#outer range

[10ava01]

I NEED all of them biblically🙂‍↕️

[starrvsn]

꒰ ⌕ ꒱ recommended lewis pullman fics! ✧ ੭ pls support these writers !

ROLES: bob ‘robert’ floyd (top gun maverick) rhett abbott (outer range) calvin evans (lesson in chemistry) robert reynolds (thunderbolts*)

✷ includes smut! must 18+ to read! 𝜗𝜚 — my personal fav! — indented text is other recommended fics by the same author! | .ᐟ ᢉ𐭩 newly added fics

OVER THE INTERCOM ⠆ i recently got back into reading lewis fics again and its made me realize how amazing these writers are so i thought i would make a rec list out of appreciation as someone who’s been reading ab lewis since 2022 :p

˚⋆𐙚｡ list is regularly updated when i find new fics! & if links aren’t working pls lmk! ⋆𖦹.✧˚

── .✦ also! i may be recommending certain fics but please also check out their blogs! so many of these authors have other amazing pieces just waiting to be read!

BOB FLOYD ⤸

✷ the wingman written by @roosterforme / synopsis: Bob never did this sort of thing. Talking to girls and flirting and romance. It's not that he didn't want to, he just didn't really know how. But you were different in all the right ways, and you made him feel confident enough to try.

𝜗𝜚 ✷ do you wanna make somethin’ out of it written by @theharddeck / synopsis: turns out, our favorite WSO has a side hustle, as quinn's favorite cowboy.

⤿ ✷ it’d be a sweet situation a much needed part two! /synopsis: what's better than finding out the WSO you've had a secret crush is the same audio erotica creator that you've been crushing on for months? getting to watch him record new content...and maybe get involved yourself

rodeo written by @sarahsmi13s / synopsis: when your relationship with bob is reveal to the squad, hangman can’t help but wait for bob to stake his claim on you.

𝜗𝜚 ✷ bob from stats written by @attapullman / synopsis: College is a wild time, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the quiet guy from Stats riding around campus as a cowboy. Or what a good kisser he is.

⤿ 𝜗𝜚 ✷ bob from pi kapp / synopsis: First he's late to chapter, and now Bob is late to your Stats final. You saved him a seat. But should you also save one for his hobby horse?

never knew i needed a college!bob au until now and it’s honestly changed my life.

✷ unraveled written by @withahappyrefrain / synopsis: Bob Floyd likes to think he can keep it cool. Then along comes a sundress.

birds of a feather written by @dearsnow / synopsis: phoenix and her girlfriend set you up with a wso they insist will be right up your alley. (robert “bob” floyd x fem!reader, fluff, reader is meant to be similar to bob, ie quiet, sweet, and nerdy, mentions of being drunk/having sex but nothing explicit)

the quiet ones written by @callsigns-haze / synopsis: You surprise the Dagger Squad by revealing your secret to Bob, who shyly but lovingly melts into your kiss as the others watch in shock, as shy guys are your type.

✷ 𝜗𝜚 kiss cam written by @scarletmika / synopsis: The San Diego Padres are saluting the U.S. Navy during their upcoming game, and the Dagger Squad has been invited to attend. Hangman's only goal for the game? Get you and Bob to finally act on your feelings and confess to each other.

call sign: heartbreaker written by @violetrainbow412-blog / synopsis: Jake runs his mouth. You do something about it.

✷ shy not quiet written by @stellamarielu / synopsis: bob lets you see the less reserved side of him through the excitement of a new relationship and accidental confessions

.ᐟ ᢉ𐭩 perilous skies written by @shortnspidey / synopsis: Dating Bob Floyd had been nothing short of perfect. The sweet, ever-attentive WSO felt like he’d walked straight out of a rom-com. That’s why, when your scheduled date night arrives and he doesn’t show, your mind immediately begins to spiral. It’s so unlike him, so out of character, that you can’t stop replaying every possible reason in your head. As the hours stretch on, worry takes hold, deep down, you can feel something’s wrong.

fics i read during my bob floyd binge!

✷ rich in life written by @bloatedandalone04 / synopsis: Bob is known to be the shy, quiet and kinder one of out the whole dagger squad, and he didn’t mind the ‘soft’ reputation one bit, because he knew the real him. The version of himself that came out whenever he got his wife alone, which, luckily for him, was every single night.

✷ it's that simple written by @tropes-and-tales

pepper spray lovers written by @moon-fics / synopsis: You're a well-known bartender at the Hard Deck and friends with most of the pilots who enter through the doors. However, you've caught the eye of one specific weapon systems operator.

𝜗𝜚 the plan written by @geminiwritten / synopsis: the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

✷ pretend written by @attapullman / synopsis: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

this was a reread but come on how can i not add this??

RHETT ABBOTT ⤸

✷ good at makin’ bad decisions written by @attapullman / synopsis: Even a year after you've broken up, after a night of drinking you still end up in Rhett Abbott's bed.

sugar and spice written by @floydsmuse / synopsis: you and rhett start up the tradition of making a gingerbread house together on christmas eve.

✷ odds are stacked written by @sunlightmurdock / synopsis: In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

✷ whisky sour written by @delopsia

𝜗𝜚 ✷ little lambs and big, bad cowboys written by @lewmagoo / synopsis: in which you find yourself entirely at his mercy

𝜗𝜚 ✷ trouble with books written by @hederasgarden / synopsis: You and Rhett discover a surprising new kink together.  

𝜗𝜚 ✷ tongue written by @em1i2a3 / synopsis: During a night out on the town with your friends, you are pushed into talking to a mysterious cowboy at a bar, who turns out to be one of the only blessings that Wabang has ever given you.

CALVIN EVANS ⤸

please please me written by @gaygothiccowboy / synopsis: you persuade Calvin to spend a little less time at the lab and a lot more time with you.

ROBERT REYNOLDS ⤸

dance with me written by @callsign-fox

stay with me written by @scarletmika / synopsis: Bob wants to feel useful, to truly be part of the team, but the others don't think he's ready. You take it upon yourself to teach him control, to guide him through. But mistakes will be made, and it might not be possible to keep the darkness from creeping back in once more

the good side written by @cosmictheo / synopsis: bob loves you so much that he slowly begins to transform into a house-husband for you. and he loves it.

⤷ heavenly / synopsis: it's the first time you're wearing your new suit as an official (new) avenger and bob is a little too excited about it.

sneaking around written by @callsign-swan / synopsis: Bob doesn't mean to be sneaking around. But he can't help it. He's got a secret, and he wants to keep it that way. Too bad he's best friends with Yelena Belova.

𝜗𝜚 honey written by @strkly / synopsis: after being off the grid for a while you return to society and meet up with your old friend bucky barnes. unexpectedly you run into someone you never thought you would see again. your high school boyfriend robert reynolds.

𝜗𝜚 ✷ perv!bob written by @undyingdecay

𝜗𝜚 truth will set your free written by @sergeantbuckybarnes synopsis: You are injected with a truth serum during a mission, and when you return to the Watchtower, you must avoid Bob in order not to spill your feelings for him, but this causes Bob to believe he has done something to upset you

control written by @fireinmoonshot / synopsis: Bob always waits for you to come back from missions, but when you don't come back one day, his powers start to get a little out of hand.

if anything written by @eyelessfaces / synopsis: no one wants to talk about how close you came to dying, everyone walking on eggshells until bob finds out what really happened and asks why no one trusted him enough to tell the truth; you both know the reason involves your mutual feelings.

dreamwalker written by @roanofarcc /synopsis: you use your dreamwalking abilities to try to soothe the storm in bob’s head. 

show some loves to the authors ᡣ𐭩 recommendations by jes!

[rhettroblues]

LEWIS PULLMAN as Rhett Abbott OUTER RANGE 1.08 — The West

[kaizsche]

LEWIS PULLMAN as RHETT ABBOTT OUTER RANGE: "THE VOID"

[vivianfiles]

save a bull, ride a cowboy || rhett abbott

includes: smut 18+, fem!reader, riding, teasing, breeding kink(?), overstimulation, creampie.

+

“what cowboy hat rule?!”

rhett merely chuckled as he gripped your hips. he watched with amused satisfaction as you sat in front of him, perched beautifully on his lap, looking like a lost deer, wearing his cowboy hat and a satin nightgown.

“oh c’mon, sweetheart, you’ve been in wyoming for how long? surely ya know the cowboy hat rule,” he teased as he sat up straighter against the bed’s headboard.

“i didn’t think it was real…” you pouted.

rhett laughed and nudged your arm lightly, “we take our brisket and cowboys very seriously ‘round here, hon.”

you huffed. you thought you were being cute by putting on rhett’s cowboy hat and straddling his lap. you proudly showed off your new look; all you were missing were some cowboy boots—but rhett was strict about not trudging mud into the bedroom.

“no pouting,” he said as he pulled your bottom lip from your teeth. “i didn’t make the rules, but i do stick to ‘em. i’m a law abiding citizen.” he teased.

you let out a snort of amusement, “last time i checked, you were charged with aggravated assault.”

rhett smirked, “save that sass for the ridin’ you’ll be doin’.”

and that’s how you found yourself right now; hands splayed out on his abs, lifting yourself up and down his fat cock. he was so big—filling you up to the brim and stretching your walls in a delicious way.

his cowboy hat shifted on your head with every bounce, growing more and more askew. rhett couldn’t take his eyes off of you. the way your eyebrows raised up in a soft arch, a perfect mirror of your back as you continued to ride him so diligently; your mouth falling open into a perfect ‘o’ shape, much like your pu—

“rhett, please,” you begged, squeezing his hands that were on your hips, silently pleading with him to help you.

he snapped out of his reverie and bit his lip, easily pulling you to bounce on his aching dick. you let out a soft moan, your body limping forwards against his chest. rhett chuckled.

“you’re doin’ a bad job at bein’ a cowgirl, sweetheart.”

you let out a petulant whine, “‘m trying…”

he almost felt bad for you.

almost.

he suddenly held you in place before he started pistoning his cock up into you. you let out a cry, your breath hitching in your throat as you tried to steady yourself.

“r-rhett!” you shrieked.

“‘m showin’ ya how to do it, darlin’.” he remarked, his gaze focused on the sight of his long cock disappearing in and out of your tight cunt. he growled, his head tipping backwards. “ya gotta tame the bull. how else ya gonna ride?”

with shaky hands, you mustered up enough strength to start fucking down into him. rhett opened his eyes and looked at you, seeing the determination on your adorable face. he chuckled, a deep, low sound that only made your walls clench tighter around him. he hissed in pleasure.

“that’s it, girl. keep ridin’ me, just like that—doin’ so good f’ me,” he encouraged you, his hands now finding purchase on your ass and kneading the skin there.

the sheen of sweat on rhett’s torso made it harder for you to hold on, your hands slipping every few seconds. you opted for gripping his hair by the roots, which made him groan loudly, burying his face in your neck.

“fuck, sweetheart. you’re gettin’ good at this. ridin’ me like a champ.” he praised, leaving the sloppiest of kisses on the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

“i-i’m close,” you mumbled between breathy moans.

“gettin’ close? let me help ya finish,” rhett replied, one of his hands moving down between your legs and coaxing your clit in torturously slow circles.

with a high-pitched whine, you keeled forward, your head resting on his shoulder as you kept bouncing on his length. “feels so nice, babe,” you mumbled against his skin.

“yeah, i know it does.” he responded, his fingers moving faster over your sensitive nub. “cum on my cock, sweetheart.”

you whimpered and nodded, “‘m gonna—ah! so, so close, I—”

your orgasm washed over you in waves, your body shivered as you finally let go of that knot building inside your stomach and the scream that was bubbling up in your throat. your body went limp against rhett’s, but you still managed to keep bouncing on him mindlessly, like a dumb bunny in heat.

he chuckled, “such a good cowgirl,” he said before grunting. “fuck, baby, you’re clenchin’ on me so tight, gon’ make me paint your pretty pussy white.”

you nodded eagerly, “yes, please. wanna feel it inside.”

rhett groaned, his voice rumbling with the force of it, “sweetheart—shit, ya can’t talk to me like that. gonna make me—fuck!—knock ya up by accident.”

you were overstimulated, practically buzzing as he kept moving you up and down on him, chasing his high. but it just felt so good to have him inside you, stretching your tight pussy into the shape of his dick.

he let out a trembling breath, “gonna cum. where do ya want it, baby?”

“i-inside,” you babbled.

on any other occasion, rhett would’ve asked you again to make sure you were certain. but tonight, his brain was so fucked out by the sinful heat of your cunt that he didn’t even argue. he came without a moment’s delay, his cum shooting out in thick spurts, stuffing you completely.

your hole clenched around him, a silent act of gratitude for filling you up so nicely. you let out a pathetic whimper against his neck, your hand coming up to weakly scratch his tattooed chest.

rhett just kept rocking into you, gradually slowing down to ride the high of his ecstasy. he eventually stopped but didn’t pull out just yet, wanting to plug his cum into you for as long as he could without you writhing in overstimulation.

he panted, trying to catch his breath. “and that, my dear, is how ya ride a cowboy.”

you pulled back from his chest and met his gaze. his cowboy hat was hanging on your head by a thread and you had the most fucked out look on your face, cheeks all hot and drool coming out the side of your pouty lips. he stared at you in admiration; you were the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“did ya enjoy your first ridin’ lesson?” he teased with an airy chuckle.

you nodded, out of breath but with a proud smile. “did i do well?” you asked meekly.

rhett let out a small snort of laughter, “yeah, ya did. we needa work on your endurance, though, babe.”

written by vivianfiles

[scarletmika]

Worthy of You : ̗̀➛ Rhett Abbott x Reader

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Famous!Reader

Summary: Rhett Abbott has been in love with you since he knew what love was, and that love was reciprocated. You managed to make a name for yourself, though, and Rhett can't help but feel like he's not worthy of who you've become.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, SMUT (unprotected p in v, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink), porn with a LOT of plot, angst, fluff, childhood friends to lovers, established relationship, reader is famous, female reader but no description of specific features like hair or skin, talks of anxiety and some self-deprecation, Rhett may be slightly ooc (he's a loverboy I promise you he is), we will be ignoring cannon events/supernatural stuff for this

Word Count: 18,693 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

The Amelia County Rodeo Grounds weren’t foreign to you; they were a place you knew well, like the back of your hand.

It had stormed the night before, leaving broken branches snapped from trees along the sides of every road that led to the Rodeo Grounds. Trina, your manager, had mumbled multiple comments about how ‘they really needed to come clean up around here’ as your driver swerved around every pile of debris. They were both more than happy to leave you there at the rodeo and return to their swanky hotel in the next town over after you assured them you’d have a ride and be well protected at the grounds without their watchful eyes.

The dirt had turned to pits of mud, caking against the bottom of the old pair of cowboy boots you’d managed to slip on during the car ride over. The mud kicked up enough with every step to dirty the edges of your flared jeans, but they were yet another old pair that barely got worn anymore. The crowds were larger than you were used to, people packed along every stretch of dirt and near every vendor's booth. It was the Amelia County Championship, after all.

“Cecilia!”

The Abbot family turned the second they heard your voice. You had been a constant staple around the Abbott ranch since you were eight years old; they knew you like you were one of their own. You bounded up the bleachers, throwing out soft ‘excuse me’s’ to everyone you had to duck and weave around. You heard every single whisper that left them as you passed by.

“Is that-?”

“Holy shit, she’s back in town?”

“Oh my god, it’s really her!”

Cecilia Abbott was the first to tug you into her arms, holding you tightly to her as her hands rubbed up and down your faded t-shirt-covered back in that motherly way she had since the day you had met her. You didn’t hesitate to wrap yourself around her, any bit of tension that was in your bones seeping out of you the second you inhaled that familiar floral scent of the perfume Rebecca had bought her so long ago.

“Oh, we’ve missed you, our little movie star!” Cecilia pulled back, cupping your cheeks with a bright smile. It was natural to melt into her touch, one that had always welcomed you from such a young age. “Well, little probably ain’t the best word for that.”

Perry Abbott popped up behind his mother, gently tugging her out of the way to pull you into a tight hug of his own.

“Damn, didn’t think we’d be seein’ ya tonight. Last I heard from Rhett, weren’t you over in London?”

“Yeah, we finished up press yesterday, so I hopped on the first flight home. Jet lag is a bit of a bitch,” you explained, pulling away with a bright smile. “I didn’t miss too much, did I? I was hoping to make it here before the final round.”

“You missed his first ride,” Royal chimed in from down the bench, giving you a short nod before gesturing toward the scoreboard. “Rhett’s sitting right about in the middle of the pack. It’s gonna take one hell of a ride for him to get the championship now.”

Your eyes followed Royal Abbott’s to the electronic scoreboard, showing Rhett’s name right around 5th place in the Amelia County Championship standings.

“So, it’s safe to assume Rhett doesn’t know you’re here?” Cecilia chimed in with a knowing smile as Amy tried to shove past her father and grandmother to get to you. You gave the older woman a knowing smile of your own as you glanced away from the scoreboard, trying to conceal your nerves.

“No, and I’d like to keep that as much of a surprise as I can-”

You were barely able to get the words out before Amy was past her family, throwing herself up into your arms with an excited shout. With a laugh, you caught her, lifting her into the air with a squeeze as she pulled back to look at you with a wide, toothy grin stretched across her face.

“Auntie! I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Amy girl,” her giggle was the sweetest, and god, had you missed hearing it while you’d been off on your much-too-long press tour.

Cheers erupted from around the stands. The arena was suddenly flooded with teams of bullfighters, and the announcer was launching into his typical spiel he always gave before the rides would commence.

Amy was quick to pull you down onto the bench beside her, tucking her smaller hand into yours. You took a glance around the stands. Many of the older couples sitting around you knew from when you were younger, as they shot you kind glances and grins. There were many you didn’t recognize, but from the giddy smiles on their faces, it was clear they recognized you. There was a whole group, maybe three or four girls somewhere around middle school age, staring at you from down the bleachers with stars practically in their eyes. They gave you excited waves that you easily reciprocated, unable to hold in your laugh as they practically jumped up and down at the simple acknowledgment from you.

A hat landed on your head, obscuring your vision for a moment, as you glanced back over toward Cecilia and Perry, the Abbott woman now missing her hat.

“If ya want to keep yourself a surprise, ya might want to stay hidden,”

There were no arguments from you as you tugged the hat so it obscured your face as best as possible before the first rider took his place on his bull across the arena. Only seven riders to watch before it would be Rhett’s turn, his last chance to secure the championship he’d been dreaming of for so long.

It felt like just yesterday when you saw Rhett Abbott ride a bull in a competition for the first time. You were twelve, a fresh seventh grader, standing right here at the Amelia County fairgrounds as he participated in his first junior bull riding competition. Back then, he was wearing the cutest helmet that barely sat properly on his head and was tightened as much as it possibly could’ve been. He’d managed to stay on for only seven seconds before his bull had finally bucked him off and sent him crashing into the ground. Naturally, Rhett was upset with himself that he hadn’t managed to stay on for eight seconds and thus didn’t receive the score he wanted, but you were still cheering louder than the entire county for him from the sidelines.

When the first seven riders came and went, you glanced at the scoreboard: not terrible scores, but manageable. Rhett could pull this off with one hell of a ride. 

You could just barely see Rhett mounting his bull from the other side of the arena; it felt like that first time all over again, like you were twelve watching your best friend ride again. Cheering him on from the stands as he passionately threw himself into the one hobby he’d loved ever since he was a kid, his one escape from the disaster of a home life you knew all too well.

It had been a month since you had last seen him. Press for “For Those We Love,” the newest book-to-film adaptation that was projected to be one of the largest box office successes of the last few years, given the large fanbase it had accumulated through the years, had taken you across the world. First, on a trip to Los Angeles and New York, then to Japan, and ending with a two-week press tour in London that included an appearance on The Graham Norton Show. You were exhausted, physically and mentally, but there wasn’t anything in the world that would have been able to keep you from tonight’s competition.

FaceTimes never did Rhett Abbott justice, especially on that old-ass iPhone you couldn’t convince him to upgrade. Even from across the arena, you could tell that he was freshly shaven in the last week or so, keeping that stubble you adored not too long. The worn-in, brown leather hat you had gifted him for his fourteenth birthday was still tattered and beat up, but he still refused to ride without it. He refused to wear anything BUT that hat, calling it his good luck charm since it came from you.

The familiar sound of the buzzer echoed through the arena, the gate separating Rhett and his bull slid open, and you tightened your hand around Amy’s tiny one in an effort to calm your nerves.

