bathroom.

You're beginning to realize that cowboys and mechanics are just nerds with a very specific niche. 

There's no way that Rhett is still out there poking at Dallas, running his hands over the different components, pressing on buttons just to see what they'll do if anything at all. Even from the door, you can see the gears twisting and turning in his head, processing every little detail and scratch like it's a work of art he's never laid eyes on before.

Except he has laid eyes on Dallas before. More times than you can count, and that beat-up old thing is far from a work of art. At least it's still prettier than Tyler's rusty old rig over there in the back...

No, it's not there anymore. 

Did they leave already? 

"Where's thing one and thing two?" You hope he doesn't notice the way you waddle across the parking lot, an ache plaguing you with every step. It was cute, the idea of being sore from a night in bed with him, but hell, is the actual experience a lot less romantic to deal with. 

"They ditched us fer a date at some kind of storm chaser convention."

And here you thought Kate would at least give you the luxury of sticking around to tell you where she was going. Better yet, sending a text. 

"A date?" Tilting your head to the side, like that'll somehow make you hear better. 

Rhett presses another button. Every light in the truck turns on. "'s what it looked like on Ty's Instagram story."

You've already dug your phone out of your pocket, thumbs fumbling over each other as you search for your friends. Kate's account is the same as it was three days ago. No new posts since July of last year, but Tyler's...

There they are. Posing in front of the camera, spinning it around to unveil a line up of storm trucks. There has to be at least two dozen of them, sidled up next to each other in a perfect line with little white boxes resting on their hoods. A blurry sign sits behind them, forces you to replay the video and squint in order to read it. 

Voting opens  @ 4 PM.

"You have got to be kidding me," deadpan. Damn, not even an invite? After all that arguing? After yesterday? They wouldn't even have a truck to enter if it weren't for Dallas! 

"Hm?" Rhett blinks at you. If this were a cartoon, he'd have a question mark hovering over his head right now.

You turn the phone around, showing him the video he's already seen. "They entered a competition for the best storm rig in the state!" 

He bites the inside of his cheek, watching it again. After a moment, those big blue eyes flicker up to you. "...we could beat 'em." 

"You think so?" Is this what you're doing now? 

"I know so." Grinning.

They'll never let you hear the end of this. 

And that's exactly why you find yourself bouncing up to him, your hands bracing themselves on his chest as you lean in to steal a kiss from his waiting lips. Curling a fist in his t-shirt, don't even need to tug for him to fall into line, boots thumping along as you dart back into the room. Scrambling to collect your bags, tripping over him in your effort to shove your pajamas back into the suitcase. 

"Who's drivin'?" He giggles, leaning across you to get the room key. 

The answer is obvious. "I am!" 

Kate and Tyler don't realize you're there until it's too late. 

[jungle-angel]

Little One of Mine (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Adopting Amy was the best decision the two of you ever made

Tagging: @lt-bradshaw​ My friend I hope you don’t mind if I did a little sequel piece to that little drabble you did the other night, I’m just paying it forward (lol). 

You felt a set of strong arms coiling around you as you scrubbed away the last of the grime on the dinner plates and a little bit of stubble tickling your jaw. “How goes Momma?” that deep, familiar voice purred. 

“Tired as ever Rhett,” you chuckled. 

You felt his warm lips on your cheek and the familiar smell of hay and horses radiating off of Rhett’s warm body. You had never felt so safe or so at ease with anyone but him. You were glad that you had said yes to Rhett those four long years ago. 

All of a sudden, you heard an eruption of screechy little giggles coming from the living room along with a snort and a low woof. Rhett broke away from you for the moment to see what was up, wandering into the living room to find Diesel near Amy’s playpen and the eight month old giggling like crazy. 

“You teasin the dog?” Rhett half laughed as he scooped her right up. “Huh? You teasin Diesel, sweet girl?” 

Amy squeaked before she pressed her wet little mouth against Rhett’s jaw, drawing a laugh out of him. He still couldn’t believe that you and him were now Amy’s parents. He thought for sure that Perry would put up such a fight that he’d keep her, but much to your surprise, the courts saw the evidence and knew he was unfit to take care of Amy. The actual fight between him and Rhett after the whole thing had been settled? You were terrified out of your mind at the shouting, the breaking of glass and the obscenities Rhett had hurled at Perry, that you were surprised Sheriff Joy hadn’t been called. 

“Aaaw, she likes you,” you cooed. 

Rhett laughed again as he tickled Amy, the eight month old wrapping her tiny little fingers around Rhett’s bigger one. 

“Here, you can give her to me,” you said. “I’ll give her a bath tonight.” 

“You sure?” Rhett asked you. 

“You did it last night, so now it’s my turn.” 