Those eight seconds of Rhett on a bull were always the longest seconds of your entire life. You always cheered while he rode, but it simultaneously felt as if you were always holding your breath. His hand up in the air, the clouds of dirt that were kicked up from the frantic bucking of the bull, and the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that was just begging him to be okay in the end, no matter what. Amy might have been young, but she knew how you were at the rodeo. That’s why her hand never left yours, even as she stood on top of her seat to jump up and down and cheer for her uncle.

The Abbott family was cheering alongside the rest of Amelia County. You recognized so many people from Wabang standing around, neighbors and school teachers alike, all cheering him on. And that weight in your stomach didn’t leave until he was finally bucked off to the ground and hauled to his feet in one piece.

Every eye in the arena shot to the scoreboard, waiting with bated breath.

The score appeared first: the judges gave him a 80. Then, Rhett’s name shot to the top of the leaderboard, solidifying him in first place.

The entire fairgrounds erupted into cheers. You were pretty sure the men behind you spilled some of their beer down your back as they jumped up, cheering Rhett’s name as loudly as they could, but you didn’t care. Amy was back up in your arms, both of you screaming as you spun the girl around in circles in pure excitement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for your hometown boy: Rhett Abbott, Amelia County Rodeo Champion!”

The proud smile never left your face as you watched Rhett get paraded around on shoulders before being presented with the championship belt buckle and what you could only assume was the champion’s check as well. The crowd erupted into another chant of cheers as Royal and Cecilia made their way down the bleachers toward the fencing to wait for him.

Perry took Amy from your arms with a quick kiss to her temple, everyone else around the bleachers moving past you toward the fence as well to greet their hometown champion. He threw you a glance, nodding toward the rest of the Abbott family.

“Coming down?”

You stole a glance over your shoulder, that same group of three young girls waiting patiently at the end of the row, and you couldn’t help but laugh. With almost a flick of the wrist, you plopped Cecilia’s hat on Amy’s head, taking a few steps backward.

“In a minute. Distract him for me so I can go make these girls’ days,”

Somewhere behind you, Perry made a noise of agreement, but you had already turned around to the girls. By the time you’d made it a few feet down the row to kneel in front of them, all three of them were practically squealing in anticipation.

“I’m so sorry we’re bothering you,” the little redhead spoke so quickly she hadn’t taken a single breath. “We saw somewhere online that you might be here tonight b-because your boyfriend was riding, so we convinced my mom to bring us out here, and we didn’t want to b-bother you since it, you know, is your boyfriend-”

“You girls weren’t a bother at all,” soft giggles fell from your lips at their nervousness, and they quickly followed suit with giggles of their own. You took all three of their phone cases without even having to be asked, signing them with the Sharpie they handed you as well. Little kids were the best part of your job, seeing them so giddy and happy to meet you in moments like this.

“What’s it like dating a cowboy?” the youngest of the three asked as you brought them all into your side, their mother gearing up to take a photo of you all together. You hummed, pretending to have to think hard about it.

“Well, I’m not sure if you think boys are gross or not yet, but the muscles are quite nice to look at,”

“What’s it like being in a movie with Drew Livingston? He’s so dreamy,”

You laughed at their description of your co-star, smiling for the photo before looking between the girls again.

“He’s a sweetheart, but there’s another guy I’m interested in seeing right now who doesn’t even know I’m here, so it’s time to surprise him,” all three giggled again at your comment, glancing over your shoulder in the direction you knew Rhett would be standing against the fenceline, talking to his family and all of the supporters from the crowd. “Do me a favor, girls? Make sure you get some pictures of his reaction and DM them to me later, I promise I’ll see them.”

The looks from around the crowd were expected as you walked back in the direction of the Abbott family, a flutter of butterflies in your stomach the second you saw that faded leather cowboy hat on the other side of the fence. You’d accepted your status in Amelia County now: no longer just another local, but a spectacle, someone to whisper about and take photos of that others around the world would be jealous of.

None of that mattered to you. Rhett was all that mattered, the sun that was almost down behind the horizon glinting off the fence before him and off that championship buckle that was already fastened to his belt.

“Good ride, son,” Royal commented, reaching through the fence to slap his hand down on Rhett’s shoulder. He only gave his father a short, clipped smile, their relationship still as rocky as it had always been.

“Thanks, guys,” that gruff voice you adored with all of your heart huffed out to them as you hid behind some people just next to the Abbott family. He tugged at the leather gloves on his hands with his teeth, slapping them on the fence before tossing them into the dirt. “And thanks for comin’ out.”

“Hell of a ride, Rhett!” someone else from Wabang yelled out from somewhere crowded around the fence, inciting another round of cheers from the group bunched up to welcome their champion.

Rhett’s laugh was short, his eyes flicking across the crowd. Perry laughed, leaning against the fence rail with a smirk as he pointed at his younger brother.

“He don’t care about the rest of us being here. Look at that face: he’s looking for his lady!”

There was another cheer through the crowd, and you couldn’t help your smile as you saw just a hint of red creep into Rhett’s cheeks, that tiny, clipped smile he held growing just ever so slightly.

“I miss her, got a problem with that?” Rhett shot back at Perry as he reached around his back to loosen his vest slightly. “Just…wishing she was here, that’s all.”

That was the moment you decided to duck out from behind some of the others in the crowd around you. Perry sidestepped the second he saw you out of the corner of his eye, letting you take his place. With one foot on the rail, you jumped up on the fence so that you were looking down on Rhett on the other side, who still wasn’t looking at you, even as whistles and cheers reverberated through the crowd.

“Well, your wish is my command, cowboy,”

Rhett’s head finally whipped up to look at you, and you swore you would never get over the way he looked at you–a warm glance, filled with admiration. Looking at you was like he was learning what love was for the first time.

You had traveled the world, seen every city you had ever dreamed of seeing, but every time you looked into those deep blue eyes, you knew you were home.

“You…you were supposed to be in London,” his voice was gruff, like it always was, that familiar Wyoming drawl laced through it. Astonished was the best word to describe how he sounded. It only made your smile wider.

“I got the press tour moved up. No way I was missing my cowboy become a champion,”

Your words sank in. His mouth dropped open for a moment before closing and repeating itself. The crowd around the fence laughed, some men whooping and hollering for Rhett. All you did was smile at him, never once taking your eyes off him. That’s why you could see it, the moment his eyes dilated just looking at you.

He lurched forward, stepping up on the opposite side of the rail. All you could do was laugh as his hands popped over the side, sliding across your hips until he held you in his grip, and lifted you over the rail onto the dirt of the rodeo ring.

Rhett steadied you the second you both hit the ground once again. His hand curled around, pressing into the dip of your lower back, anchoring your body against his. You watched, smile never leaving, as his hand flicked the edges of that leather Stetson up, bathing his face in the golden rays of the sunset.

The crowd around the fence cheered once more as Rhett didn’t speak a word and simply pulled you into a kiss that would never fail to steal the breath from your lungs.

Every kiss with Rhett felt like you were 16 again, kissing your best friend on the front porch of his family home in the dead of the night.

Royal had lost it on Rhett, like he typically did, but this time it stung more than it had before. He’d uttered that one word that Rhett couldn’t stand: disappointment. That’s what Royal had called his son. You had just had yet another argument with your family over your future. Your desperation to make it, to chase your wildest dreams, to make a name for yourself beyond this tiny little Wyoming town. They’d shot you down once again, swore if you did anything besides inherit the family ranch passed down through the generations, they’d never see you as their daughter again: disownment.

It wasn’t uncommon for you and Rhett to find yourself on the front porch of the Abbott ranch home, especially in moments like these, for both of you. Cecilia had always welcomed you, and Rhett had often joked that she saw you as more of her kid than he was. It always broke your heart, always ended with his hand wrapped in yours.

That night wasn’t supposed to be any different. You had run to the ranch through the rain–clothes soaking you to the bone–and Rhett was already waiting. The moon was already hanging in the sky, passing between the rain clouds as they came and went. Dressed in his clothing, warm with the faint scent of him clinging to them, you had simply sat side by side on the swing bench on his front porch, watching the rain hit the ground, creating mud pits throughout the yard. 

His arm sat wrapped around your shoulder, combing through pieces of your soaking wet hair, while your head lay on his shoulder. Lightning crackled across the sky, lighting up the land, as the roaring thunder followed. If someone asked either of you, neither of you could tell anyone what exactly was said or what led to the moment, but somewhere amid the storm and in your company, you had both turned to look at one another. All it took was one kiss to change everything, change the friendship you had held close and cherished since you were a little girl: soft, chaste, slightly hesitant, but perfect nonetheless.

Rhett didn’t kiss you hesitantly now. He had spent ten years kissing you in every conceivable way: chaste, long, soft, hard, passionate, loving, heated, messy. This kiss now, in the setting sun of the Amelia County Rodeo Grounds, amid the cheers of those who followed your every move and those who had known you both since you were two feet tall, it wasn’t like those kisses: it was longing. 

It was a welcome home. Not to the state, or the county, or the town–to him.

You savored it and fell into his hold. So familiar, the heat of his hands and his lips, the roughness of his skin as it dipped under your shirt to splay across your lower back. A month without this, without his touch, but it had felt like forever. You missed it, missed him, more than you could ever explain.

When he finally pulled back, letting your breath finally find you, Rhett never went far. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, to your temple, and the center of your forehead before he rested his own against yours, allowing himself to simply stare down at you. His smile was soft, the movement of his thumb across your lower back comforting, as the roar of your friends and neighbors continued.

“Missed you,” he muttered, just loud enough for the two of you to hear, that barely there smile making your heart melt. “You moved a whole press tour for me, darlin’?”

You glanced to the side, those young girls from before waving you down. They’d snuck into the ring, jumping up and down and pointing at their phones. All you gave them was a wink in thanks, before turning back to your favorite cowboy.

“I barely moved it, just added a few hours to our one interview day to make up for travel time,” you shrugged it off, pretending it was nothing. His laugh that came next was low as he gave you a short shake of his head.

“Think you just gave Trina ‘nother reason to hate me,”

You rolled your eyes. “She doesn’t hate you, she just…strongly dislikes you,”

“Darlin’, I hated English class, but I think that’s the definition of the word-”

“We get it, you two are in love. Quit hogging her!”

Low laughter was shared between you both as Rhett pulled back just barely. His hand never left you as he walked you back to the railing, waving to those who continued to send praise his way before they parted for their drive back into town.

The Abbott family was all that was left by the fence. Rhett, as he almost always did around you, stepped up behind you where you stood, the taut muscles of his forearms wrapping around your shoulders and your chest so he could lean his head against the side of yours, placing yet another kiss to your hair.

“That was a great ride, Uncle Rhett!” Amy piped up, sending a toothiest grin up toward you both. You could feel Rhett’s chest rumble with laughter behind you.

“Thanks, Ames,” his hand left your side for barely a moment, reaching through the slots in the rail to ruffle her hair.

“Was solid, score was a bit low,” Royal’s comment came offhandedly, his gaze staring off into the distance, not even looking at his son. “You were a little wobbly up there. Score almost wasn’t enough to win it.”

Over the years, you had witnessed this too often, this dynamic between Rhett and Royal. When Rhett didn’t ride well, on his off days, Royal would mask that stupid disappointment in a vain attempt at being comforting, but his real feelings were clear. They were even clearer when he rode well, when he won, when his father was unable to just straight up compliment him without throwing in an unwanted criticism: judging Rhett for the path he’d chosen, for his insistence to make a name for himself. 

They were feelings you knew all too well. Your relationships with your parents were strained for different reasons, but the feelings it evoked were a shared experience between you both.

Rhett’s arms tensed around you, squeezing you just a little tighter to him. You placed your hand on his arm, squeezing it three little times: I love you. 

It did the trick, as you could feel the slight quirk of his lips against your hairline, his own hands squeezing your shoulders four times: I love you, too.

“Well, I think there’s plenty to celebrate tonight,” Perry cut in, trying his best to cut through the tension. It sure as hell wasn’t working that well. “Why don’t I drop these guys off at home and meet you two for some celebratory drinks? Sure the whole town is flooding the bar as we speak.”

“That’s all up to the champion back here,” Rhett was already looking down on you when you turned your head just slightly to see him.

“Think drinks at the ranch are good ‘nough for me tonight,” his answer came easily, another kiss placed on your head firmly but softly at the same time. “I don’t feel like sharing my famous girl with the whole town tonight.”

“You never share her,” Amy grumbled, arms crossed as she shot her uncle a glare.

The family all laughed at that comment, Cecilia bidding her son a final congratulations for the night and promising to see you both back at the ranch. Before long, you and Rhett were left as some of the last people mingling around the grounds under the bright lights.

His calloused hand wrapped in yours like it was made to be there, fingers interlocking with your own and giving the slightest tug. Like always, you fell into step beside Rhett like it was nothing, like you had been doing it your entire life, which you had.

There were plenty of people you knew still lingering around, cleaning up stalls and closing up the concessions and booths. Rhett’s crew was still cleaning up, taking a glance at you across the dirt ring and sounding another loud ‘whoop’ through the air to you both. 

“Think you have some adoring fans waitin’ for you, darlin’,”

Rhett was right. A few people lingered around the back of the ring, toward the gravel road that led to where the riders got to park their vehicles, as if they had studied where you might end up at the end of the competition in order to catch you. You sighed, giving Rhett an apologetic smile, but he only gave your hand a squeeze in return and pushed you off toward them.

Posters of past projects, one edition of Vanity Fair magazine with your face across the front, and Funko Pops of yourself that you hadn’t even seen yet. Each fan smiled and thanked you profusely for every signature. You thanked them in return for every ounce of support they showed you, but there was only one thing your heart wanted right now.

Rhett was leaning against the side of his truck, just 30 feet away, when you finally made it to him. A tired sigh escaped your throat as he chuckled at the sound, reaching forward to loop his fingers through the loops of your jeans, tugging you into him. You didn’t put up a fight, hands splaying across his chest as you looked up at him.

“I just got done ridin’ bulls, sweetheart, and you’re tired from signing some autographs?” he teased, that smug little smirk on his lips. You flicked at his hat, laughing lightly yourself as he softly smacked your hand away.

“No, I’m tired because I got on a plane at Heathrow, had to ride it into Denver, and then got on another one to get to Wyoming. Almost 11 hours in a plane to be here,”

“Sounds like a great time to get some sleep,”

The unimpressed look you shot at him drew another deep chuckle from him, his chest rumbling under your hands, and a flurry of butterflies he still knew how to give you shooting through you.

“While Trina drones on and on about the premiere and the countless more interviews that need to be done? Yeah, very soothing, I’ll make a machine and market it as ‘Trina Noise’ instead of white noise,”

Rhett buried his laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. His fingers tugged on the loops of your jeans again, holding you as close as physically possible, and you leaned into him easily.

“So…how long do I get you for?”

“Two days,” you gave him a sheepish smile as he immediately groaned, throwing his head back so hard he almost lost his Stetson in the process. Dramatic, as always. You tugged him back to you with a hand on the back of his neck, that playful little smirk on his lips when you had him back to sitting up fully. “I’m sorry, Rhett. We have a day of press, including a Jimmy Fallon interview, and then the red carpet at Lincoln Square is the next day. Once this movie drops, I’ve been assured that I have two months off.”

“Before you’re whisked away from me again. Back into the heels, the diamonds, and the spotlight,”

It sucked. This whole thing sucked. You knew how much Rhett hated it, the way you were constantly gone. It had been this way since you were 19, a measly three years into your friendship turned romance, when you had gotten your big break with the biggest movie franchise of the modern era. In the seven years that had followed, you and Rhett had spent more time without one another than with each other, and it broke your heart every time you were whisked back onto a plane, back into the glittering cities and high society life without your cowboy at your side.

No one in this town understood one another the way you both understood each other. You may orbit two different worlds now, but there wasn’t a single person in Wabang that knew Rhett Abbott like you did, and there wasn’t a single hotshot celebrity that would ever understand you the way your cowboy did.

“Rhett-”

“No, that wasn’t fair of me,” he immediately cut in, shaking his head and pressing a short kiss to your forehead. Your fingers danced across his chest, drawing shapes into the fabric of his t-shirt, clinging to him under his flannel. “I’m being a bitch about it.”

“If you weren’t being a bitch about something, I’d actually be more concerned,”

That playful smile was back in seconds, Rhett’s hand leaving the loop of your jeans. It found its way to your ass, leaving a quick pinch there that had a laugh bubbling out of you, leaving a small whack on his chest for him to knock it off.

Your phone chose to buzz incessantly in your back pocket at that moment, right under Rhett’s hand. It wasn’t shocking, there was barely ever enough service to get text messages when you were out here watching Rhett ride, but every time you got to this back parking lot, your service kicked back in.

Rhett slipped your phone out of your pocket with a practiced ease. Lord knows you’d been in many similar and more compromising positions against this truck over the years. The phone screen illuminated his face, well enough that you could see the instant frown on his lips before he flicked the phone in your direction.

At least 15 texts in the last hour from Drew Livingston.

“Ignore him,” you sighed, taking your phone back and clearing the notifications from your co-star without reading a single one. Rhett just hummed, but that frown didn’t go away. “Come on, I know you want to run your mouth right now. Get it off your chest.”

It took Rhett a minute to talk, but you could already hear in your head what it was he wanted to say. You could see it in the clench of his jaw, in the tightening of his grip around your hip.

“He’s the biggest asshole I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. Which is saying something, since we grew up with the Tillersons,” not even a hand over your mouth could keep in the sharp laugh that escaped you, but Rhett pressed on. “Thinks he’s hot shit–what do they call it, a nepo baby–all because his daddy was famous, too…”

Rhett’s words trailed off, one hand cupping your cheek. You leaned into the touch instinctively, the touch you had known your whole life, and you could see the corners of his lips finally twitch up just slightly at the action.

“I hate that he gets to see you every day,” Rhett’s thumb trailed back and forth over your cheek, before making its way to your lips, drawing a line down the middle of them and dragging your bottom lip down just slightly. “That I’m gonna have to watch a movie where he holds you, where he looks at you, where he kisses you-”

His words were swallowed by your kiss, lips slanted across his with a dizzying pressure. Rhett’s groan is swallowed in the kiss, in the parting of his mouth and yours, with the flick of your tongue just barely against the edge of his lips. That hand on your ass snuck its way into your pocket, ignoring your phone to grip the jeans-covered flesh of your ass and mold your body to his.

Rhett flipped the two of you easily, pressing your back against the driver’s side door as the handle dug just barely into your lower back. He didn’t let it dig in for long, that hand still gripping you, bringing you back in, his leg slotted between your legs now, pressing right where you needed him. Right where you’d dreamt about him being for the last month.

“Drew Livingston might kiss me on the big screen,” your words came out in a whisper against his lips, feeling the flex of his fingers against where he held tight to your body, your own Wyoming drawl more prevalent than ever in your voice. “But not against a dirty truck on the rodeo grounds. Never in the back of that truck, in the dead of night. Or lying somewhere on a sprawling ranch under the stars. And he sure as hell doesn’t get to fuck me at the end of the night…no, that’s all reserved for you, Rhett.”

“Don’t mention his name,” Rhett huffed out, hand trailing up your side. It ghosted over your collarbone beneath the edge of your t-shirt, playing with the dainty chain that hung around your neck. “Not when I’m in the middle of thinking ‘bout fucking you.”

You smiled softly, just watching him. His fingers played with that dainty gold chain, one from an old necklace you used to always wear. He tugged slightly, bringing it to lie on top of your shirt now, tips of his fingers just barely tracing over the edges of the little flower hanging from the end.

Rhett had made it. It was just days after you had kissed that night at 16, the two of you still tentatively exploring the romantic parts of your relationship together. He’d been helping Royal on the ranch when an old piece of the wire fence on the West edge snapped. They replaced it with a new coil of wire, but Rhett saved that small, broken piece of it. He shaped it himself, painstakingly, for hours, until it somewhat resembled the flowers that grew outside your bedroom window. Your old necklace you had forgotten one day when it broke, was sitting on his dresser, and he used it to turn it into a necklace for you, using an old rusty pair of pliers to fix the clasp of the necklace.

You remembered when he gave it to you: tentative, like he was scared you would run away.

I know I don’t offer a lot, but…I’ll love you. I’ll love you more than anything. I already do.

“Celebratory drinks first,” you cut in, bringing his gaze back up to your eyes, digging yourself out of that memory you cherished more than he’d ever know. Rhett groaned, leaning forward to leave a kiss to the pulse point beating within your neck that had you ready to give in right here and there.

“Darlin’,”

“You, my handsome cowboy, are a champion bull rider now. We celebrate that, first, then you can have me as your prize after,”

What could you say: Rhett always followed your lead.

It was verging on midnight by the time Cecelia had come outside to the porch, dragging a drunken Perry back through the doors and bidding you both a soft goodnight. You didn’t mind, instead letting yourself enjoy the quiet of the night on that same porch swing from a decade ago that held a special place in your heart.

Rhett’s head lay in your lap, Stetson discarded beside you on a rickety side table. All you could find yourself doing was watching him, ignoring the stars in the sky that you loved to watch from this very spot.

That dopey, slightly tipsy smile on his face as he couldn’t look away from you, those dilated ocean-blue eyes looking up at you. The flush to his cheeks from the alcohol running through his system. You ran your hand through his hair–slightly greasy as he had yet to shower off the competition, not that you minded–twirling strands between your fingers and scraping your nails just barely over his scalp.

“Championship bullrider,” you drew out the words a bit, a smirk on your face as the swing rocked back and forth just barely. “I like the sound of that. My boy, finally a champion like he deserves to be.”

“Wish that check they handed over screamed ‘champion,’”

“How much was it for?”

“Just a thousand,”

“We've got to get you into a real, professional circuit so you can make the good money for what you put your body through,”

He didn’t answer, and you didn’t push. It was always a delicate subject–professional circuits–because that meant leaving Wabang behind. Instead, you fell into a comfortable silence together.

Your phone buzzed, and you checked it for just a second. Another text from Drew, something related to the interviews that were lined up before your late-night talk show appearance together. It was late, that was a text you could deal with tomorrow. Swiping the notification away, you popped open Instagram, smiling at your latest post, courtesy of those darling little girls from earlier.

“How’d it go over there in London?” Rhett eventually asked quietly.

You hummed, placing your phone back down by his hat to return your hand to his hair. Dragging your nails over his scalp again as you looked out toward the night sky, the quiet chirping of crickets in the air around you both. He was deflecting, but you decided to let him.

The lights inside the home had been turned off, the Abbott family all retreating to bed, leaving you both under just the light of the moon and the fireflies that flitted about.

“Wasn’t terrible, just long. A lot of 10 to 12-hour days. Wasn’t always interviews, though, there were photoshoots and then, of course, the premieres thrown into it,”

“Deputy Joy was over the other day, ‘nother fight with the Tillersons,” Rhett mentioned off-handedly, one of his hands coming up to run down the length of your arm and back up, before repeating itself. “She said you assured her that you would get the town a personal screening of the movie in that rundown theater by the post office.”

“I’ve done that with all my movies, Rhett,”

“I know, that’s why there’s a shrine to you in The Handsome Gambler,” he joked right back at your comment.

It wasn’t an exaggeration, and you knew it, too. There was an entire wall dedicated to the last four movies you had the pleasure of being part of, all personally signed by you as well, before they were fitted into frames and hung up. It didn’t help that the owner, Aiden Martin, had hung up old photos of you from your childhood around them, too. Yearbook photos, old photos that you weren’t sure how someone had wrangled from your parents’ home, and ones from old friends you no longer spoke to.

You didn’t entirely mind, Mr. Martin said it was good for business whenever tourists came through, diehard fans you had amassed, wanting to walk down the memory lane of your life.

“The shrine is a bit much, I’ll admit. Mr. Martin could’ve kept out the yearbook photos,”

“I like it,” Rhett muttered, taking your hand that had been resting across his abdomen in his and bringing it up to his lips, leaving a feather-soft kiss across your palm. “Just makes me proud.”

Sometimes, you wished that the people of Wabang got to see the Rhett Abbott that you did. They only ever saw him as what Royal constantly made him out to be: the fuck-up, the reject, the rebel, the disappointment of the Abbott family. He could be reckless, but quiet, unless you pissed him off. Lord knows he’d use his hands at the first chance he got; you had seen it many times throughout the years.

The Rhett you saw, the side only reserved for you, was so different. He was a fuck-up simply because he didn’t want to be what his father wanted him to be. He was a rebel only because he wanted a different life for himself so badly. With you, he was never any of those. He was still quiet sometimes, but so charismatic when he wanted to be. Charming, sweet, and an utter hopeless romantic. Hard not to get called a hopeless romantic when you fashion a flower necklace out of old fence wire for your sort-of girlfriend at the time.

There was a time when you had talked about it: running away. Starting over, making a new life for yourselves somewhere else. It didn’t matter where, as long as you were together. Rhett liked the idea of Texas, finding a ranch somewhere for just the two of you. You loved that idea, too…then Hollywood finally came calling, and finally saw in you what Rhett always saw. It bulldozed those wishful thinking plans you had crafted, and set you on the path you were walking now: you were living your dream, while Rhett was still stuck where he had always been.

“I meant to ask,” your voice was soft after a moment, fingers dancing around his as they interlaced with yours, your other hand still carding through the long strands of his hair. “Would you…like to come to the premiere with me?”

Rhett paused, just staring at your intertwined hands. You didn’t have to look at him to know the look that was written across his face, or to hear the little sigh he let out.

“Darlin’-”

“I know, I know, you hate New York,” you responded quickly before Rhett could properly speak, throwing your head back against the edge of the swing with a sigh of your own. “It’s stuffy, the people suck, it’s dirty, it’s so loud, you can’t see the stars because of the light pollution…you hate it, I know. You reminded me the entire week you were there for my very first premiere and haven’t been back since.”

It was quiet again for a moment.

“That’s your world, angel,” Rhett finally spoke, pressing another kiss to your hand before resting it back across his abdomen. Still intertwined with him. “Your world doesn’t have space for people like me.”

You couldn’t help it, the clench of your jaw at the way he said that.

“You forget that Rhett Abbott has been part of my world since I was a little girl…I don’t want to exist in a world that doesn’t have him as part of it,”

Getting worked up over this moment was stupid. Truly, genuinely, so stupid. But it was hard when Rhett talked about himself like that, when he still saw himself as some disappointment that wasn’t good enough for you, to exist in the world you had been welcomed into.

He shifted, head rising from your lap, and a hand cupped the back of your neck, bringing you back up so that you could look at him. Rhett was seated on the swing beside you now, looking down at you with so much love and care as he wiped the stray tear that managed to trickle down your cheek.

“No crying, sweetheart,”

“Hard not to,” you whispered back, trying to smile. “I just…I love you so much. You’re all I have left, you’re everything to me, and sometimes it feels like you don’t understand that.”

Rhett looked at you, and that’s all he really did. He just looked. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, as he tried to find the words.

Your phone buzzed again, both of your gazes flickering toward it. Collectively, you both tried to ignore it until it buzzed again. With a defeated sigh, you grabbed the device again, flicking the screen open.

Yet again, even more texts from Drew, and given that you knew he was in New York, you didn’t even want to know how drunk he was or what party he was attending and doing god knows what at. The texts were at least coherent, though, just a bunch of messages discussing the upcoming interviews again and how his manager thought it would be a good idea to play up your characters’ connection during the interviews to really sell the romance aspect of it.

“Who is it?” Rhett muttered after a moment, his hand still cupping the back of your neck, fingers drawing shapes into the skin. You huffed, leaning into his touch as you typed back a simple ‘We’ll talk about it when I get back to New York’ text.

“Just Drew not understanding personal space. I get he wants to talk about work and how we plan to tackle certain aspects of the interviews, particularly the character romance, but it’s fucking two in the morning over there. Like…go to bed?”

With your phone tossed aside, you looked back at Rhett. He was still just looking, watching you, but it was different this time. Something in his eyes was darker, his jaw was clenched just slightly, and you could practically see the tension in his shoulders.

“What–?”

He didn’t let you speak, just pulled you into a searing kiss. You didn’t complain, having just kissed him not even an hour ago, when Perry was still awake and drinking with you both, and still missing the taste of his lips.

That tension, that darkness in his eyes, translated into his kiss. It was bruising, his lips practically devouring you. His hand still gripped onto your neck, locking you to him, his tongue sliding across your lower lip and dipping just barely into your mouth, swallowing the breathless moan that escaped your throat in that second. Your nails dug into his bicep, surely leaving little crescent-shaped marks, and that’s when Rhett pulled back just slightly, nipping just barely at your bottom lip.

“I’ll come with you…to New York,”

He was so sure in the way he said it, but you still couldn’t process the words being said to you. Leaning back as far as his hand would let you, looking up at him with furrowed brows and your head cocked to the side.

“Rhett, don’t feel like you have to just because I started crying-”

“I want to,” he said again, definitively. You watched him, trying to decipher what it was that had changed his demeanor and mind so quickly, but you couldn’t pinpoint it anywhere in his face. “You’re everything to me too, darlin’. So, if I have to suffer in that city to show it to you, I will.”

Whatever that look was in his eyes, whatever had changed his mind, you dropped it in that moment. Instead, you laughed, leaning back in and letting him steal yet another heated kiss from your lips.

“I’ll text Trina so she can get everything sorted out-”

“Tomorrow,” Rhett’s voice had dropped again, huskier, as he nipped at your lip once more, before trailing his lips down to your jawline. “I believe I was promised you, my pretty little angel, as a prize after some celebratory drinks tonight…and I’ve had enough with drinking for the night.”

❤︎

Rhett hated your townhouse in New York.

He’d been in your childhood home many times growing up, and had seen the traces of you scattered throughout. Your stacks of CDs, the pile of clothing in the corner of your room overflowing your laundry basket. Wall-to-wall bookshelves, an entire shelf dedicated to every special edition of “For Those We Love” that existed, with money you’d scraped together from odd jobs throughout town. You collected posters from magazines of all the movies you had ever loved, the actors and actresses you admired. A photo wall, dedicated to photos throughout your childhood until you were a teen, sat right below your shelf of equestrian competition trophies. Rhett had been in most of those photos and at every one of those competitions.

This townhouse was nothing like your room. Pristine, clean, white walls and white furniture with minimal pops of colors here and there. Chandeliers that probably cost more than the entire Abbott family ranch. Photos were hung, but not like your childhood bedroom. Magazine covers with you on them, press tour photos, movie posts, all hung around the shelf in the living room, housing the multiple awards you had won through the years.

An entire house curated and designed by Trina and her team, lacking everything that made you the woman he’d fallen in love with the second he understood what love was.

Rhett tried to ignore those thoughts in his head as he glanced around the bedroom he’d been in multiple times, taking in those same features of the room that he despised, the ones that made him feel out of place. Instead, he shifted it to you.

Still asleep, breath ghosting over his bare chest where your head lay right over the tattoo etched into his pectoral. Fingers curled across his abdomen, flexing every few moments in the quiet of the morning. Rhett couldn’t help but smile at the sight, just barely brushing his fingertips through your hair, curling stray pieces away from your face.

“It’s rude to stare,” he could just faintly hear you mumble, feeling your smile curl against his skin. A low laugh grumbled through him as he leaned down, leaving a lasting kiss against your hairline.

“Have to admire the work of art lying beside me naked,”

He watched as you turned just barely, moving up his body. Your arms rested against his chest, head hovering just above his, and Rhett let his arms settle around your bare waist and hug you closer to him.

“Morning, cowboy,”

“Mornin’, sunshine,”

His smile grew at the little hum in your throat, before you leaned down to kiss him. Rhett couldn’t wipe the smile from his face as he eagerly brought you closer to him in the midst of the kiss, curling a hand around the back of your head to cradle you to him.

“Wish we could stay here all day,” you mumbled against his lips as Rhett left peck after peck upon them. “But we have quite a long day today.”

“Five more minutes, darlin’, just five more…”

Five became ten before Rhett finally relented, defending himself from the attack you launched on him, claiming his lips were “too addictive” and you needed to get up.

Clad in nothing but the lounge pants he’d managed to pull on in haste, Rhett’s eyes never left you as you descended the stairs down to the kitchen. Wearing his t-shirt, the hem dropping right at your mid thigh, barely covering you and the tiny pair of panties you had slipped on in the morning.

He had half a mind to drag you right back up to that bed and never let you leave it, not until his name was the only one you could ever remember.

“You’re late,”

Your body jumped back into Rhett’s, who quickly grabbed you and dragged you just behind him at the voice that called out as you both stepped into the kitchen. Tension rolled off of both of you the second you both could see who it was speaking.

“Trina, what have I told you about coming in here without texting me?” you scolded your manager, crossing the kitchen to open the fridge. Rhett stayed in his place, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, eyes darting between both of you.

“When it’s 11:30 in the morning, and I told you we’d be here at 11 to get you ready for the press, I’m going to let myself in. I chose not to walk upstairs to protect my damn eyes from what I might see,” it was then that Trina finally looked in Rhett’s direction, her mouth dropping into a flat line and her tone bordering on almost boredom as she spoke. “Hello, Rhett.”

Rhett gave her the most cordial nod that he could, joining you at your side as you slid a glass of orange juice into his hand.

He didn’t hate Trina, not in the slightest. She’d helped you secure your dream, he’d always thank her for that, but that didn’t mean he liked the woman. She reminded him too much of your own mother, the one who had disowned you, in a way. Headstrong, didn’t like taking no for an answer, and always had to have things done her way. He didn’t like letting his mind wander, to think if you were being forced into any situations just because Trina found them to be best.

“I assume that the team is all set up in the living room,” you questioned your manager. With a nod in response from her, you turned back to Rhett, leaving another kiss on his lips that really had him struggling not to kick everyone out and just keep you all to himself. “Half an hour tops, I promise.”

Rhett hummed in response, letting you make your way over to Trina at the table. He couldn’t argue with it, really, he knew how long your team took to get you ready at times.

“Got the paperwork back for that…side thing we talked about. They accepted, you just have to sign. Just remember that I really don’t agree with it,” Trina rolled her eyes as she said it, passing you a manila folder. Rhett could almost see the way your eyes lit up as you took the folder from her quickly, flipping through the contents as you moved into your living room. Rhett didn’t get to dwell on it, though; instead, his attention was brought back to Trina as she snapped in his direction. “Half an hour, cowboy. I want you to look Hollywood-level presentable.”

What the entertainment industry considered “presentable” wasn’t something that Rhett Abbott could fathom, or recreate, so he got as close as he could. His nicest pair of jeans with his nicest button-down shirt that he kept specifically here in New York with the love of his life, so there was no chance it ever got dirty. The dirty cowboy boots on his feet, tucked beneath his jeans, were the only dead giveaway that he didn’t belong, besides the look on his face. Rhett had even forgone the Stetson for the day, leaving it back in the living room in your townhome.

Everyone around Rhett knew he didn’t belong, though, that he stood out no matter what, and he knew it too.

Teams of reporters and interviewers moved through the room, talking with assistant after assistant to confirm their spot in the lineup of interviews. Rhett stood as out of the way as he could, shifting back and forth on his feet. His eyes never left you, though.

Black slacks that hugged you just perfectly, matching black heels, and a deep purple blouse tucked into the waistband of your slacks. You spoke across the room with Trina, already seated in your chair, as an assistant fixed the lip gloss across your lips and ensured that your hair was in place.

You met his eyes from across the room, lips stretching into a smile even as the assistant scolding you to hold still, and sent him a wink. He caught sight as you moved of that stupid wire flower hanging around your neck, and couldn’t help but smile.

Rhett never talked about his feelings often, just with you. So, he had no one to really talk to growing up about the butterflies your smile always gave him, or the flutter in his chest you were still capable of giving him all this time later.

“Well, well, well! Rhett, it’s so nice to finally meet you!”

Rhett didn’t want to say that he hated Drew Livingston; he’d never met him until now, but…he hated him. At least, he hated what the man exuded. A fake air of confidence, fueled by the knowledge of how famous his father had been, dressed in only the finest designers, that totaled up to more money than Rhett had ever seen in his life.

Now, the actor stood before him, and Rhett still disliked him. Smug smirk, dressed from head to toe in a deep purple Valentino suit that–as much as Rhett hated it–matched your shirt perfectly. His Rolex glinted off the overhead lights, but Rhett found solace at least seeing that the man was just a few inches shorter than him.

Besides, if he could deal with the Tillerson family his entire life, he could deal with one more entitled prick.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Rhett huffed out, faking a smile with no teeth as he held his hand out. It didn’t go unnoticed to him the way Drew glanced at it, almost grimacing, before shaking Rhett’s hand.

“Our darling girl has told me so much about you,” Rhett’s fingers flexed at just the simple use of that nickname. No one should be calling you that but him. Drew’s eyes flicked down Rhett’s outfit, studying him, judging him, before their gazes met again. “Nice to see that you…clean up so well. Or, as well as a ranch hand can.”

If Rhett didn’t know any better, Drew Livingston could be a distant cousin of the Tillersons. Though that was a little far: even Rhett wouldn’t force the Tillersons to associate with the likes of this prick.

His grip on Drew’s hand tightened just slightly, but not enough to be noticeable.

“Bull rider, actually,” Rhett shot back slowly, staring down the man before him, wishing he could just take a swing and wipe that smirk off his face. “Championship one now.”

“I saw in her latest post, how…cute,” Drew laughed, tightening his own grip back on Rhett’s hand, but the Abbott boy didn’t flinch. “Can’t imagine that pays much, especially since there’s no ring on her finger. Ten years together, damn. You should really find a way to lock her down, Abbott, before someone…worthy of her comes along.”

That’s what did it. Rhett’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together, and the semblance of a fake smile wiped off his face in an instant with just a few words. 

He tightened his grip on Drew’s hand, as if he were gripping onto his bull for dear life, and there it was: a wince in Drew Livingston’s face. That was enough to bring a smirk to Rhett’s face, now.

His voice stayed low, but it bordered on something else, something more dangerous, as he spoke. “There’s not a single man on this earth worthy of her, pretty boy, and if you can’t see that…then you sure as hell don’t come close to it.”

Someone–maybe Trina–called out for places, announcing that the interviews would begin soon. Neither Rhett nor Drew let go right away, gazes locked as if still in a battle with one another. All Rhett did was give the movie star’s hand one last tight squeeze before conceding, allowing the man to take his place across the room in the chair next to yours.

His eyes met yours, and he could see the question written across your face in the raise of your eyebrow: you good?

Rhett gave a simple nod, crossing his arms with his jaw still tight with tension, as the first interviewer entered the room.

If that simple conversation solidified anything for Rhett, it was that he did hate Drew Livingston.

“This movie has been a long time coming, an adaptation of one of the greatest books of the twenty-first century,” the young reporter, a woman just barely in her twenties, asked animatedly somewhere in the middle of her interview. “I have to know, what was it like for you two to take on such iconic roles such as Trace and Millie?”

“It’s been the role of a lifetime, but incredibly daunting at the same time,” your response came quickly, and Rhett’s grin returned, just watching your response and seeing that little smile on your face. Your eyes met across the room for a split second as you gestured off camera in his direction. “I mean, you can ask my boyfriend, this book became my whole personality growing up, I had an entire self dedicated to every special edition there was. I remember when my agent said they wanted me to audition for Millie–I don’t think there was anyone in New York who didn’t hear me scream. But these characters are so beloved, I know a lot was riding on me to embody her and everything she stands for with grace.”

“For me, any nerves I had about this role went right out the window the second I was in a room with this girl,” Drew cut in, flashing a dazzling smile in your direction as he casually threw his arm around the back of your chair. “I mean, she’s played a literal superhero on the big screen, but she’s a real-life superhero too. So poised, so incredibly talented–I couldn’t imagine having done this movie with anyone else, truly. I’m so blessed I got to go on this journey with her at my side.”

If Rhett’s jaw could clench any harder, if his teeth could grind together more, surely he’d be sanding a few inches off of his enamel. Just that slimy man’s arm around the back of your chair, that smug smirk he subtly shot off camera in Rhett’s direction, made him want to stalk over there and haul him into a back alley by the collar of his shirt.

The interviews continued, 5-10 minutes per interviewer, all asking questions that bordered on being the same exact questions. 

What was it like taking on the characters? Was there anything changed from the books to the movie? Can we expect an adaptation of the book’s equally as critically acclaimed sequel?

You handled yourself with a practiced poise and grace and humility with every question, laughing when appropriate and taking a more serious approach to integral questions, too. Every so often, your gaze would flick over to Rhett, and any tension he felt toward your co-star melted at just seeing you so happy, so in love with what it was you got to call your job. Your dream.

“Alright, they’re waving me off that it’s almost time to go, so just one last question for you both,” it was the final interviewer of the day before you’d be whisked off for your big late-night appearance recording. The man was older, somewhere around Royal Abbott’s age, with a press tag that read the name of some magazine that Rhett had never heard of. “Looking back on the filming of this movie, what would you each say was your favorite moment throughout filming?”