He carefully handed Amy off to you before you retreated upstairs to give her a bath. Rhett let Diesel out into the yard to do his business, the yard still completely covered in snow and the pasture fences poking about halfway up from beneath. As soon as he had done his business, Rhett let him back in and locked the door for the night. 

“Lie down,” Rhett commanded, snapping his fingers. 

Diesel laid right down on his bed without hesitation as Rhett loaded the woodstove and lit it for the night. God he he hated March and how the days dragged on, the winter blues setting in earlier than usual. Yet with the winter blues had come immense relief. He had called Royal earlier in the day to gripe and had found out that Perry still hadn’t shown his face after the fight two weeks before. Rhett could’ve cared less. The less he had to deal with Perry, the better. 

“Oh Daddy,” you chirped as you came down the stairs. “Your little princess missed you.” 

“And Daddy missed his little princess,” Rhett added, taking Amy from you and kissing her soft little cheeks. “C’mon baby. It’s bedtime for you.” 

Rhett brought her right upstairs to the nursery that you two had put together for when Amy had at last become yours. You had to give Royal and Rhett serious credit for building the crib when she was first born, taking it with you as soon as you had finished building your own house. 

Rhett seated himself in the creaky old rocker, drawing the quilt Cecelia had made, over him and Amy as her little head came to rest on Rhett’s chest. He loved the fact that you and Cecelia had both worked together on it, the little patches all stitched with little patches that had characters from the Peter Rabbit stories all over them. 

“Oh my bug, ya’ll are tired aren’t you?” he cooed as Amy’s half lidded little eyes began to slowly close. “You’ve had a long day, huh? Buggin Momma the way you do?”

Amy yawned before she finally fell asleep and Rhett carefully placed her in her crib, tucking her in and covering her with the quilt before placing a kiss on her little head. “Night night princess,” he whispered before shutting off the light, her quiet little snores being the only sound in the room. 

“She asleep?” you asked when you caught Rhett in the hallway.

“She’ll sleep till morning,” Rhett whispered. “Ma said she’d come and get her in the morning.” 

You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed your husband, a little shiver running through your body. “You ok Darlin?” Rhett asked. “You’re shivering.” 

“I wanna show you something,” you said. 

You pulled Rhett into your shared bedroom and handed him something small and square. When he tore off the silver paper that held it in, his eyes grew huge. “I.......you........are you......?” 

You nodded, the tears starting to form in your eyes. 

A quiet little “oh” escaped Rhett’s throat as he stared at the framed sonogram picture and in complete disbelief. You two had been trying since you had gotten married to have a child and now your efforts had finally paid off. 

“Oh.....oh baby.....” Rhett sobbed as he drew you into his arms. “I can’t believe this. Are you really?” 

“Yes, Rhett, I am,” you told him, the tears starting to flow from your own eyes. “Your Ma took me to the doctor last week and she said I was.” 

Something akin to a sob and a laugh escaped Rhett’s throat, overwhelmed with joy that you two were finally going to have a child of your own. “Can I?” he croaked. 

You laughed a little as you lay on your back, moving your shirt up so that your abdomen was exposed. You felt Rhett’s warm cheeks pressing against your skin and the sandpapery feeling of his stubble tickling you a little.

“Hi baby,” he murmured. “Your Momma and I can’t wait to meet you. And your big sister too. She’s still little but I know she’ll love you. We both already love you.” 

And you knew that all three of you would. 

[tinyrhettgang]

he is the sun (x)

[oncasette]

Can you do smut 27. “I’m not jealous, it’s just you’re mine” with Rhett Abbott please? Congrats on the milestone! 🥳 ❤️💙

sorry it’s not smutty, anon, i just got these vibes from the prompt! i hope you still enjoy!! <3

you’d been across the bar all night. watching him, staring him down in those tiny ass shorts that already drive him right past crazy and into downright insane. talking to a guy you’d known in high school—a trevor, he thinks—all while wearing his hat.

“c’mon, doll,” he mumbled as he slid up behind you, tucking his hand into your back pocket as he tugged you into his side.

“one sec, baby. tony was just telling me something about his mom,” you said, still giggling as you leaned over to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. the jaw that he’s now using all of his force to clench shut, to keep him from verbally abusing this poor boy in front of him.

he leans further into you, so far you can smell his aftershave as his mouth brushes along the shell of your ear, “don’t make me drag you out of this bar, sunshine.”

you scoff slightly before turning to whisper, “jealous bastard.”

“i’m not jealous, sweetheart. it’s just, you’re mine,” he growls. it’s not long before he’s cutting off tony mid-sentence to lead you out to his truck, either.

join my celly!