“Playing Millie as a whole,” you answered easily, that happy smile back on your face at just talking about the character. “She’s so strong and passionate, while also able to show her most vulnerable aspects, and growing up, she had always been this perfect representation of what I wanted to be. I have to say that getting to run from zombies in this was fantastic, but getting to do it as a character that I have always adored meant more than anything. I just hope that I’ve played her to the best of my ability, and that a new generation can watch this movie and look up to her in the way that I did when reading the books.”

The interviewer said something in response to you, but Rhett’s gaze had been caught by Drew once more. There was a hint of a smirk on the man’s face again, as he dared to shoot him a sly wink, before turning back to the conversation at hand.

“By far, the best moments for me were any moments that I got to share with this wonderful woman,” he played up his response, hand leaving his lap to come to rest over your knee with a playful squeeze. “Every scene with her is like magic, the chemistry is so mindblowing that it’s so easy to forget that we’re acting. And the kiss scene, oh boy, that was on another level-”

He was touching you, and Rhett was seeing red.

It didn’t matter what the stuck-up bastard was saying right now, even if the simple mention of that damn kiss scene spread across every trailer had Rhett biting his tongue, the fact that he had the nerve to touch you. No one touched you like that, no one except for Rhett himself.

What pissed him off more was the look on your face, that grimace as you awkwardly laughed and shifted your leg out of his hold: you were uncomfortable, and that pissed him off a hundred times more.

Rhett’s glare never left Drew, who still wore a cocky smirk on his face, as the interview room was cleaned up. Not even when you were back in his arms, cradling his jaw in your hands and pressing kiss after kiss to his cheek.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had heat vision and were trying to burn a hole into the side of Drew’s face from across the room,”

Rhett huffed out a clipped laugh, gaze trailing down to you, and finally softening. His arms found their place around your hips, holding you to him as tightly as he could.

“You were uncomfortable-”

“Yes, and I had it handled,” you reminded him gently, stealing a quick kiss from his lips that Rhett was desperate for more of. “You can’t just go punching anyone who makes me uncomfortable.”

“I did to Luke Tillerson when he tried to hit on you a few years ago-”

“Yeah, then I had to bail you out of jail the next morning: point proven,”

“Let’s go, people!” Trina called out, directing the group of people littering around the room toward the doors with a wave of her hand. “Show recording starts in an hour and a half, studio is expecting us in the next 20 minutes!”

Rhett’s hand didn’t leave your knee, right where it belonged, the entire limo ride across Midtown to the studio lot, and his glare never left Drew Livingston. Drew’s smirk never faltered either, and he held Rhett’s gaze like it was a game: like you were a game to him. It had the Abbott boy almost seeing red once again.

Anxiety crawled through Rhett’s system the second they were parked in front of the studio lots, and he could already hear the cheers of the crowd around the front doors before he stepped out of the limo. Once he did, it was blinding–more so, overwhelming-the amount of people crowded around for a simple glimpse at the movie star love of his life.

For a moment, he felt like he couldn’t see through the flashes of the paparazzi cameras, reaching back into the limo to take your hand and help you out onto the sidewalk. As the crowd cheers grew, and you smiled and waved to them all, Rhett made sure to “accidentally” shut the door of the limo in Drew’s face, before tugging you toward the doors of the studio.

He felt your hands squeeze his three little times: I love you.

Rhett didn’t hesitate to return it four times: I love you, too.

You were whisked away from him again, just as this world always demanded, off into a dressing room of your own to change for the recording of your late-night talk show appearance. Rhett was left to his own devices in the studio’s green room.

Some stupid song, probably something from the charts he never listened to, was playing softly off a radio in the corner. The television across from the couch Rhett sat on, the one he would be able to watch the coming show on, just had that familiar logo of the show spinning around on it. With a heavy sigh, he poured himself a glass of whiskey from the platter sitting on the table in front of him, resigning himself to a drink as his boot-covered foot tapped incessantly against the rug beneath him.

“Feel out of place?”

Lost in his own thoughts, Rhett hadn’t heard or seen Drew enter the room, clad in a brand new black suit this time. He flashed Rhett a smile before stalking across the room, pouring himself a glass of his own vodka from the tray sitting on top of the piano. Rhett’s hand around his glass flexed involuntarily.

“A bit,” he let himself answer, taking another swig of his drink, voice still gruff with indifference toward the man. “Nothing like Wyoming.”

“I bet, much cleaner here,” Drew paused, laughing to himself as he leaned against the piano, gesturing vaguely in Rhett’s direction. “Nothing personal, didn’t mean that as a slight against you, pal. Just…trying to understand.”

Rhett hummed, just watching the spinning logo on the screen.

“Understand what?”

“What the hell she sees in you,”

Rhett’s jaw locked up again, teeth grinding together, as his fingers white-knuckled the glass in his hand. Drew only laughed again from across the room, continuing his tirade before Rhett could interject.

“One of the most sought-after actresses of our generation, the world treats her like a princess everywhere she goes, and yet she stays with you,” Drew crossed the room, plopping into a seat directly below the television, forcing himself into Rhett’s line of sight. “From what I’ve heard: a 26-year-old bum with, basically, no job–unless you count bull riding, which again, I’m sure pays so much–who still lives on his family ranch. No dreams, no aspirations, besides getting bucked off bulls into the dirt and going drinking at some rundown bar afterward.”

It took everything in Rhett to keep his cool, even though he was sure, with enough pressure, he could crack the glass in his hand into a thousand pieces. His steeled gaze shot down to finally look at the actor across from him, practically dripping in money, the exact opposite of Rhett.

“Yeah, I don’t offer much, never said I did,” were the words he settled on, bringing his glass up to his lips for another sip. “There a point to this conversation?”

“Yeah, there is. You talk about how no one is worthy of her, but what you fail to realize is that you, Abbott…are the least worthy of that woman of the whole bunch,”

That was enough to give Rhett pause, his glass settling just barely against his lips. Drew continued before he could speak once more.

“I know for a fact that you haven’t been to a single premiere of hers since the very first one, until now, even though she invites you to every single one. I know that, because she told me that,” he casually swirled his vodka in his glass, just watching the liquid slosh around. “Should I mention again that you’ve been with her for ten years and haven’t put a ring on her finger, haven’t given her a definitive answer on your future together? Oh, right, you can’t because you can’t afford her. The most famous woman on the planet right now, adored by thousands if not millions, and you can’t leave the comforts of Wyoming to support her. I’ve been there, making sure on the days she’s sad that her tears don’t fall, or buying her congratulations gifts when she wins another award or has another glowing article written about her. You want to talk about worth, Abbott?”

Drew leaned forward just slightly, taking a sip of his drink with a smirk still on his lips.

“You have nothing to offer her, Abbott: no money, no support, no future. You’re hanging onto high school dreams and fantasies while she’s made a name for herself. You’re holding her back, and it’s only a matter of time until she comes to her senses and realizes what a disappointment her high school cowboy really is,” he leaned back again, casually, as if his words hadn’t cut like a knife. “I’m just looking out for you, Rhett, man-to-man. If you love her, you’d realize she’s in much better hands with me than your own.”

Disappointment.

Rhett could almost hear Royal’s voice in his head saying it.

Drew only sat silently, that smirk still on his face, still swirling his drink around the glass.

“Been meaning to ask, it’s an…interesting necklace she always wears. That messy wire design, it’s a flower, right? Or, supposed to be…”

Disappointment. Rhett couldn’t get that word out of his head, even as he found himself nodding.

“It’s, uh, it's Fireweed. They-”

“Native to Wyoming, grew outside her bedroom window,” Drew finished off, chugging the last of his drink. “I know. She told me.”

There was a knock at the door then, Trina poking her head in to announce it was go time.

You stepped in after, and Rhett looked over. Makeup and hair done to perfection, sparkly heels that still barely had you reaching his own height, and a gorgeous off-the-shoulder black dress that fit you like a glove.

Rhett couldn’t even appreciate it to its fullest extent, too lost in his own head.

Drew greeted you, some over-the-top comment about how gorgeous you looked. You were beside Rhett moments later, leaning down just slightly to press a kiss to his cheek. He watched as you watched him, saw that flicker of concern in your eyes, as you mumbled a quick “you okay?” to him. All he could do was nod, never even shutting his eyes as you stole a kiss from his lips, before you were whisked out to the stage.

Even as the show began, Rhett couldn’t watch. He couldn’t get Drew’s words out of his head.

Did Drew have a point? Rhett didn’t want to think so, but nothing he said was a lie. He had no job; he’d won only one championship now in bull-riding and wasn’t going to be winning much money in the Wyoming circuits. 

He’d looked at rings, of course, he had. Rhett knew he wanted to marry you from the moment you had first kissed that night on his porch. But no ring was ever good enough, and even the measly thousand this championship had afforded him wasn’t going to get him a ring that you deserved.

Rhett lived at home, on his family ranch, with the family that treated him like the rebellious, disappointing son, but he didn’t try to leave. He wanted to leave with you once, but those dreams died the moment you achieved your lifelong dream, when you got sucked into the world of glitz and glamour. Dreams of a Texas ranch, far away from both of your families, just the two of you and acres of land to yourself, were a faraway dream now.

You were a household name. People adored you in every city you went to. You were dressed day to day in the finest clothing money could buy and lavished in the finest gifts. Maybe Drew had a point: Rhett couldn’t afford to love you, not the way you deserved.

“You two just have so much chemistry,” the host, Jimmy, spoke as the crowd cheered in agreement with him. Rhett finally looked up at the television, feeling as if hours had passed, watching the end of the interview play out on the screen. “You have to just love working together.”

“I mean, I won’t lie, of course I love working with this talented woman,” Drew laughed, reaching over and laying a hand on your arm as you laughed it off. “She made every moment on set so amazing that I had to find the perfect way to thank her. It took me a while to think of it, but I thought now would be the perfect time!”

Rhett watched you on the screen, that adorably confused look on your face, as Drew reached into a bag behind his chair. The crowd cheered loudly once again as he pulled out a long velvet box. He popped it open, and the camera zoomed in on it as the crowd gasped in awe.

A necklace. Decorated with more diamonds than Rhett had ever seen in his life. Hanging from it? A glittering, diamond-encrusted Fireweed flower.

“Oh-! Oh Drew, it’s…it’s gorgeous!” he watched as you laughed, taking the box from his hands to look at the necklace closer, before shooting your co-star a small, sheepish smile. “T-Thank you, truly. Working with you was a privilege, too.”

Drew took your hand in his, bringing you both to your feet as the crowd cheered once more. Then, he brought your hand to his lips, laying a kiss on your knuckles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for your stars of 'For Those We Love,' in theaters this Friday, so check it out! Goodnight!”

Whatever Rhett was feeling before, it didn’t matter. No, if he had been seeing red earlier on in the day, he wasn’t sure how to describe the pure rage flowing through him right now.

His empty whisky glass slammed down onto the table before him, and he was sure somewhere in the back of his head he heard the glass crack. Rhett practically threw his body into the greenroom door, slamming it open so hard that a group of interns walking past jumped in their place. He paid them no mind, though, already stalking through the hallways toward the stage.

It didn’t matter who he shoved into in order to get there; Rhett bodied his shoulder into every person in his way, following the signs along the wall that led backstage. And when he got there, his eyes zoned right in on his target.

You were off to the side, speaking in hushed whispers behind the curtain to the stage with Trina, waving your hands animatedly. Rhett wasn’t looking at you, though; his eyes were on Drew. Unalarmed, back to him, conversing with his own manager.

Rhett Abbott didn’t give the movie star a second to react, clamping his hand down onto his shoulder hard and throwing him backwards. Drew stumbled as a few people in the area let out gasps of shock. The second Drew laid eyes on him, all he could do was laugh, stumbling to regain his balance.

“Cowboy, how nice of you to join us-”

Rhett took him by the collar of the shirt, throwing him back hard against the pillar just behind him. More gasps rang through the room, someone shouting for security, but Rhett didn’t care. He bared his teeth, grinding them together, as he almost snarled just inches from Drew’s face.

“What makes you think you have the right to fucking touch her?”

“Rhett!” he could almost hear your voice call out from across the room, but was too occupied with Drew’s laughter.

“Come on, cowboy, I’m just playing the game for her heart. Think I won over the fans with that move,”

“My girl isn’t a fucking prize to be won, you piece of shit,”

“Isn’t she?” Drew cocked an eyebrow.

Rhett’s hands tightened on the man’s collar as he let go with one hand, balling it into a fist, before a hand grabbed at his fist, tugging it back. He turned, seeing you now standing beside him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Do you want to be on the cover of every tabloid by the end of the night for starting a fight right now?” you hissed out, and he could see Trina rocking back and forth nervously behind you. “Rhett…let him go, now. Please.”

He watched you for just a moment, seeing the pleading in your eyes, before he glanced back at Drew. He was still smirking, watching this all like he enjoyed it.

It took every ounce of Rhett’s strength to let go of the man, taking a step away from him, but his hand was still balled into a fist.

Security arrived, but Trina waved them off, promising that she was handling it and that you were all leaving immediately.

Your hand stayed on Rhett’s arm the entire way back into the limo, past the paparazzi who had no idea what had just occurred upstairs, and even as the vehicle pulled away.

You squeezed at it three times, but Rhett couldn’t bring himself to answer.

❤︎

The limo had been dead silent the entire ride back home, and not the comfortable kind of silence.

The second you were parked, you handed Rhett the keys to the front door, and he was gone in seconds, tearing up the steps and into the house without ever looking back.

It was then that Trina gave you an earful. She spewed every word in the book toward you about Rhett, calling him “reckless” and a “liability,” talking about how dangerous that stunt he pulled at the studio was.

“Drew’s manager assured me that he’s having every single person that witnessed what happened sign an NDA right now, we don’t need this kind of press before the premiere tomorrow,” Trina sighed, running a hand down her face as she shook her head. “Look, I know I’ve never been Rhett’s biggest fan, but…that was so out of line, honey. I expected more from him; his actions were, frankly, very disappointing-”

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that, Trina,” you snapped immediately, shooting a glare her way as your hand rested on the handle of the door, seconds from slamming it open and stalking away from her. “I don’t know what happened, but I know for Rhett to act that way, then Drew had to do some pretty nasty shit. So don’t fucking act all high and mighty and call him disappointing when you and I both know that Drew isn’t the saint you like to paint him to be.”

Trina was silent for a moment, staring at you with wide eyes, before she simply nodded her head.

“Well…I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon to get you both for the premiere, then. Please, don’t be late,”

You didn’t say anything back to her, simply slammed the limo door on your way out, and slammed your front door and locked it behind you, too.

The house was quiet, and you hated it. Slipping your shoes off by the front door, you took the steps up to the main floor, tossing your clutch and phone onto the dining room table, right next to that manila folder from the morning. You passed by the kitchen windows, shutting both the blinds and the curtains as you went.

Rhett sat in the living room. His boots were already discarded across the room, his button-down half unbuttoned, as he leaned back against the couch, simply staring up at the ceiling. You moved past him without a word, shutting the living room blinds and curtains as well.

You turned back to Rhett, rocking on the balls of your feet for a moment, just watching him in silence.

“Anything you want to say?”

Rhett huffed out a laugh, running a hand down his face.

“Not sure what you want me to say,”

“You can start by simply explaining whatever the fuck that all was,” you threw back. “You shoved him into a pole and almost punched him, Rhett. Backstage, where an entire crew of people could see and could’ve recorded!”

“Yeah, well,” Rhett muttered, still not looking at you. “He had it coming.”

It was your turn to laugh, shaking your head incredulously.

“Rhett Abbott, you’re going to have to do better than that-”

“What do you want me to say?” Rhett sat up fully this time, looking at you finally. You couldn’t quite decipher what emotion it was swimming in his eyes. “He’s a prick, I’d rather deal with the Tillersons any day of the week. He’s self-centered, arrogant, and he makes me want to shove his head through a wall. That good enough for you, darlin’?”

“Don’t get an attitude with me,” you shot back, pointing in his direction. “I’m not the one you’re pissed at right now.”

“No, I’m pissed at him!” Rhett threw his hands outward before tugging at the collar of his shirt. “He’s so fucking in love with you, and it pisses me off.”

You scoffed, taking a few steps toward the couch.

“Drew Livingston isn’t in love with me-”

“Yes, he is-”

“No, Drew Livingston has a track record of going after his co-stars, especially the ones that are taken,” you shook your head as you took another step toward the couch. “He likes the chase of it all.”

“That’s why you confide in him?” Rhett shot back, turning to look at you again. “Let him wipe your tears when you’re sad on set? Buy you gifts, like that necklace?”

“What, he told you all this so you just decided to believe him?” your eyes shot wide, and when Rhett didn’t respond, you knew the answer. You couldn’t help but laugh again. “He is a prick, Rhett, I have always thought so. When I am sad on set, or sad anytime, really, I call you and only you. That man has never once comforted me; he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Everything he’s ever bought me? Given straight to Trina to donate to charity. That necklace stunt he fucking pulled tonight? I shoved it straight into Trina’s hands and warned her that if he doesn’t fuck off, then I don’t care how much I love these books, I’ll break my contract and refuse the sequel.”

Rhett got quiet then, eyes cast to the floor. You watched the way his hands wrung together in his lap, the incessant tapping of his foot against the floor, and your heart broke all at once, every ounce of anger in your body dissipating in a second when you noticed those nervous tics of his.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed out after a moment, taking a deep breath, your voice light as you spoke. “I’m sorry, this is all my fault.”

His head shot up then, a confused look written across his features, mixed with his anxiety.

“Darlin’, why are you sorry?”

You threw your hands out, gesturing to the entire house you stood in. “Because I did this to us. I chose this life, I thrust you into this world that’s so messy and so complicated, so that I could chase my dream. I…I made it so hard to love me, and I’m so sorry for it.”

It must have been something in what you said, but you could almost see any of the anger left in Rhett disappear at that moment, too.

His shoulders sagged as he let out a deep breath, hands still wringing together, as he shook his head.

“Loving you…it’s been the easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life, darlin’. Always has been, always will be. It’s being worthy of you…that’s the hard part,”

Quiet settled over the room again before you walked forward, sitting on the coffee table directly before Rhett. His legs parted on instinct, letting you sit directly between them.

You laid a hand on his knee, and his eyes met yours.

“Baby, where’s this coming from?”

Rhett got quiet. It wasn’t unusual for him to get quiet, especially when talks such as this were on the table. Rhett hated discussing his feelings, always afraid to say the wrong thing and fuck up, no matter how much you promised him he could never fuck up with you.

Your gaze trailed over his hands as they cupped yours, lifting it from his knees, cradling it against his lips as he left a gentle kiss against each knuckle of your hand. He sighed, his breath ghosting over the spots he kissed, before his eyes locked with yours again.

“It’s coming from that asshole,” another kiss to your hand, and your fingers flexed, just barely brushing over and caressing his jawline and the stubble that lined it. “He…he called me a disappointment. Said you were going to wake up one day and see me for what I was. I…I have nothing to offer you, sweetheart, yet you stay with me.”

Quiet settled over the room again. You wiggled your hand free of his hold, sliding it up so you could fully cup his jawline, that stubble scratching into your palm. Rhett still held your wrist now, turning to kiss your palm gently, and your heart broke at the sight.

“No money, no support, no future,” he continued before you could speak again. “Can’t provide for you, can’t be there to support you. I…can’t even buy you the ring I’ve always wanted. Couldn’t even run away with you like we planned, can’t do anythin’ right. You deserve…so much more than this.”

Something in his words sparked something in you. You sat up straighter, tugging your hand from his hold, before disappearing into the kitchen.

When you returned just a moment later, that manila folder sat in your hands. Rhett’s eyes followed you every step of the way as you stepped over his leg, fully standing between his open legs now as you slid the folder into his hands without a word. 

He didn’t say anything, just looked down and flipped it open. You could only watch him as he flipped through the various pages, the ones that held your signature, the photos, the glaringly obvious price shown on the first page.

“What…what is this?”

“This is a ranch. In Texas,” you flipped one of the papers back around, pointing down to the photos on it. “Over 800 acres of land, even a private lake. Large home, huge barn, horse stables, the whole works…I signed for it this morning. Sold this place two weeks ago, and I bought this ranch.”

Rhett glanced up again, astonishment written in his eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it, and repeated it again as he tried to find the words.

“You bought this?” you gave him a small nod. “Why?”

“Because this was our dream,”

He didn’t fight you as you took the folder from his grasp, tossing it aside to the floor. Rhett leaned into your touch as your hands cradled his cheeks, thumbs ghosting over his skin, while his hands settled on the backs of your bare thighs, just barely under the hem of your dress.

“It’s a few years later than we wanted it to be, but I never forgot about our dream, Rhett. I’m doing what I love, but none of it’s worth a damn without the only man I have ever loved,” his lips quirked up, just barely, but you caught it. “Your worth is not, and never will be, determined by what anyone else says or thinks. Not Royal, not the entire town of Wabang, and certainly not Drew. I don’t want someone who thinks they’re worthy of the movie star persona that the world sees. I want the cowboy who used to pick me up when I fell off my horse, who would run across town in the middle of the night to see me, who used to pick me flowers off the side of the road just to see me smile. You’re worthy of me because I say that you are. You’re worthy of me because you’re the man who gave me a sense of home, even when I lost mine, and no one can ever take that away from you.”

You paused, thinking over your words for a moment.

“I don’t want a man who can give me the finest jewelry, or wear the most expensive suit. I want the man who confessed to me that he couldn’t offer me much…except to love me more than anything. That’s all I want.”

There were very few times that you had ever seen Rhett Abbott cry in your life together. The first time he’d ever lost a bull-riding competition, he’d cried in frustration, torn up by the comments from his father about how this ‘maybe wasn’t for him.’ The first time you both ever had a fight, when you were 15 and didn’t speak to him for three days, he cried when he finally apologized to you. You had cried too, as he stumbled through his speech about how you were his best friend, and if he lost you, he wouldn’t know what to do.

This was only the third time you had ever seen Rhett cry.

You didn’t hesitate to wipe away the tears, leaning in to kiss at the little streaks left behind on the apples of his cheeks.

The grip his hands held on your thighs tightened, and then, he squeezed them three simple times: I love you.

Your lips stretched into a smile against his cheek, before you left four little pecks to the corner of his mouth: I love you, too.

Rhett didn’t give you a second to think before he captured your lips in a kiss within moments.

It was the most natural thing in the world, kissing Rhett Abbott. And still, even now, it felt like the first time all over again. Your head tilted just slightly, lips rolling over his as his fingers left indents into the flesh of your thighs, teeth clattering against yours as he kissed you with every ounce of passion in his body. In that kiss, you could almost smell the air of the Abbott ranch, could picture the fireflies that floated around the air that night, and your gut twisted in memory of the feeling of his lips for the first time.

Whatever might have started innocently, loving, and passionate, went downhill very quickly.

Rhett tugged, and your body listened. Hands gripping the back of the couch behind him as you leaned in, you parted your legs easily, sliding them to bracket his hips and settle onto his lap. Your dress bunched up around your waist, leaving just the thing lingerie you had chosen for the night between your core and the bulge that was heaving against Rhett’s jeans.

His hands slid up, fully cupping your ass in each calloused palm, as he forced your hips to roll against him. A moan tumbled from your lips in moments, swallowed by his mouth as his tongue darted past your open lips, spit slick between your lips. 

Just one of your hands found its place in his hair, tugging on those long strands until a groan of his own tumbled from his lips. Rhett’s teeth caught your bottom lip, latching on just enough to leave a pleasurable sting in the feeling, before letting go with a slight pop. Your other hand found the buttons of his shirt, popping open the last few in order to slip your hand inside, letting yourself drag your nails over every inch of his skin you could get your hands on.

“Night before your premiere, darlin’,” Rhett muttered out against your lips, bucking his hips up into you as you continued to roll yourself against him languidly, eliciting another deep groan from him. “I had this whole plan before that prick ruined my day. Wanted to take my time with you. Make you fall apart. All about you…a reward for my perfect girl.”

“Save it for after the premiere, cowboy,” you breathed out, grinding yourself down as hard as you could, feeling that slight twitch from beneath his jeans. “You want the truth?”

“Always,”

“I have been embarrassingly soaked since the moment you threw Drew up against that pole,” Rhett’s laugh, his true and hearty laugh, not the one he huffed out under his breath, was your favorite sound to hear, and you never heard it often. It brought a smile to your face, a brighter one than you had worn all day. “No, seriously. It’s kind of insane how hot I found it. Last time I was that soaked without you even touching me was when you punched Luke Tillerson.”

“The time you bailed me out of jail?”

“What can I say?” it was your turn, nipping just barely at his bottom lip now, catching the slight catch in his breathing. “I guess I like a bad boy.”

Rhett kissed you again, harder, more passionately than he had before. The heat was prominent, burning in the pit of your stomach with every touch, with every pass of his lips against yours, with every taste of his tongue dancing just over yours.

Like a well-oiled machine, your bodies understanding one another in a way they’d never understand anyone else, Rhett had you back on your feet before him. His eyes never left you, his fingers gently taking the zipper of your dress and languidly tugging it down your spine, the cool air of the apartment sending a shiver up your exposed skin.

You let the dress fall to a heap on the floor, no care in the world for the wrinkles or dirt that could cover it. Rhett’s eyes watched, pupils dilated, raking over every inch of your skin as if he was seeing it for the first time. You tugged the soaked, useless pair of panties from your body, tossing them to the ground with your dress before your bra joined it moments later.

Stepping back up to Rhett, he let his fingers ghost down your sides. Over the edges of your thighs, up the curve of your hips, to the swell of your breasts. He ignored them, though, even as your breath hitched at the contact. Instead, he tugged you down, pressing a kiss straight to the wire flower that still hung right in the middle of your chest.

It shouldn’t have been possible, but somehow, your heart burst with more love for your best friend, the love of your life, than you had ever felt before.

His shirt came off easily next, buttons already done as you helped him slide it off his arms. It joined your dress on the floor, now kicked somewhere under the coffee table. You heard the hitch in his breath again as you dropped to your knees between his open legs, hands expertly unlatching his belt buckle like you had done a thousand times before.

Rhett watched every movement you made. The ease with which you popped open the button of his jeans, slid the zipper down, and then tugged the fabric over his hips. He obliged with the movements, letting you tug them down his legs and discard them elsewhere in the living room. His cock twitched as you leaned down, pressing a kiss to the length with just the thin fabric of his black boxers separating you, before you tugged those off too.

You didn’t linger long, every inch and bone in your body aching and begging for him. Your body missed him, his touch, the feel of him, as if he were a drug and you were an addict.

Rhett’s hands found your hips once more as you crawled back into his lap, straddling him once again. He peppered every inch of your collarbone with kisses, nipping here and there before he’d blow on the spot, the cool air a stark contrast to the sting he left behind. With one hand back in his hair, nails stretching at his scalp, you slotted your lips back to his, before taking every inch of his throbbing length in your hand.

Every inch of his skin was heated, throbbing, and twitching in your hand, and you sighed into the kiss at just the feel of him in your palm. You already knew what came next, the familiar stretch of your walls as they took him in, and you craved every second of it. You needed it.

Without wasting another second, you lined him up against your already soaked core, sliding down every inch of his shaft with a practiced ease.

The stretch was beautiful: welcomed, desired by you. Your walls fluttered with every inch of him that seated itself inside of you, conforming to him like he was the missing piece to your puzzle, because he was. Rhett’s head found itself in the crook of your neck, kiss after kiss placed in the crevice, trailing up over the pulse point in the side of your neck.

Neither of you moved for a moment when he was seated fully inside of you. The only sound within the apartment was the shared heavy breathing between the two of you, and the small whimpers that fell from your lips with every twitch of him inside of you.

“I love you,” his words were whispered into your skin, hands digging into your hips, fingers surely leaving marks upon your skin. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you whispered back against his temple, cradling him to your body with your hands wound around his shoulders, hands buried within his hair.

Then, you lifted your hips, just enough to leave an inch or so still within you, before you sank back down.

Whatever softness that was left in the room by your whispered declarations of love was gone in seconds.

With a steady rhythm, your hips rose and fell over and over again, hips meeting with a slap of skin that echoed through the quiet of the house. Whimpers fell from your lips with every drag of his cock against your walls, against that spot curled within you that had you clutching to him like a lifeline every time.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel like heaven,” Rhett moaned out, hands finding their way back to your ass as he helped you keep your rhythm. A moan slipped out of your mouth and into his as you brought him into another heated kiss, that coil of heat and euphoria already building in your stomach. That Wyoming drawl had always been heavy during sex, and God, did it do things to you that you couldn’t explain properly. “So perfect, riding me like the cowgirl you are. That prick doesn’t get to see you like this, doesn’t get to feel you like this.”

“No, Rhett, o-only you,” you choked out, almost crying into his mouth as he snapped his hips up into you. Your moan was swallowed by his lips once more as you tugged on his hair, grinding yourself down onto him as you dropped your hips to sit flush with him. “Only you get to–Jesus Christ–only you get to t-touch me. Get to fuck me. Just y-you.”

Your head felt dizzy, every ounce of your body flooded with lust as Rhett’s grip tightened on your hips, his hips now thrusting up in time to meet with yours. The pace of it all increased, every slap of skin sounding off faster and faster throughout the room as Rhett’s name rolled off your tongue like a prayer over and over again, the only thing you could think of.

“That’s right, darlin’, only me. All mine, you’re all–shit–all mine. Going to let me cum in you, huh? Let me fill you up?” the moan that tumbled from your lips was sinful, and Rhett’s laugh ghosted over your mouth, hips still snapping up into yours as every inch of his cock disappeared inside of you with every thrust. “What, you like that? Like the thought of carrying my baby, sweet thing? Want a little one running around our new ranch, our home?”

God, it didn’t matter what that man said, not when his accent was that thick and his voice was dripping with need like that. You’d do absolutely anything he asked of you.

“Oh my god, Rhett, please,” you fully kissed him now, mumbling that simple word–please–over and over into his mouth. “Please, baby, please. Fuck a baby right into me. P-Parade me down that carpet tomorrow with you still in me. Show that stupid asshole that I-I’m yours. Fuck me, fill me up, p-please Rhett.”

You didn’t need to beg a second more.

One of Rhett’s hands found your lower back, pushing you down flush with his chest. His hips shifted, just slightly changing the angle, before he held your hips in place and bucked up into you.

Every wanton cry of his name that tumbled from your lips was uncontrolled, your head clouded with lust and pure need as that coil in your stomach twisted over and over again. Rhett pummelled himself into you, rhythm be damned, hips slamming into yours with a passion that was sure to leave bruises along your skin, was sure to have you stumbling in your heels come morning.

“C-Come with me, darlin’. Let go, I got you,”

That was all it took, another few whispered words from Rhett’s lips into your air for that coil to snap. Your orgasm washed over you in a wave of pleasure, legs shaking from the pure euphoria that coursed through your system. Desperately, your hands clung to Rhett, head buried in his shoulder as you cried his name out over and over again, his hips still snapping into you with that same tenacious speed as before.

Your pleasure never seemed to stop, your body almost sagging against Rhett’s. The wave of pleasure peaked, dipped low, and peaked again with every snap of his hips, the corners of your vision fading to black as every second of pure pleasure gripped your body.

Finally, his rhythm faltered, and with just another slow, deep thrust, Rhett buried himself in you, his own moans washing through the air. His grip never let up, holding your body flush against him.

You felt it–the twitch of his cock within your walls–followed by that swirl of heat that formed within you with every gush of his cum that pooled inside your walls.

The air was heated, bodies slick with sweat, but neither of you moved, too wrapped up in the intimacy of the moment to want to remove yourselves from each other. The house was plunged back into quiet, leaving just the heavy breathing that labored from both of your chests as you tried to regain yourselves.

Rhett’s fingers danced over your spine, gently up and down, as you managed to dig your head out of his neck. Those beautiful blue eyes you’d fallen in love with so many years ago looked up at you with so much love you thought your heart would burst, as you placed the gentlest and shakiest of kisses against his lips. He happily accepted it.

“You didn’t sell this couch with the house, right?” Rhett mumbled against your lips, and you could feel the way they quirked up into a smile. “I don’t think the new owners would appreciate it after…that.”

You laughed, breathlessly, still trying to catch your breath as you dragged the tip of your nose just barely against his.

“No, this one can come with us. Can live in the game room…a fun story for our future child about how they might have been conceived on it,”

“Don’t say shit like that, honey,” Rhett groaned, and you automatically felt his cock twitch inside you once again. “Not while I’m still in you, not unless you plan on making sure you go to bed pregnant tonight.”

All you could do was laugh, stealing another breathless kiss from the lips of the man you adored more than anything.

He broke away, peppering kisses to your jawline, down your neck, before reaching your chest. There, he placed yet another kiss right to the center of that wire flower.

You watched silently, thoughtfully. He pressed one, two, and then three small kisses right to the little design, before he pulled away. But his eyes never left that flower, and as your hand came up to touch it delicately, a thought crossed your head.

“You know, this little piece of wire kind of marks the start of our relationship,”

“Yeah, I guess it does,”

“Well…what if we repurpose it? Maybe, it can mark the next step instead,”

❤︎

The premiere for “For Those We Love” was in full swing. A whole plethora of celebrities were in attendance, walking the red carpet. Those who were simply invited, and so many that you had made friends with over your years in the industry, just here to support you.

Drew Livingston was thriving in the spotlight, waving to reporters and photographers who cheered his name, posing in place on the carpet right in front of the oversized posters of the movie right behind him as the backdrop.

The attention turned from him, though, and he heard your name called out by multiple reporters and photographers. An uproar from the fans, desperate to get a glimpse of you. Drew smirked, glancing down the carpet, waiting for your entrance.

There you were, just stepping out of your limo with Trina just off to the side. A dazzling image in a sky-blue, sparkling gown, the train dragging just barely on the carpet behind you. The neckline plunged down the valley of your breasts, and Drew found himself smiling as he followed the line of that plunge, taking in every inch of skin he could see. He even found himself smirking, noticing the absence of that little wire flower hanging from your neck like it usually was.

That smile dropped when you reached your hand back into the limo.

Rhett Abbott stepped out, clearly misplaced on the red carpet among the sea of Hollywood stars. There was no suit, not even a button-down shirt. No, he was in those same jeans, those same scuffed-up cowboy boots, and a flannel that Drew was sure he could see the dirt stains on from here. Worst of all, that worn leather Stetson sat on top of his head, further cementing himself as the outlier.

It was clear you didn’t care, though, and even more clear that Rhett didn’t seem to care. You smiled at one another, ignoring every single call of the reporters and photographers, too wrapped up in one another to care.

And when you turned, finally catching Drew’s eye, you didn’t hesitate to pluck the cowboy hat from Rhett’s head and place it on your own. Trina fussed in the background, something about your hair, and all Rhett could do was laugh boldly, locking eyes with Drew himself.

All he had to give was a cocky wink, winding his arm around your waist.

It wasn’t fair to say that Drew lost the game, because there hadn’t been one to begin with. No one in your eyes would ever compete with your cowboy, your bull-rider.

It was your eagle-eyed fans, days later, that noted the absence of your necklace from your neck. 

It was another few days before one of them finally zoomed in, pointing out the wire wrapped around your ring finger, and the matching wire wrapped around Rhett’s.

[em1i2a3]

My Favourite Game

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Inexperienced!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You haven’t had much luck when it comes to dating and sex which has inadvertently placed you in a position of being wholly inexperienced with the whole scene in general. But when your long time friend Rhett Abbott offers you a way to experiment safely to figure out what to do, you immediately jump at the opportunity–desperate to learn and get more experience.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers? Hell yeah! Reader is inexperienced and actually has a safe space to actually experiment. The dynamics between Rhett and Reader are extremely comfortable (they talk about a lot of personal things), They’ve been friends for a while (high school acquaintances turned adult friends), Mentions of Violence (kind of vague as well), Rhett is Mentioned to be Protective

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all…), Oral Sex (fem! And male! Receiving), Fingering, Biting (leaving marks), Dirty Talk, Hickeys and Love Bites, Cum Play, Swallowing, Hair Pulling, Choking, Overstimulation, Semi–Public Sex (Truck Sex y’all wahoooo lol), Handjobs, Riding, Making Out, Thigh Riding, Praising/WorshippingTeasing (physically), Begging, Reader is described as being inexperienced they have had sex though, just really bad sex, Very Soft Dom and Sub dynamics that switches, Finger Sucking, Gagging (very brief moment, nothing extreme), Good Girl is used.

Author’s Note: Jesus Christ, that’s a lot of smut warnings lol. I loved writing this, I buy into the friends to lovers trope so much, but I also enjoy the ‘I’m teaching you new things about yourself and we’re slowly falling for each other’ trope lol. Did I go off on this and have to change my keyboard midway through because the A, D, F and G keys break? Yep. But holy hell did I enjoy writing this new segment of RAF and I’m so excited to keep writing for this man!

Word Count: 13,962

It was painfully evident that you didn’t have much luck with men. You used to think maybe the first one was just a fluke–that one high school boyfriend who didn’t know the first thing about tenderness and treated you like a friend more than a lover. But as the years went on and the faces changed–first dates, flings, those awkward two-month situationships that ended with unread messages or cold shoulders–it became harder and harder to ignore a simple, infuriating truth:

You attracted a certain type of guy, and unfortunately, that type of guy brought on heaps of trouble to you.

Rhett had told you as much–in different ways, tones, and situations.

”I can tell just by lookin’ at ‘em,” He’d mutter over his beer, eyes narrowed at whoever was looking at you, or whoever had come to pick you up from his ranch when you would hang out, “Ain’t no way that one’s gonna treat you right.” But you never listened to him. You had told him–and yourself–multiple times that he was just being overprotective, and looking too deeply into things.

But the truth was, he was right, you weren’t being treated right. Not even close.

In bed, it was glaringly worse. You didn’t come first–literally or metaphorically. The guys you saw acted like just showing up was enough, like their presence alone should’ve sent you spiraling into pure ecstasy–like you were supposed to be grateful that they were blessing you with the experience of having them between your legs.

You definitely weren’t. Not even once.

You could actually count on one hand how many times you’d almost felt an orgasm building. And the only time someone even offered to go down on you–and even then, he was half-assing the job, and made it feel like a formality rather than something he actually wanted to do. You barely felt his mouth. But you pretended it was good, just so it wouldn’t be another disappointment.

For a long time, you thought maybe something was wrong with you, that maybe your body was broken or maybe you were just one of those people who didn’t get much pleasure from these types of things and needed simpler acts to truly experience something even close to sexual pleasure. So. You stopped trying, stopped dating, and stopped chasing what felt more like punishment than passion.

And within the quiet that followed your dating celibacy, you had found yourself spending more time with Rhett.

Neither of you were truly close with each other before that.

Sure, you’d gone to the same high school, crossed paths in hallways, shared the occasional class where you’d borrow a pencil or flash him a smirk when he got caught nodding off mid-lecture. But he ran with the rodeo kids, and you–well, you drifted between circles, kept mostly to yourself, caught up in extracurriculars and jobs and the kind of boys Rhett always ended up warning you about years later.

It wasn’t until a spur-of-the-moment decision–one boring Friday and a reckless text to your old classmate–that you ended up at one of his circuits. You hadn’t seen him ride since high school, and you figured, why not?

You didn’t expect much.

But then you saw him in the dirt and the dust, bronzed under the stadium lights, laughing with his hat tipped back and his knuckles split open. And something shifted.

You stayed longer than you meant to that night. Helped him limp back to his truck. Got late-night fries together. Talked about everything and nothing, just like people who didn’t know yet that they were about to become each other’s person.

After that, it became a routine. A quiet, natural rhythm. The two of you set aside one day a week for bar hopping–usually Tuesdays, when the crowds were thin and the drinks were cheap. But when you gave up on dating for a while, something in that rhythm expanded.

You weren’t just hanging out once a week anymore. You were showing up at circuits again, slapping the rusted fence rails as he rode past, grinning like you were seventeen again and seeing him for the first time. You started meeting his friends. Familiarized yourself with his family again–Amy’s quiet greetings, Perry’s tired but kind nods, Cecilia’s slightly surprised but not unwelcome smiles when you appeared in their kitchen one Sunday morning, still rubbing sleep from your eyes in Rhett’s oversized hoodie, and Royal’s glares that he shot at Rhett.

You became a fixture in his life. A known presence.

Especially after long nights of drinking, where you’d inevitably end up back at his place, curled up on his bed groaning because a headache was already brewing.

And with that bond that grew came something that bloomed slowly but powerfully: his protectiveness.

It had always been there–coiled beneath the surface, stitched into the way he watched you, waited for you, walked you to your door even when he was half-asleep himself. But when he started to piece together the kind of experiences you’d had–the disappointments, the lack of care, the way men made you feel like an afterthought–it shifted.