[becausethathappens]

Help me see the teeny Rhett. I just don’t get it. He look very big

hey, anon. i answered fairly seriously, so hopefully this was a genuine question. otherwise, sorry for the lengthy response. just trying to explain since i've seen this come up before!✌️

usually it's just the transgressive nature of seeing someone that big, bearded, and masculine be soft, cute, and delicate. i think that rhett defaults to being hurt or amused by something in a way that shows in his mind, he's small and vulnerable. (see the video below for an example)

beyond that, rhett has talked about having what i consider to be a relationship to his body that is close to dysmorphia (he's never used that term, so this is merely conjecture, and honestly applies to his chin insecurities, too) regarding how intimidating/inconvenient his size comes across when out in public.

when rhett does things that a lot of people who feel Large do to feel secure/smaller (contemplates his size in comparison to nature/space, gets extra gentle with people, soft spoken, leans forward/down to meet everyone at their eye level, folds his body up in ways that minimize the space he takes up) he generally gets very coy and cutesy while he does it. sometimes, if he seems to come off as insecure about his size, he'll overcorrect and act "tiny" on purpose as if to downplay his size like it's incongruous that this big, imposing guy is throwing peace signs or giggling. (also in the video below) kind of like, if i'm going to have to wear tight clothes or be tall in a crowd, i'm going to make it a bit so everyone knows that i know and don't need to hear about how the cuffs don't reach my wrists, i'll cuff the ankles myself and make it a Look, i didn't want to stand either, etc.

of course, he also has moments where he'll brag about his height or get loud or purposefully spread himself out to take up space. but part of why i assume he does this is to attempt to lampshade the obvious. that's how rhett operates. he makes the joke before you can. he is his own harshest critic (which is saying something because there's certainly a long line of volunteers, at times), so he opts to voice the criticism he expects to hear about how his size (or anything else), so it can't hurt him if someone else were to say the same.

all that rambling is to say that when i notice him having done these little things to look smaller, intentional or subconsciously, i like to celebrate them. when you're as focused on that as he is, clearly dwelling on it a lot (his whole adult life, per the video below), it's fun to buy into his fantasy version of himself too.

i'm of the opinion that if he wants to be perceived as small and nonthreatening, he deserves the chance. even if it's just to me and other people who shout out #tiny rhett spottings in the tags.

and honestly, considering how surprised some people are to find out he's as tall as a door frame or that link is 6 feet, i think he's fairly successful at it. 🥺️💕

[rhettabbotts]

(knocks on the door) Um, Shelbs....? I have a Rhett Abbott thought that you're gonna wanna hear. I've shared it with others but I thought you might want to hear it anyways. You don't have to do anything with it unless you really want to.

I have an imagine where Rhett and the reader have a little girl they named Kaya (I grew up reading the American girl series as a kid and Kaya was always my favorite) and she's basically been on the back of a horse with her daddy since she's been out of the womb. There's also a Kiger Mustang Stallion (the horse from the movie Spirit) that Rhett has basically raised from a foal and is as wild and nuts as he is.

It's rodeo season and Rhett is competing in the bull riding competition and takes first place out of everyone there. Others, some as young as seven and as old as seventy are also competing in different contests. Mind you, Kaya is six and VERY VERY TINY with dirty blonde hair almost down to her butt and she insists on riding daddy's horse, who is also pretty huge. Some of the competitors start making fun of Kaya for being a barrel racer, not only because of her size and age, but also because of who her daddy is. Rhett picks her up and puts his hat on her head, giving her a kiss on the cheek before she goes out, telling her that no matter what happens, he's proud of her and that her momma (the female reader), Papa, Nana Cece, Amy and Uncle Perry are all watching in the stands and that Rhett will be watching from the bull corral.

The minute that the loudspeakers in the ring start blasting "Confident" by Demi Lovato, Kaya charges into that ring and absolutely SMOKES THE COMPETITION!!!! Like people can't believe that this tiny little six year old is riding this horse like a war chief and COMMANDING A FULL GROWN STALLION!!!

As soon as she's back in the stables, Kaya jumps right off the horse and into her daddy's arms and Rhett cannot even contain how happy he is, like Kaya is a giggling mess from her daddy spinning her around and getting a giant kiss planted on her cheek. It's not long either before Royal, Cecilia, the reader, Perry and Amy all make their way back, nor is it long before a voice announces on the loudspeakers "1st place barrel racing champion, Kaya Abbott". Everybody's in complete shock but Rhett's just kind of looking at her like "That's my girl!!"

oh this is so perfect i am smiling so big right now :’)

thank you so much for sending this it’s made my heart happy!!! i just know rhett would be so supportive of his daughter and definitely saying “see i told you so!!” to anyone and everyone who ever doubted she could win <3