It changed the way he looked at you. Like you were fragile, but not weak. Like he wanted to wrap his hands around every bad memory and crush it.

He never said much when you opened up about it. Didn’t need to. The silence was heavy enough.

”You don’t deserve that,” He said once, soft as gravel, not looking at you. It had hit you harder than you expected. Not because of the words–but because of how he said them.

When you broke it to him that you were taking a break from dating, he didn’t even hesitate before saying “Me too.” You hadn’t expected that. You had laughed, asked him why– saying you’re Rhett Abbott, don’t you have girls throwing themselves at you every other week?–but he just shrugged, scratched the back of his neck, and muttered something about solidarity.

What you didn’t know though was that Rhett Abbott was relieved by this news.

It meant peace. No more stepping in between you and men who didn’t deserve to speak your name. No more black eyes or busted knuckles or security dragging him out of bars with the same tired “Abbott, we warned you.” No more cold rage coiled in his chest when you came to him with a new dating story.

But more than all of that–it meant he had more of your time again, and that you were his once more.

Not in the traditional sense. But in the quiet, easy way where he got to have you beside him. In his truck. At his kitchen table. Laughing on his porch. Falling asleep in his living room. Talking to him about things you didn’t tell anyone else.

He got to watch you laugh with his family. Got to listen to you hum in the passenger seat. Got to see you when you weren’t trying anymore–when you were just being you.

And lately, Rhett had been thinking about things. Dangerous things.

About what it would feel like to be the one to show you what good could be. About how his hands would never treat you like an obligation. About how he’d never rush you, never expect anything, never make you fake a damn thing.

He’d been thinking about you in ways he shouldn’t. Imagining things he wasn’t proud of. But he never said it. Never crossed that line.

Not until you did.

——————————

The bar was louder than usual, the kind of noise that sank into your bones, all thudding boots and clinking glasses and low country twang pouring from speakers that surrounded the walls of the drinking areas. You and Rhett were squished together in a booth that barely had enough space for one of his thighs, let alone two. He was pressed against your side, the warmth of his arm brushing yours every time either of you reached for the second pitcher of beer you’d ordered.

You’d been sipping slowly at first–well, pretending to–but somewhere between your third and fourth shared laugh, the drinks started going down faster. Something about being shoulder-to-shoulder with Rhett always loosened you up. Maybe it was the way he leaned in when he talked. Or the way his voice dropped just slightly in the middle of a crowd, like everything else was just noise unless you were listening.

By the time the second pitcher was empty, your head was spinning, your cheeks hot, and Rhett was nudging you with his knee.

“Guessin’ it’s time we call Perry?”He suggested, raising an eyebrow and pushing his light brown hair out of his face. You groaned.

”Can’t we just sleep in your truck?” And he let out a small laugh, shaking his head slowly.

”You’re too pretty to get eaten by coyotes, sweetheart. C’mon, I’m sure my place is more comfy than the leather seats of the truck.” He teased, as he pulled out his phone.

You both slurred your way through the call–Rhett taking the lead while you giggled beside him, repeating his name like a chant until Perry muttered, “Jesus Christ, I’m on my way.”

The drive back to the ranch was a blur. You’d nodded off on Rhett’s shoulder. He smelled like leather and dust and whatever cologne he always swiped across his throat before circuits. He didn’t say much on the way home, but his hand never left your thigh–more because in his drunken stupor, all he wanted to do was feel your skin against his, even if it was seen as an accident.

When Perry’s truck pulled up to the house, it was as if your bodies had already memorized the path inside.

You and Rhett stumbled up the steps, bumping into one another in the narrow hallway, muffling your laughter behind lazy hands and hushed voices. His hand settled low on your back, fingertips resting just under the hem of your top, warm and heavy with quiet intention–though he played it off like it was nothing. Like he always did.

His legs bumped into the frame of the hallway table and he cursed softly, grabbing onto your arm to steady himself.

“Shh,” You whispered, glancing behind you, “You’re gonna wake your parents.” He waved his hand.

”It’s okay,” He murmured, his breath brushing your hair slightly, “I’m sure they’re used to it by now.” You reached his room like it was second nature–your bodies moving together in a practiced rhythm, like you’d done this dance before. And you had, in bits and pieces. Just not like this. Not with this kind of tension buzzing just beneath your skin.

You practically fell through the doorway first, catching yourself on the edge of his bed with a half-giggled groan. Rhett followed close behind, his shoulder knocking lightly into the doorframe before he caught himself and dragged it shut behind him with a soft click.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the pale moonlight bleeding in through the slatted blinds. Familiar shadows painted across the floorboards and the messy sprawl of his clothes on the chair. The scent of him clung to the room–warm skin, worn flannel, the faint tang of sawdust and leather.

You kicked off your boots, one thudding softly against the wall, the other tumbling onto its side. He mirrored your movements, stepping out of his own boots with less precision, letting out a groan of relief as he did so. You tossed your clutch onto the side table–just beside the lamp he never used–and sank onto the edge of his bed with a quiet sigh.

“Here,” Rhett said, reaching for the top drawer of his dresser, “Take these.” He tossed a soft, well-worn T-shirt your way–gray with faded black lettering you didn’t bother reading–and a pair of boxer shorts that still held the shape of his body in their fabric. You caught them against your chest, fingers curling over the cotton, the residual warmth of his drawer somehow sinking into your skin.

”I’m gonna go grab some water,” He added, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice low, but clearer now–more focused, or sobered up, “You get changed.”

Then he disappeared down the hall, the sound of his footsteps padding softly away as the door swung gently shut behind him.

You sat in the quiet for a moment, the distant hum of the house settling around you. Your pulse felt louder than it should’ve. Your fingers trembled slightly as you peeled off your tank top, the material catching on your shoulder before slipping free. You dropped it beside your clutch, then shimmied out of your jean shorts–tight and damp from the heat of the night, catching slightly on your thighs before falling to the floor.

The air kissed your bare skin, cool in contrast to the heat that had begun to build in your chest.

You tugged Rhett’s shirt over your head. It was too big, the hem falling just below your hips, the neckline gaping enough that the slope of your collarbone peeked out. You ran your fingers down the faded cotton, breathing in the faint scent of him lingering in the fabric–clean, woodsy, unmistakably him.

The boxers came next, soft and worn from a thousand washes. You slid them up your legs, the waistband resting low on your hips, baggy and comfortable in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once. You folded your other clothes neatly into a pile beside the bed, then sat back on the mattress just as the door creaked open again.

Rhett stepped in with two glasses of water, his knuckles curled tightly around the rims to keep them steady.

He paused when he saw you.

There was nothing particularly sexy about it, nothing overt or posed. Just you sitting on the edge of his bed in his boxers and his old shirt, legs bare, hair a little messy, your lips parted slightly as you took in a few deep breaths from the buzzing that tingled over your skin, and the shift in energy that floated through the room.

But something in his expression changed. His jaw flexed, and his eyes softened–the tension in his brow melting away the more he looked at you.

”Got you some water,” His voice was quieter now, more rough. You reached for one of the glasses, your fingers brushing his as you took it, lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

”Thanks.” You took a sip of the water, the coolness of it sliding down your throat and settling somewhere just above your ribs. You sighed through the swallow, then leaned back slightly on one hand, blinking slowly at the ceiling as your head gave the first warning pulses of what would no doubt be a brutal morning.

“Jesus,” You muttered, placing the glass on the floor beside the bed, “I can tell I’m gonna have such a bad hangover in the morning…My head is already pounding.” Rhett hummed in agreement, moving toward his dresser again.

”Wouldn’t doubt it,” He mumbled, “I feel it too.” You watched him open the top drawer, his back partially turned to you. He didn’t say anything else–just reached in for another t-shirt. Then, without warning or hesitation, he grabbed the collar of the one he was wearing and tugged it off in one smooth motion.

And just like that, your breath caught.

You’d seen Rhett shirtless before. Once, maybe twice–at the lake, when his whole family had piled into trucks and driven down with coolers and towels and floating chairs. But those times had been quick, and you’d always looked away out of caution. Too many watchful eyes, too much risk of your gaze being caught. Too much danger in what you might feel if you stared too long.

But now?

Now there was no one watching.

No one except him.

And he wasn’t looking at you.

He stood a few feet from the bed, half in shadow, and your eyes swept over the length of his bare back, over the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the slight arch of his spine as he leaned forward into the drawer. You barely breathed.

His skin was pale where the sun hadn’t kissed it, but scattered across his chest and along his ribs were bruises–real ones. Deep and blooming like brushstrokes of ink and wine. Purple that melted into faded yellow. Green along the edges. Some were new, still fresh and angry. Others had already begun to fade, ghosting into the gentle gold of healing. They streaked across his ribs in uneven patterns, coiling beneath the planes of lean muscle, dipping into the shadows of his collarbones and clinging to his hips like the remnants of a war.

It was violent. And somehow, beautiful.

Because it was him.

It was the proof of everything he did, everything he gave. The risk. The pain. The stubborn pride that kept him getting back on the bull even after it had thrown him into the dirt. You’d heard the groans he swallowed, watched him limp back to the chute with blood on his jeans and dirt on his teeth, but you hadn’t seen this. Not up close.

Not in the quiet.

Your eyes traced the line of one particularly stark bruise that stretched from the edge of his left pectoral down to his ribs. The skin there was darker, tight. Raw. And still, your gaze followed it like your fingers wanted to.

And God the urge to touch him was burning through you.

You wanted to trace every edge, every mark, every scrape and wound. You wanted to know if his skin was as warm as it looked. If his chest would rise faster beneath your palm. If he’d shiver when you pressed your lips to that bruise just below his ribs.

Your thighs pressed together slightly, feeling your stomach tighten as you began to flush under the confines of your own thoughts.

Rhett tugged the fresh shirt over his head and ran a hand through his light brown hair, slicking it back out of his face before finally turning back to you. His eyes flicked up–just for a second–and he caught your transfixed gaze.

“You okay?” He asked softly, voice thick. You cleared your throat, heat climbing up your neck as you dropped your gaze for a moment, pretending you hadn’t just been caught practically devouring him with your eyes.

“Yeah…Totally fine,” You muttered, fingers fumbling for the glass on the floor, bringing it back up to your lips. You took a long sip–longer than necessary–as if the coolness of it might extinguish the warmth that was flooding your chest. Or the way your thighs were still shifting together beneath his boxer shorts like they had a mind of their own.

Rhett didn’t move, and didn’t say anything for a second, his blue irises scanning over you for a moment, seeing the little movement that your thighs were making, a little tell that he had seen before from other women. He licked his lips slowly, like he could still taste your gaze on him. His voice dropped just a little as he said it–casual on the surface, but thick beneath. Heavy with the kind of tension that had been building between the two of you for months.

“You were starin’.” Your breath caught in your throat, and you looked down instinctively, the corner of your lip twitching with something between embarrassment and defense. Still, you shrugged like you could play it off.

“Well…It’s kind of hard not to when you’re all bruised up from the bull,” You murmured, trying to keep your tone light. “Didn’t know they were that bad.” He hummed at that–low and dry, like he didn’t quite believe your answer.

“You’ve seen ’em before,” He said, voice gravel-thick, head tipping slightly. “Shouldn’t be a surprise to you at this point.” You lifted your glass again to stall, sipped slower this time, letting the water cool the heat that was quickly rushing to your cheeks. Then you glanced at him again and gave a one-shouldered shrug.

“I think you’re making it a bigger deal than it actually is, Rhett. I think the beer is getting to you.” That made something shift behind his eyes. He tilted his head a fraction, just enough to cast a slanted shadow along his cheekbone.

“Really now?” He murmured as he stepped closer, the floor creaking faintly beneath his weight. “You’re gonna tell me that I’m not seein’ straight?” He asked, pointing at himself. You nodded, your laugh shaky but still defiant.

”That’s exactly what I’m saying, Rhett.” He didn’t reply right away. He just stared down at you, long and quiet. Then, wordlessly, he stepped the rest of the way to the bed and placed his fist down–slowly, deliberately–on the mattress beside your thigh.

He didn’t touch you.

But the air between you shifted.

His knuckles were close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension in his arm. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes followed the shape of his forearm, the way the muscles tensed beneath the skin, until they traced up to meet his face again.

You tilted your head up to look at him, and he was already there–already watching you.

His gaze locked with yours, blue eyes shadowed and steady, but flickering with something sharp, something knowing. Your stare skimmed over the details of his face–so close now, you could count the flecks of gold in his irises. The stubble along his jaw. The faint creases near the corners of his eyes that deepened when he laughed. The way his bottom lip jutted out just a little more than the top one, wet from where he’d just licked it.

“You’re a little liar,” he drawled, the corners of his mouth twitching into a slow, crooked smirk. “I can see it in your eyes.”

The words hit low in your stomach.

You wanted to deny it–wanted to scoff, roll your eyes, tell him he was being ridiculous–but all you could do was hold his gaze and feel the heat crawling higher in your cheeks.

Still, you stayed composed. Barely.

“I think you need to sleep off your drunken stupor, Rhett,” You commented, chin tilting upward in subtle challenge. “You’ve got beer goggles on, and you really are seeing things now.”

He didn’t back off.

Instead, he leaned in closer. Slowly. Deliberately.

His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath warm and smelling faintly of beer and mint as it fanned over your lips. Your lashes fluttered, but you didn’t look away. You didn’t move. Not even when your breath caught slightly in your throat.

You just kept your eyes on him.

“…Guess I really do need some sleep,” He murmured after a beat, his voice quieter now. Rougher. But when he pulled back, he was grinning.

Cocky.

Like he knew you weren’t as unaffected as you were pretending to be.

Then he straightened, turned slightly toward the dresser again, and asked casually, “You stayin’ in the bed with me? Or you movin’ to the spare room?”

Your lashes fluttered quickly, and you swallowed hard before clearing your throat.

“I’ll stay here,” You said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though your entire body was still tense from how close he’d just been. “Probably won’t make it to the spare if I get up.” He nodded once, like that was the answer he expected, then reached for his belt buckle

“Alright,” He replied. You quickly looked away as his fingers moved to undo his belt, the subtle clink of the buckle sending another unwanted jolt of heat through your chest. Before your mind could wander any further–before you could accidentally lock eyes with the line of his hips or the way his thumb hooked into the waistband of his jeans–you padded toward the head of the bed.

You placed your water glass beside your clutch on the nightstand with a soft clink, keeping your movements slow, and controlled. Like that would help rein in the sudden buzz running beneath your skin.

The sheets were cool as you slipped under them, the scent of his laundry soap mingling with the lingering smell of him on the pillow. You shimmied slightly to get comfortable, dragging the duvet up to your waist and tucking one arm beneath your head, the other laid loosely across your stomach. You stared up at the ceiling.

Behind you, the sounds of him undressing were harder to ignore than you’d hoped.

A soft rustle of denim. The unmistakable swish of fabric sliding down over skin. A low breath–just a little ragged, like maybe even he was feeling the same pressure you were. You swallowed.

Then the mattress shifted.

He moved carefully, like he didn’t want to jostle you, but you felt him all the same. The bed dipped slightly with his weight, and the warmth of his body immediately spread beneath the covers, replacing the cold air you’d just tucked yourself into.

He settled on his side–close, but not touching. Or at least, not exactly. His arm stayed to himself, his shoulders turned slightly away, but your legs…Your legs brushed.

Bare skin to bare skin. Just barely.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

The silence between you was thick, but not uncomfortable. Not anymore. It was full of tension, sure–but there was something else in it too. Something gentle. Something known.

“G’night,” He murmured, voice low and sleepy, already starting to sink into the mattress.

You turned your head a little, just enough to look at the back of his shoulder, then whispered, “Night.”

Your eyes lingered there for a moment. On the curve of his neck, and the slow rise and fall of his breath.

And maybe you were imagining it–but his leg seemed to press a little firmer into yours.

A quiet, tentative contact.

And neither of you pulled away.

——————————

You woke up to your alarm going off like a goddamn air raid siren, the high-pitched chime echoing through the quiet room like it had been waiting to give you a heart attack.

Your eyes shot open.

A groan ripped from your throat as you reached blindly for your clutch, limbs still tangled in the sheets and your brain pulsing with a headache that had already staked its claim behind your eyes. The light from the phone screen stung, but you silenced the alarm with a few taps, your movements sluggish and mechanical.

From behind you, Rhett let out a muffled groan of his own.

“Who the hell sets an alarm on a Saturday?” He mumbled, voice gravelled and sleep-heavy.

You ignored the ache in your skull long enough to fish out the familiar blister pack from the depths of your clutch, thumb already popping the next pill loose. You brought it to your lips and dropped it onto your tongue, reaching lazily for the lukewarm water glass on the nightstand.

“It wasn’t to wake us up,” You muttered, taking a small sip and swallowing. “It’s my birth control reminder.” The bed shifted behind you. A soft rustle. A new weight.

“Birth control?” Rhett’s voice had sobered slightly, still low, but laced with something else now. Confusion, maybe.

You placed the glass back on the table and rolled onto your side, glancing over your shoulder–and promptly noted two things: one, he’d taken his shirt off during the night, and two, he was looking right at you.

His eyes were a little narrowed. Brow furrowed. His hair was a mess, and his voice hoarse.

“Yeah…Birth control,” You replied slowly, letting the words hang in the air as you watched his expression closely. “You know…The thing that women take to help their periods and prevent pregnancy?” He rolled his eyes, though the motion lacked bite.

You raised a brow. “So what’s with the third-degree, Abbott?”

He shrugged lazily and turned onto his back, his arm behind his head, jaw tight. “Didn’t think you were on it, that’s all. Never seen you take it before.”

You smirked. “Well, I’m usually out of your house by this time. Or I’m in the bathroom and take it there.”

And that was all it took.

That one sentence cracked something open in his chest and sent his thoughts freefalling.

You were on birth control.

The implications settled into him like wildfire. No condom. No consequences. Just skin to skin, you wrapped around him, begging, whispering–he could come inside you and not think twice, could bury himself so deep you’d feel it for hours. He could grab your hips and pull you down hard against him, his hands splayed over your stomach as he fucked you slow and steady until you were begging him to finish. No pulling out. No holding back. No guilt.

He wanted to kiss your thighs open, drag his tongue along your folds, taste every part of you while you whimpered into his pillow. He wanted to hear your breath hitch when he whispered let me do it right this time, to watch your expression when he sank in–slow and thick and deep–and told you how tight you were, how good you felt, how he’d dreamt of this.

He wanted to mark you up. Leave bruises on your neck, your hips, your thighs. Paint you with proof that someone finally gave a damn.

He’d be quiet about it, though. You’d both have to be quiet.

His parents were probably still in their room. Hell, Perry might be awake. So you’d press your mouth to his shoulder, muffle your moans against his skin, and Rhett would whisper filth in your ear with every lazy roll of his hips, voice ragged and barely restrained, telling you not to stop squeezing him like that. Not unless you wanted him to come right then and there.

His cock twitched against his thigh–sudden and sharp under the weight of his boxers.

Shit.

He shifted slightly under the blanket, adjusting himself, trying not to groan at how sensitive he suddenly felt. But the mattress wasn’t forgiving, and the movement wasn’t subtle.

“You alright?” Your voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. Curious. Careful. “You’re all red.”

He cleared his throat. A little too quickly.

“Mhm. I’m okay.”

You turned toward him more fully, propping yourself up slightly on one elbow, your hair flattened on one side from where you had slept on it. Your eyes narrowed, playful. Familiar.

And then–your voice softened to a whisper, full of teasing promise. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were staring at me.”

He blinked.

You were close. Too close. Your face inches from his, lips parted slightly, breath warm against his cheek. It mirrored what he’d done to you last night, except now the tables were turned–and he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself.

“I’m not,” He said quickly, voice cracking.

But you didn’t back off.

You just tilted your head slightly, and then–without meaning to–your thigh brushed his, and you felt something.

You stilled.

Your breath caught.

And your eyes went wide.

“…Oh,” You breathed, heat crawling up your neck.

“Sorry,” You whispered a second later, but your voice was breathy and full of implication.

Rhett swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared at the ceiling. “It’s alright,” He said, quietly. Voice a little higher now. Tight.

The tension between you thickened like syrup, slow and sticky and impossible to ignore.

Neither of you looked at each other at first. It was safer that way. Eyes stayed on the ceiling, the far wall, anywhere but the quiet place in the middle of the bed where everything had shifted. Where your thighs had brushed, where your breath had caught, where Rhett was still hard and trying to will himself down with a silent prayer and clenched jaw.

But then you shifted again.

Not a lot. Just enough that the blankets rustled and your voice came out–low, almost shy.

“Do…Do you want some help with that?”

His eyes snapped to you like a whip. His entire body went rigid.

“W-What?” The word cracked in the middle, like it hit the back of his throat too fast to smooth out. His brows pinched together, mouth parted, lips dry as hell.

You sighed–soft and nervous–and pushed yourself up a little more, bracing your weight on your elbow so you could look him in the eye.

“I said,” You repeated, quieter now, more deliberate, “Do you want some help with that?” Rhett sat up a little too–mirroring you without realizing it, like his body needed to be closer. His face hovered just inches from yours now, the tension rolling off him like heat off pavement.

“Are you bein’ serious?” He asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded slowly, searching his face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His gaze darted away for the briefest second, scanning the room like it might offer him a better answer than the one sitting right in front of him. But when he looked back, his expression was tight. Unreadable. Barely holding something back.

“Well, I mean…We’re friends…”

You raised your brows, your face still close, voice low but firm. “And we haven’t really been going out with other people. And sexual frustration is a thing, Rhett.”

He squinted slightly, more in thought than judgment. “You’re the one that said you wanted to take a hiatus from dating and stuff. I thought that meant physical things too.”

You shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “That was more meant for me because I really don’t feel much when…Y’know…Things are happening.”

Rhett stilled.

His lips parted just slightly, his breath hitching. Then his jaw flexed and he leaned in even closer, until the space between your mouths was damn near nonexistent.

“You what?” He asked, barely above a whisper. His voice sounded gutted–like it hurt him to even imagine it.

You swallowed thickly, heart rattling inside your chest. “I…I don’t feel much when I’m being intimate with someone.” There. It was out. A truth you rarely admitted out loud, even more rarely to a man.

Rhett’s jaw tensed. His throat bobbed. Something wild flickered in his eyes–something that looked a lot like heartbreak, but deeper. Protective. Personal.

“…How about I make you a deal,” He said suddenly, his voice husky and serious.

You tilted your head slightly, cautious. “What kind of deal?”

“Let me try somethin’,” He murmured, watching your expression with unshakable intensity. “And then you can do whatever you want to me after. Or nothin’ at all. You don’t owe me a thing.”

Your lips parted. “W-What do you want to do?” He reached up slowly–like he was afraid to spook you–and let his fingertips brush beneath your chin, giving you the softest touch he could with the calloused pads of his fingers.

”Lay back,” He whispered, “And I’ll show you.” You stared at him for one long, charged heartbeat–your skin prickling, your thighs already pressing closer, the ache in your core blooming slow and warm at the tone in his voice.

Your face burned as soon as the word left your lips.

“Okay.”

It was soft, nearly swallowed by the quiet tension in the room–but Rhett heard it. His eyes didn’t leave yours. Not for a second. His hand drifted from your chin to your shoulder, then eased you gently back onto the pillow. The mattress dipped beneath the shift of your weight, the sheets cool against your skin–but Rhett’s hand never stopped touching you. He moved with patience. With care.

And then he did something unexpected.

He slipped his arm under your neck–not in a way that caged you in, but cradled you. Like he wanted to hold your head up, protect it. His fingers curled gently into your hair, and his thumb brushed over your cheek. Slowly.

His voice came next, low and laced with something close to a smile.

“Remember that time…In high school, when we ended up kissing in Marley’s closet during seven minutes in heaven?”

Your stomach flipped violently, a swarm of butterflies bursting awake.

You narrowed your eyes. “You said you’d never bring that up.”

He chuckled, soft and rough. “It’s been long enough that I think I’m allowed to bring it up.” His thumb grazed your cheek again, and you swore it soothed something in you you hadn’t known was wound tight. “But anyways…Remember when you said you were nervous? Because you didn’t know what to do?”

You nodded slowly, your voice nearly a whisper. “Yeah…”

“And I told you to just breathe. Don’t even think about what was happenin’. Just breathe.” Your lips parted a little, your heart thudding louder.

“Yeah,” You whispered again.

His gaze held yours, warm and steady. “Well… Just do that again, alright? Just breathe. Think about something else. Got it?”

You hesitated. Swallowed.

“Rhett…Are you sure you want to do this? It’s going to be a waste of your time.” Your voice cracked near the end, thick with embarrassment and doubt you’d carried for too long.

His expression shifted. Not angry. Just…Struck.

He leaned down slowly, and before you could say anything else–before you could panic or second-guess–he kissed you.

It was soft. Just lips brushing lips. But it stunned you all the same.

You gasped faintly into the contact, breath hitching, body going still under the gentle pressure of his mouth on yours. He lingered for only a second before pulling back, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours again.

“I’m positive,” He murmured, voice low and resolute. “Now just relax, okay?” You nodded, even though your heart was pounding. You let your hands rest by your sides, fists curled lightly in the sheets as Rhett shifted closer, keeping his arm under your neck, still holding you, still touching your cheek.

His other hand drifted down. Slow.

He didn’t go for the obvious. Didn’t grab. Didn’t grope. Instead, his fingertips brushed along the hem of the shirt you wore–his shirt–lifting it just a few inches before slipping beneath. You shivered instantly, the cool air meeting your heated skin, and then–

His fingertips touched your stomach.

Barely there. Like the ghost of a thought.

They dragged gently across your skin, dipping just beneath your ribs, pausing, then continuing downward. Featherlight. Reverent. You sucked in a breath as goosebumps erupted along your arms and legs, your thighs pressing closer together as he traced the soft curve of your waist with maddening patience.

“Still alright?” He asked, his voice low, lips brushing your temple now. You nodded quickly, breath stuttering. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

His hand moved again–back up first, over the flat of your stomach, the pads of his fingers gliding like silk. He circled your navel once, slow and hypnotic, then dropped lower again.

And lower.

Until he reached the waistband of the boxer shorts.

His fingertips paused there, resting lightly on the elastic band.

He kissed your temple. Then murmured against your skin: “Can you lift your hips for me?”

You did–slowly, your legs tensing slightly as you pushed up just enough. Your breath hitched as the cool air rushed between the fabric and your skin when Rhett tugged them down, slow and smooth, watching your face the entire time. Your body sank back down onto the mattress as he pulled the boxers down your thighs, past your knees, until they slipped off entirely.

Rhett paused for just a second, the boxer shorts now discarded somewhere at the foot of the bed, the room still and warm as his gaze settled on you—completely bare in the soft hush of the early morning light.

His eyes traveled up your legs, over the subtle dip of your hips, and down again to the place between your thighs–and the air left his lungs like he’d taken a punch to the gut.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of it. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

You swallowed hard, your eyes still locked with his, every inch of you humming beneath the heat of his gaze. The sincerity in his tone–thick, reverent, gutted–made your breath catch.

Then, slowly, Rhett reached out. One of his hands cradled your knee, coaxing your leg outward, and he shifted down the bed as he gently murmured, “Spread your legs for me, Y/N.”

Your heart thudded. You hesitated—but only for a beat. Then, you nodded, slowly letting your legs fall open, nerves twisting in your stomach like warm thread as cool air hit you, followed almost immediately by the heat of his body slotting between your thighs.

His skin was warm against the inside of your legs—his shoulders wide and strong, his bare chest brushing the backs of your thighs as he settled in. You saw his eyes trail up your body again—slow, careful, like he was trying to memorize you. Then he looked up.

You’d closed your eyes.

Breathing slowly. Deeply.

Trying not to shake.

“Hey,” Rhett said softly, and you felt the mattress shift as he reached for you. His hand found yours where it lay clenched beside your hip. He interlaced his fingers with yours carefully and held on tight.

Your eyes fluttered open just as he leaned forward–and kissed the inside of your thigh.

A soft press. Then another. And another. Working slowly upward, like every inch of your skin deserved a proper hello. His breath was warm, his mouth even warmer, and every brush of his lips sent a new wave of heat coiling through your stomach.

By the time his mouth reached the top of your thigh, you were barely breathing.

Then–he tilted his head.

And he kissed you right against your core, and your whole body jerked.

Your hips twitched against the bed, your hand tightening in his, a quiet gasp slipping out of your mouth. His tongue traced a slow, deliberate line through your folds–like he was savoring you already. Like he was trying to learn what made you shake.

He kissed you again. Then again. Languid, like he wasn’t in any hurry. Like this wasn’t something to get over with–it was something to cherish.

His tongue moved with devastating patience, lapping and sucking gently, drawing shapes that made your thighs clench around his head. His hand gripped yours tighter.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, the words barely audible. Your back arched slightly, and you felt Rhett moan into you—actually moan—like your pleasure was feeding his. The vibration of it sent another jolt of electricity straight through your spine.

Then—his mouth didn’t leave—but you felt his fingers press gently against your entrance. He didn’t push in right away. Just teased. Traced. His tongue circled your clit once more—slow and wet—and then his finger slipped inside.

Your breath hitched, a sharp little gasp escaping you as your hips rocked upward without thinking.

Rhett stopped instantly, lifting his head slightly. His mouth was shining.

“You alright?” he asked gently, his voice low and rough and just a little breathless.

You looked down at him with wide, wild eyes and nodded quickly. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice cracking with need. “Oh my god, Rhett…yes.”

His mouth pulled into a crooked smile, his eyes still locked on yours. “Feel somethin’ now?” he murmured, teasing, affectionate.

You reached out and threaded your free hand through his hair–fisting it lightly at the crown, your hips rising up just slightly. “It’s witchcraft,” You whispered shakily, overwhelmed and already trembling.

Rhett laughed quietly, the sound sending shivers across your skin. “Nah,” He said, leaning in again, voice warm and sinful against your core. “It’s actually just me wantin’ to feel you come on my tongue, sweetheart.”

And then he dove back in.

This time, with more pressure. More hunger.

His tongue flattened against your clit, slow and firm. His finger curled inside you—and then he added another, stretching you just enough to make your breath come in shallow, frantic bursts. His pace increased, mouth and fingers working in tandem—sensual, focused, a little rough now.

Your thighs began to shake.

Your hips lifted and he pressed his arm across your waist to pin you gently down, grounding you while he devoured you like a man starved.

The noises he made—low, greedy groans—only made the tension build faster. Like your pleasure was his. Like getting you to break apart in his mouth was the only thing he cared about.

“Rhett,” You whimpered, barely able to breathe.

And then–he curled his fingers just right.

Your whole body seized. You let out a strangled moan, your mouth falling open against the pillow, your hand clutching his hair, the other tightening in his grip so hard you felt the tremor run down his arm.

Your orgasm hit like a freight train. Sudden, shaking, relentless. Your thighs clamped around his head and your hips bucked up into his mouth–and he didn’t stop. Not for a second.

He kept licking, groaning against you, working you through every last second until your legs twitched and your body slumped, utterly spent.

When he finally lifted his head, his lips were swollen, his chin slick. He looked completely wrecked–and proud of it.

His hand slipped out from between your legs, fingers soaked with your arousal as he licked them clean, before brushing his wet fingers against your trembling thigh. You were still panting, still half-blind with aftershocks. And he leaned over you again, eyes wild but soft.

”You alright, darlin’?” He asked, bringing his mouth to your cheek. You laughed–half a breath, half a sob–and nodded.

”Fuck, Rhett…Let me try and return the favour please…That was so fucking good.” He blinked down at you like he hadn’t expected it, like your voice alone could unravel him all over again. Then he let out a slow, ragged breath and leaned down, kissing you–soft, slow, indulgent. A thank you, a yes, a prayer.

“Okay,” He murmured against your lips, voice husky, “Yeah…okay.”

He eased onto his back beside you. The sheets shifted around you both as you rolled onto your side and slid your hand across his stomach, your fingertips brushing the light trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers.

He watched you carefully, gaze gentle but burning. “You don’t have to, you know,” he said softly. “You already gave me enough just by lettin’ me–”

“I want to,” You cut in, voice quiet but certain. That stopped him. His jaw flexed slightly, his breath caught, and his hand reached up to cup the side of your face for just a second–his thumb brushing your cheek in a quiet, gentle pass. You kissed him again before shifting down the bed, your heart pounding as your thighs pressed together beneath the oversized shirt. You settled between his legs, your hands sliding up the tops of his thighs as he let out a low, shaky exhale. His skin was warm and soft beneath your palms, his muscles tense beneath the surface.

You hesitated just a little, fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers.

Rhett’s hand came down gently, resting over yours. His voice was low, coaxing.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. You’re doin’ fine.”

You pulled the fabric down slowly, watching as his cock sprang free, thick and flushed and already hard from the weight of everything he’d just felt and everything you were about to do. You swallowed nervously, staring for a second too long.

Rhett noticed.

“Here,” he said softly, sitting up just slightly. He wrapped his hand around himself first, guiding yours over his. “Just like this. Nice and slow.” His fingers slid away, letting yours take over, his breath catching the second you squeezed him.

You started slow, pumping gently from the base to the tip. The skin was hot under your palm, smooth and taut, and you watched in fascination as he twitched beneath your touch. His head dropped back onto the pillow with a thud, a low groan tumbling from his throat.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “That’s it. Just like that.”

You tightened your grip a little, experimenting, and Rhett’s hips lifted off the bed slightly. He let out a quiet, broken moan. “Fuck, darlin’–you’re already drivin’ me crazy.”

Emboldened by his reaction, you leaned forward, licking a slow, uncertain stripe up the underside of his shaft. He hissed between his teeth, his hand flying to your hair, not pushing–just holding. Anchoring.

“You sure?” He asked, voice tight.

You nodded, lips brushing the tip. “I’m sure.”

Then you took him into your mouth.

Just the head at first–soft and careful. The taste was salty and clean, a little musky, faintly bitter, but not bad. Just…Him.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, feeling his thighs tense under your hands, and then took him a little deeper, bobbing your head slowly, finding a rhythm.

Rhett cursed under his breath, his grip tightening in your hair.

“Jesus, Y/N,” He rasped. “You feel so good…So fuckin’ good.”

You kept going, learning by the way he moaned, by how his legs twitched, by the way he tugged at the sheets. You tried to take him deeper–and gagged, just slightly, your throat tightening around him. You pulled off, coughing softly, lips slick and eyes watering.

Rhett sat up a little too fast.

“Hey, hey–Y/N, you don’t have to do that,” He murmured, pushing your hair back, “Take it easy on yourself, alright? You ain’t gotta prove anythin’.”

You nodded, catching your breath. “I’m okay,” You whispered, voice breathy but determined.

And then you went back down.

This time slower. More confident. You pumped with one hand and sucked gently, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the sensitive head. Rhett’s breath went ragged again, his voice wrecked.

“Fuck, you’re–goddamn, you’re so good at this,” He groaned, hips twitching against your hand.

It didn’t take long after that.

You felt his thighs start to tremble, the hand in your hair tightening as he gasped, “Shit–I’m gonna come–“ It was more of a warning than anything, but you didn’t pull away. You just kept going.

His climax hit with a low, drawn-out moan. His hips stuttered and you felt his warmth spill over your tongue–salty, thick, slightly bitter with a sharp edge that made your throat clench. You swallowed instinctively, slow, letting it slide down, feeling him shudder beneath you.

When you pulled off, your lips were slick, your eyes glassy.

You licked your lips once and blinked up at him.

“…Did I do good?” You asked softly.

Rhett stared at you like he was about to lose his goddamn mind.

Then he sat up, grabbed your face with both hands–his touch tender but firm–and kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue massaging yours, tasting himself on you and you on him. He pulled back breathless.

”You were fucking perfect…So fucking perfect.” You collapsed back onto the mattress with a soft, stunned laugh, breath still coming in shaky waves as you wiped at your lips with the back of your hand. Rhett was beside you in a heartbeat, his strong arms already tugging you toward him like he couldn’t stand to have even an inch of space between you anymore.

You let him pull you into his chest–his skin still warm, heartbeat steady but strong beneath your cheek. His arm draped low over your waist, the other curling behind your shoulders like he was trying to wrap around as much of you as he could.

There was no tension now. No nerves. Just the quiet intimacy of skin on skin and breath against breath.

Rhett sighed softly into your hair, his mouth grazing your forehead before murmuring, lazy and fond, “We should do this more often…”

You let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle against his collarbone, your voice soft. “Yeah… I completely agree.”

There was a pause. The kind that felt full–not empty. Like something was waiting behind it.

You lifted your hand slowly, tracing a fingertip along his chest without looking at him. Then, voice smaller, more vulnerable:”You’re so…Safe.” Rhett went still beneath you.

Not tense. Just…Quiet. Like your words had caught him off guard and gone somewhere deep.

Then he smirked–soft and slow, the kind of smile you’d only seen a handful of times before. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, barely more than a brush of lips against skin, but it made you shiver.

“We can do whatever you want together,” He murmured, his voice like warm honey. “I’ll help in any way I can.”

That–his reassurance, his promise–settled something in your chest. Something that had been unsettled for a long, long time.

You turned your head just enough to look at him. Your nose nudged his jaw, and your lips were still curved when you whispered “You really mean it?”

“Of course I do.” He said simply. You couldn’t help the smile that rose up then, soft and wide and honest. It spread slowly, uncontainable, tugging at your cheeks as your hand splayed over his chest and you cuddled in closer.

Rhett exhaled against your hair, one hand trailing up and down your back in soothing strokes.

“You know what?” You whispered, voice thick with something more than just affection now–something raw and real and aching to be spoken aloud. “I think this is the first time I’ve felt like…Maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe I’m not the broken one.”

His fingers stilled. Then tightened gently at your waist.

“It was never you,” He said, quiet but firm. “They just didn’t know how to do things.” Your eyes welled unexpectedly. But you didn’t look away.

And Rhett didn’t look away from you either–not even when you whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asked.

“For…For showing me what it’s supposed to feel like.”

Rhett’s brow creased slightly, and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against your forehead again, like he was sealing the moment there.

Then, against your skin, he murmured, “Ain’t even gotten started yet, darlin’.”

————————

You and Rhett made an effort to see each other every other day after that morning.

It wasn’t always planned. Sometimes it was just a lazy drive that ended in a shared milkshake and quiet conversation. Other times it was louder–pool hall banter, bar games, him showing up at your place just to fix the damn sink he swore wasn’t level. But no matter what it started as, it always ended the same:

With your bodies pressed together. With your hands on his chest. With his lips parting against yours like he’d been starving all day.

The first time it happened again was at the drive-in.

You wore cutoff shorts and one of his flannels tied loose at your waist, and you didn’t even make it halfway through the previews before your legs found his lap. The movie faded behind you like static. His palm settled low on your back, and your mouth found his in the kind of kiss that made your teeth knock and your fingers curl in his shirt.

You didn’t even remember what was playing. All you remembered was the sound of your breathing turning into gasps when his hand slid between your thighs, his voice rough against your ear.

“You gonna let me feel how worked up you are already?”

You reached down, grabbed his wrist, and guided him to the apex of your thighs–slow, sure. His fingertips pressed against the damp heat soaking through your thin cotton panties, and Rhett exhaled like he’d been punched.

“Jesus,” He murmured, his forehead tipping against yours as his fingers flexed, just barely moving. “You’re soaked.”

You nodded, breath already hitching as you shifted slightly in his lap, grinding your hips forward just a touch. The thick muscle of his denim-clad thigh was already pressing against your core in the most devastating way.

“I wanna try something,” You whispered.

His eyes flicked up. Searching. Heated. Still trying to catch up with this version of you—bold, direct, knowing what you wanted and how you wanted it.

“I’ve always wanted to do it,” You admitted, your voice breathy but firm. “Especially with you.”

His lips parted. His chest rose.

And then he smirked.

“Okay,” He said simply. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

That’s all it took.

You adjusted your knees on either side of his lap, straddling him completely, your hands pressed to his shoulders for balance as you positioned yourself just right. His thigh was firm beneath you–years of riding and wrangling muscle. And you sank down onto it slowly, the seam of his jeans dragging perfectly against your soaked panties.

A quiet gasp escaped your throat.

Rhett groaned, hands rising to grip your hips–gentle, grounding, but not controlling. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles over your waist as he watched your eyes flutter, your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“You good, sweetheart?” He murmured.

You nodded, barely able to breathe. “So good.”

You started slow. Grinding gently against him in small, slow circles–testing pressure, building friction. The thick denim created just enough resistance to drive you mad, the fabric catching on your clit with every pass.

You rolled your hips again. And again. Shakier each time.

Rhett’s grip tightened, guiding you just slightly–his hands molding to your curves like he was born to hold them. “That’s it,” He breathed, voice almost reverent. “Just like that… Goddamn, you’re beautiful.”

You whimpered, burying your face in his neck for a moment as the sensations built, wave after wave, hot and pulsing and slow. Your hands curled into the flannel on his chest, and you swore you could feel his heart hammering.

Then you pulled back just enough to kiss him.

Hard.

He groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, encouraging your movements, letting you use him–letting you take your pleasure from him like he wanted nothing more. Your hips began to rock faster, your thighs trembling, the damp patch growing darker on his jeans with every pass of your soaked panties.

“Fuck, darlin’,” He gasped, his forehead pressed to yours. “You’re gonna come just like this?”

You nodded, dizzy, breathless. “I can’t stop…Rhett–I’m gonna–”

He kissed you again–slow this time, anchoring you as your hips faltered and your whole body seized up.

You came on his thigh with a broken sob of his name, shaking hard against him, every nerve burning, clenching around nothing as your hips twitched one last time and stilled.

Rhett held you through it, murmuring sweet things against your temple as you slumped forward, boneless and buzzing.

“That was…” You panted, barely able to form a sentence.

“Yeah,” Rhett said, his own breath shaky as he kissed the side of your head. “It was fuckin’ perfect.”

From that moment on, it was like you couldn’t stop.

The next week, he was driving you home, windows cracked, your hand resting on his thigh like it was second nature now. And somewhere between a curve in the road and a long silence, you leaned over, unzipped his jeans, and slipped your hand inside.

He choked on a breath. “Jesus, Y/N–what are you doin’?”

“Helping,” You said, voice teasing and low as your fingers wrapped around him.

You stroked him slow, lazy, while he tried to keep his eyes on the road, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. When he came–hot and fast–you licked it off your hand and the skin of his stomach without hesitation.

Rhett nearly crashed the damn truck.

Another time, you just climbed into his lap without warning. No teasing. No warm-up. You just needed him–needed the weight of him, the heat of his mouth, the security of his hands cupping the back of your neck like if he let go, you’d vanish.

You kissed him like you were going to disappear if he didn’t hold you tighter.

And he did.

Every time, he did.

He was addicted to you.

And you were addicted to him.

Yet somehow, you still hadn’t had sex.

Not because you didn’t want to. But because you kept finishing each other off before either of you could think straight.

It was chaotic. It was messy. It was you and Rhett–tangled in passion, steeped in something deeper neither of you had put into words yet.

Until one quiet evening when the summer air hung low and warm, and you turned to him and said:

“Wanna look at the stars with me?”

He blinked. Smirked. “Like, right now?”

“Right now,” You said, already sliding your shoes on. “Bring pillows and a blanket for the truck bed.” Rhett raised a brow, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth curving into something crooked and full of knowing.

“Oh,” He drawled, slinging an arm around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, “You’re plannin’ somethin’.”

You only grinned as you wiggled out of his arms, walking out ahead of him before calling over your shoulder:

“Damn right I am.”

———————————

You and Rhett had a specific place you would go to when you wanted to look at the stars.

It was a lookout you had both found randomly one night, years ago, when you’d gotten lost coming back from a circuit. The GPS cut out somewhere along a winding dirt road, and the two of you had been bickering about turns when the trees finally gave way to a clearing so wide and open it looked like the sky had cracked open just for you. The ridge overlooked a valley, endless and quiet, the stars so close it felt like you could pluck them from the sky if you reached high enough.

That was the place he drove to tonight.

His hand was on your bare thigh, squeezing gently, fingers skimming just beneath the hem of your shorts. The low hum of the truck’s engine mingled with an old country song playing through the speakers–something slow and warm, full of steel guitar and dusty longing. The cool summer air flowed through the open windows, tousling your hair, raising goosebumps on your arms. But Rhett’s palm was warm and steady against your skin, his thumb tracing little circles lazily.

You shifted slightly in your seat, thighs parting just a little more, and he immediately took notice.

His fingers drifted inward–just a little. Just enough to make your stomach clench.

Then he started tracing letters.

Soft. Slow. One at a time, with the very tip of his finger, like he was spelling a secret across your skin.

“What’s that one?” He murmured, not taking his eyes off the road.

You blinked. Swallowed. “Uh… An S?”

“Wrong,” He smirked, squeezing your thigh.

“An E?”

“Nope.”

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “Then what was it?”

“Not tellin’,” He said, dragging another letter right after it, slower this time. “Guess again.”

You stared down at his hand, heat blooming low in your belly. “D?”

“That one was,” He said, a low chuckle caught in his throat. “But not the one before it.”

Your cheeks burned. You knew what he was spelling now.

He leaned closer, his voice thick. “Want me to keep goin’?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “Yeah…Keep going.”

He traced another letter.

And another.

You were just about to reach for him–just about to say screw the stargazing and climb into his lap right there in the cab–when the headlights hit the edge of the clearing, and the trees broke apart.

You both went still.

The lookout was exactly how you remembered it: tall grass, wildflowers curling in the moonlight, and the stars above glowing like soft embers in an old fireplace. The valley stretched below, dark and quiet, and the only sound was the breeze rustling through the open windows and the soft creak of the truck tires crunching over gravel.

Rhett cut the engine.

The music died.

Silence swelled between you, not heavy–just full. Like both of you were thinking the same thing and neither of you wanted to ruin it by saying it out loud.

Then Rhett opened his door and climbed out. You followed, your legs shaky as you stepped onto the grass, the air cool against your thighs. The tension was still simmering in your veins, but now it had space to breathe.

You grabbed the first blanket from the backseat while Rhett grabbed the pillows and the top blanket.

The two of you worked in an unspoken rhythm.

You laid the first blanket down flat across the truck bed, smoothing the edges with your palms. The metal beneath was still faintly warm from the earlier sun. Rhett climbed in beside you, placing the pillows near the cab, his knee brushing yours as he tossed the second blanket over your shoulders.

You didn’t speak as you climbed under it together.

You didn’t have to.

His body curved naturally around yours as you settled onto your sides, facing each other, the warmth of the blanket sealed around your bodies like a cocoon. Your foreheads almost touched. Your breath did.

Rhett’s hand found your waist under the blanket. His palm spread slow and deliberate, thumb grazing your hip, before lazily dragging across your stomach, the pads of his fingers skimming your skin like he was reading a prayer written in braille. You reached up and brushed his hair back gently, smoothing the strands that always stuck up in crooked directions. He sighed—low, content, eyes fluttering shut like your touch alone could unravel him.

His fingers slipped higher beneath the hem of your shirt, slowly, carefully. He tugged it up until you sat up and peeled it over your head. The night air kissed your bare chest, nipples tightening instantly under the sudden exposure—but you weren’t cold. Not with the way Rhett looked at you.

He stared like he was witnessing something sacred.

Then he leaned forward, lips parting just enough to drag across your collarbone before his teeth sank in—not too hard, just enough to make you gasp.

“Painful?” he murmured against your skin.

You shook your head, your breath shaky. “Stings a bit, but nothing I can’t handle.”

He smirked—something soft and sinful—and lowered his mouth again, kissing just beneath the mark he’d left behind. His tongue laved the spot slowly, like an apology and a promise all at once.

Then, his voice was velvet-wrapped gravel against your skin.

“Is there anything else you want to do with me? Any ideas you’ve got in mind?”

You shook your head slowly, eyes locking with his in the low, starlit dark. “I just want you to fuck me.”

He stilled. Just for a beat. Then smiled against your chest—slow and deep and pleased.

“Yeah?” he rasped, lifting his head to look you in the eye. “You want me to fuck you?”

You nodded, your heart pounding.

He leaned toward your jaw, kissing a soft trail until his lips brushed your ear, his breath hot as he whispered, “Beg for it.”

You bit your bottom lip, breath catching, heart stuttering at the sheer weight of the way he said it. There was no mocking in it. No arrogance. Just pure, overwhelming need–controlled only by the thin thread of his patience.

His eyes shimmered in the moonlight, pale blue burning like lightning behind clouds. You leaned in and kissed him–soft, needy–and whispered against his lips, “Please…Fuck me…”

He shook his head, grinning with that maddening, slow confidence. “Gonna have to do better than that, sweetheart.” You kissed him again–more desperate now–and as you pulled back, his hand came up to your face. He cradled your cheek like you were breakable, his thumb tracing the soft curve of your bottom lip.

“Open up,” He murmured.

You obeyed.

Your lips parted, and he slid his thumb into your mouth, pressing the pad against the back of your tongue. Instantly, your mouth watered, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him gently. His eyes darkened, watching you like he could come undone just from this.

He pulled his thumb out slowly, a glistening trail connecting your lips to the pad of his finger, then dragged it down–past your chin, your chest–until it disappeared beneath the waistband of your shorts.

His soaked thumb found your clit in one perfect stroke.

You gasped. Bucked.

“C’mon, Y/N…” He coaxed, voice a rasp as he rubbed slow, tight circles. “You want it, right?”

“Yes,” You whimpered, your hips grinding helplessly into his hand. “God, Rhett–yes–please–I need you–”

He groaned at the sound of your voice, fucked-out and pleading, and pressed his thumb harder.

“Keep talkin’,” He muttered, eyes flicking down to where his hand moved beneath your waistband. “Want to hear you beg while I’ve got you all worked up like this.”

“I want you to fuck me,” You gasped, your palm reaching for his lap now, squeezing his cock through his jeans. He was already hard–thick and burning hot under your touch. “I want you inside me–I want to feel it, Rhett. All of you. I want you to ruin me slow.”

He swore under his breath. “Jesus Christ.”

You kept rubbing, palming him harder now, feeling him twitch and grow impossibly harder.

“I want you to come inside me,” You whispered, eyes glassy. “I want to feel you finish deep. I want you to fill me up until I’m sore. Until I’m dripping with it.”

Rhett’s jaw clenched, his breath shuddered–and his thumb didn’t stop moving. Every nerve in your body was locked on the delicious, unrelenting drag of his thumb over your clit–your underwear now utterly ruined, soaked straight through, clinging to your folds in the most humiliating, erotic way.

Rhett kissed you again–hotter this time. Sloppier. The kind of kiss that made your teeth knock and your breath catch. His tongue slid past your lips, curling against yours with growing desperation, and when he finally pulled back, he did so only far enough to breathe against your mouth:

“Take off your shorts,” He rasped, voice wrecked. “And get on top.”

You nodded so fast it almost hurt, fumbling to shimmy them down. Your panties peeled off with them, sticky and wet between your thighs. You didn’t even try to hide the way they dropped to the side of the bed. Not with the way Rhett was watching you. Not with how he was already ripping open his jeans and pushing them down with his boxers in one rough, desperate tug.

His cock sprang free, flushed and hard and leaking at the tip, the moonlight catching on the slick sheen of it.

Your whole body ached as you climbed into his lap and straddled his waist, your knees bracing against the warm metal bed of the truck, the soft blanket bunched beneath them. You sank down slightly–not to take him in just yet, but to rub your soaked core along the full length of him.

The heat of him–thick and pulsing against you–dragged across your folds, every ridge and vein grinding right where you needed it. You tilted your head back with a breathless moan, your hips moving in slow, teasing circles, coating him in your arousal.

“Fuck,” Rhett groaned, his hands flying to your hips, holding you there, letting you grind against him like he was made for it. His eyes trailed up your body, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. Then he reached up and cupped your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples.

“You look so fuckin’ beautiful up there,” He rasped, voice trembling with restraint. “You like that? Like rubbin’ yourself on me like a good girl?”

You nodded frantically, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. “Fuck, Rhett…You already feel so good. I can’t wait any longer.”

He gave your nipples a teasing pinch, and you nearly came undone right there.

“You don’t have to wait anymore,” He murmured, voice thick with care and gentleness. “Take what you need from me, Y/N.” You reached between your bodies, wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, and guided him through your folds once more–wet and slow–coating him thoroughly before lifting your hips.

Then you aligned him with your entrance, and with one long, shaky breath…You sank down.

The head of his cock stretched you open, dragging against your walls in a way that made your whole body lock up. Your gasp cracked through the night air as you grabbed onto his wrist with both hands, using it as leverage while your head tilted back and your mouth dropped open.

“Shit,” You whimpered, your voice trembling. “So big…”

“Fuck,” Rhett gritted out beneath you, his jaw tight, his knuckles white where he gripped your hips. “You’re tight, sweetheart…Jesus Christ, I can feel every part of you.” You kept lowering yourself slowly, inch by inch, your inner walls gripping him like a vice as you took him in deeper, stretching around his girth with a burn that made your eyes flutter.

“Rhett–” Your voice cracked, pleasure blooming slow and low in your belly, “–Feels so full… So deep…”

He looked absolutely wrecked beneath you. His head tipped back for a second, the cords of his neck flexing, jaw clenched as he tried not to buck up into you too soon. His hands left your hips only to return to your chest, massaging your breasts again with wide, reverent palms, his thumbs brushing your nipples in slow circles.

“God, you’re perfect,” He rasped, his voice shaking now. You whimpered again as you bottomed out, the base of him pressed flush against you, the stretch relentless. Your thighs were trembling already.

Then his hand came up–slow, gentle–and wrapped lightly around your neck.

Not choking. Not restraining.

Just holding you there, grounding you, letting his thumb graze your jawline.

“You okay?” He whispered.

You nodded, lips parted, barely able to get the words out. “So okay,” You breathed. “You feel so fucking good inside me, Rhett.”

He groaned again, like your words alone could push him over the edge. His fingers curled slightly around your neck, just enough pressure to make your walls flutter around him.

“That’s it,” He whispered, eyes burning into yours. “Take me. Use me. Fuckin’ ride me Y/N. I’m yours.” He watched you with something close to awe–his pupils wide, breath ragged as your hips rolled in that uneven, desperate rhythm, your thighs quivering from how much you were feeling, from the stretch and heat and weight of him pulsing deep inside you.

“Fuck, Y/N…” Rhett groaned, his voice strained and reverent, one of his hands gripping your hip as you moved. “You’re so fuckin’ tight like this…Every time you come back down, I feel your pussy clutch me like it doesn’t wanna let go.”

Your breath hitched.

You whimpered again, high and shaky, your hands splayed on his chest for balance as you tried to keep going, but your rhythm faltered, hips stuttering with every twitch of your muscles. Every drag of his cock against your inner walls made you cry out a little louder.

That’s when his hands slid lower.

“Let me show you somethin’,” Rhett murmured, voice gravel-smooth as he sat up slightly and wrapped both hands around your waist. His grip was firm but gentle, like he was grounding you–like he was giving you something to fall apart against.

He pulled your hips forward, grinding you down slow, dragging your clit along the thick patch of hair above his cock.

You gasped, your eyes flying wide, hands bracing hard against his shoulders.

“Jesus fucking Christ–Rhett,” You gasped, your head falling back as your thighs quaked around him. “Oh my fucking god–”

“That’s it,” he breathed, dragging you again, slower now, more deliberate. “Feel that? Right there? That’s where I want you. Grind on me, sweetheart. Just like that.”

Your whimpers melted into full-bodied moans as he kept your hips moving in that rhythm–circling and dragging until you were damn near sobbing against his mouth, your clit raw and throbbing with every glide across the coarse hair and the thick base of his cock.

He didn’t stop until he felt your hips start moving in sync on their own. He let his hands slip back up to your breasts, thumbs rubbing over your nipples again as you rocked into him like you were losing your mind.

“Good girl,” He groaned, voice deeper now. “Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect. Soaked for me…Riding me just the way I like.”

Your breath hitched, your hands tangling in his hair as he leaned in, kissing up your throat–sloppy, hungry, and hot.

Then–suddenly–he sat up fully, his hands grabbing your ass and pulling you closer, forcing you to stay pressed tight against him as his mouth found your neck.

He gripped your hair and yanked it gently, exposing the smooth column of your throat.

And he started kissing. Licking. Biting.

Not enough to hurt–just enough to make you whine.

“Bet none of those assholes ever touched you like this,” He growled into your neck, rutting up into you now–slow at first, but deep. “Bet none of ‘em knew how to fuck you right.”

You gasped as he hit that spot again, your nails digging into his shoulders. “They didn’t,” You whimpered. “Fuck, Rhett–they didn’t. You’re the only one who’s ever–”

“Damn right I am,” He snapped, his teeth grazing your throat. “You hear that? That’s what you sound like when someone actually gives a shit about makin’ you feel good.”

He slammed into you again, this time rougher–deep and hard and relentless–and your whole body jolted forward, your nails dragging down his back through the thin fabric of his shirt.

He groaned at the sting. “Mark me up, Y/N. Let me feel it.” You were crying out now, your rhythm breaking down into messy, frantic movements, grinding and bouncing as best you could with how hard he was gripping your waist, how deep he was rutting up into you.

“Gonna come, Rhett–fuck–I’m gonna–”

“Come for me,” He rasped, slamming into you harder. “Soak me. Make a goddamn mess, sweetheart.”

Your vision blurred.

Your body locked up.

And then everything broke open.

You screamed his name as your orgasm ripped through you–wet and loud and overwhelming. You trembled violently, your whole body twitching as you felt yourself gush around him, soaking his lap and thighs, your slick coating every inch of him.

“Goddamn,” Rhett growled, his breath breaking into ragged pants. “Fuck–Y/N, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight–shit, I’m gonna–”

Then his hands flew to your hips.

He slammed you down against him one final time, holding you there with a bruising grip, his voice guttural and feral as he cried out:

“Fuck, I’m gonna come inside you–fill you up–gonna stuff you full of it, darlin’, so you’ll still feel me dripping out of you tomorrow–Jesus Christ–”

You gasped as you felt it.

The twitch. The pulse. Every thick, hot rope of cum flooding you so deep it made you clench again. He buried himself as far as he could go, his hips bucking wildly against you as he spilled every last drop.

You scratched your nails down his back again–hard.

He didn’t stop you. If anything, he moaned louder.

“Fuck yes, baby. Just like that.”

You collapsed forward, breath shaking, your chest pressed to his, your bodies fused together–hot and slick and shaking.

And he held you.

Tight.

Like you were the only thing tethering him to this goddamn earth.

Neither of you spoke at first.

Just heavy breathing. Soft trembling. The sound of your heart pounding where it pressed against his.

Then–barely audible–Rhett whispered against your ear:

“Guess what I’m writing?” Your breath was still ragged. Shallow. The tremors hadn’t stopped yet, and your chest was still rising and falling in uneven waves as you lay sprawled over him, your body warm and slick against his, your heart pounding so hard you swore it was echoing in his chest too.

“…Okay,” You whispered hoarsely, your voice barely carrying above the rasp in your throat.

Rhett didn’t say anything at first. He just smiled. One of those slow, crooked, half-cocky ones he couldn’t control when he was too soft to be smug and too smitten to pretend he wasn’t.

Then you felt it.

The gentle press of his fingertip against your outer thigh–bare, slick with sweat and still trembling slightly from aftershocks.

He dragged a slow line into your skin.

“I,” You breathed, voice soft and cautious.

He nodded, the tip of his nose brushing your jaw as he traced another.

“L,” You murmured, and he smirked faintly.

“Yeah,” He whispered against your cheek, his lips grazing your skin.

You didn’t breathe as he drew the next one–round and smooth.

“O.”

Another nod. His smile grew, quiet and reverent, the kind he only ever gave you when you were laughing in his passenger seat or half-asleep in his flannel.

And then he traced the last letter. Angled. Sharp. Deliberate.

“V,” you whispered. And this time, you stilled.

You pulled back just enough to look down at him, your hands sliding up to cradle his face. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. Just met your gaze with those wide, ocean-blue eyes–like he was terrified and relieved and stunned that he’d said it at all.

Your thumbs brushed the corners of his mouth, your fingers curling gently along his jaw.

And your smile–God, your smile–was soft and sure and finally at peace as you leaned in just close enough for him to hear you when you said:

“I love you too, Rhett.”

The air shifted.

He exhaled like he’d been holding it forever, his brows twitching with something emotional and overwhelmed, and then he leaned up, kissing you–soft and slow and messy with gratitude.

When he pulled back, his voice cracked.

“You’re so good, Y/N…”

You smiled again, barely able to speak as your hands continued to caress his cheeks, your fingertips memorizing every inch of him like a prayer.

“You’re perfect, Rhett,” You whispered. “I couldn’t have asked for a better person to be in my life.”

And this time–neither of you said anything after.

Because everything that needed to be said had already been written across your skin.

[spongelll]

brunette sentry appreciation post <3

I want him. what who said that..