Notes: For the lovely @princessmisery666, love you wifey. Comments and reblogs make me happy. Likes are appreciated. Thank you so very much for reading, it’s appreciated and means the most.
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There was one thing that you could count on. The bars of Wabang were loud, crowded and full of people who paid no mind to what was going on around them. Which is why no one says a damn word when you sat at the bar, beer bottle slick with condensation in front of you, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hand willing yourself not to cry. It had been a red-letter week, the car broke down and it would take scrimping from the next three paychecks to pay for repairs, and that’s if you can convince one of your coworkers to give you a lift to and from.
There was nothing that could make this week worse.
“Hey baby.” There’s a grunt as someone sits on the barstool next to you.
“Terry, tonight is not the night.” You lift your head from your hands, glaring at your ex-boyfriend. Though, calling him your boyfriend was generous. It wasn’t much more than a few crappy dates, most of the time spent fumbling with each other in the bedroom.
“I mean, I could help. You just got to talk to me baby.” His fingers travel up your arm, circling your elbow. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I’ll help you forget all your worries.”
“For all of thirty seconds while you jack-rabbit between my legs, come and roll over and go to sleep?”
“Oh, come on now baby, there’s no need to get nasty outside the bedroom.”
“Terry, you couldn’t get nasty in the bedroom, I’m shocked you can identify it.”
“You know what,” His hand tightens on your elbow. “I’ve got half a mind—”
“That’s the first smart thing you’ve said all night.” A second masculine voice says. Smooth, quiet, a voice you know very well. “Come on. The lady’s not interested. Move on.”
“You know what Abbott. I’m tired of you walking around like you’re something important just because you can last 8 seconds on a bull. You can’t last that long on a woman.”
“Terry!” You slide off the stool, putting yourself between him and Rhett. A stupid move, but you know Rhett wouldn’t hurt you, and you can handle anything Terry managed to deal. “Too far.” You break the hold on your arm. “You need to go.”
“We ain’t done here,” He snatches at you, fingers iron tight. Terry yanks you toward him, causing you to stumble. You slam into the bar, feeling the edge of it bite into your torso, knowing you’ll have a bruise later.
There’s a heavy crack of skin on skin, a grunt and the sound of someone hitting the floor. The rest of the bar notices what’s going on, as chaos breaks out all around you. Rhett is rubbing his hand, Terry’s laid out on the floor, not moving, on his back.
“Come on,” Rhett says quickly, offering you his hand. You take it, and he tugs you through the crowd, leaving a few crumpled bills on the bar. The night air is cool and crisp, the sky pitch black, stars stretching out endlessly above you. You find yourself pinned against the passenger door of his truck as he fumbles with the keys. Laughter bubbling up in your throat, wild and an alternative to the tears and frustration you feel just under the surface. Rhett helps you into the truck, racing around the front to get in behind the wheel.
Tires squeal as he peels out of the parking lot, struggling one handed with his seatbelt as he gets onto the main road. “I can’t believe you did that!”
“I don’t much care for how he treated you. He has no right to speak to you that way.” Rhett glances sidelong at you. “Told you that before,” his voice is a little softer. He drives for a while, heading out of town, landscape being taken over by dark pastures and fields.
“Thanks,” you lick your lips, staring out the window. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. After a week of bad things piling up, you were in the cab of Rhett’s truck. With a thousand ‘almosts’ filling the space between you. The two of you had always been a little too close, too friendly. Inside jokes, quiet glances. You’d watch him ride; he’d drop by the famer’s market to keep you company while you sold produce. Hands brushing together, easy enough to be passed off as accidental. The way his hand tightened on your hip while he spun you around the dance floor.
The way you could sit in absolute silence with him, not saying a word—and have it be the best conversation in the world.
You almost had him, but he was taken. Almost ended up cozied up together at a bonfire, but you were enamored with someone else.
Almost hurt worse than being alone.
Which is why the string of shitty boyfriends, terrible one-night stands, and occasional rodeo boy that came through Amelia County. All because of a lanky, sweet man who stood at your side as a friend, and an almost.
You’re jolted from your thoughts when Rhett turns the ignition off. He’s parked at a diner, and he tips his head with a grin. “Let’s get some coffee, and you tell me everything that’s going on in that head of yours.” He’s opened your door, offered his hand to steady you as you hop out of his truck. Rhett keeps a hold of it as you walk to the diner, a calloused thumb smoothing over the back of your hand.
A corner booth, his knees knocking against yours as you huddle around the small, slightly sticky table. Two cups of coffee and a massive slab of apple pie with two forks sit between you. He’s letting you talk, his hands wrapped around the worn mug, listening with a slight upturn to his lips.
Everything comes out. The car problems, the work problems, that it hadn’t rained nearly enough this year and things were already looking lean. Each little drop in the bucket of bad bubbles up. “And then Max ate my slippers.” You stab at a slice of apple with your fork. “My brand-new slippers. He knows better than that. I came home and he brought me the sole of one of them like it was a present.”
Rhett laughs, really laughs. You can’t help but smile at the quiet sound. His eyes crinkle and there’s an unrestrained joy to it—happy is a good look for him, and not one that you get to see often. It’s something that you want to see on him all the time.
“Thanks,” there’s a lump in your throat. “For looking out for me.”
He passes you a handful of scratchy thin napkins when you sniffle, wiping at your eyes. “S’alright darlin’. Just let it out.” Rhett leans closer, his fingertips so gentle as they tip your chin up. “I’m just a phone call away. I know it’s hard to pick up the phone, but it’s not good to let it fester.” That same thumb brushes over your cheek delicate and soft.
“I’ll take a look at the car, if I can’t fix it, I’ll work something out with Jenkins alright?”
You nod mutely, wiping your nose. “Sorry.”
“Darlin’ you’ve picked me up outta worse.” He says, “Now finish that pie, and I’ll take you home.” He picks up his coffee again. “You need some rest.” He won’t let you pay, but you leave a tip on the table. The drive back to your place is nice. Rhett is humming along with a song on the radio, and the night air is so cool and clear. You sing along, letting the wind bounce your hand back and forth when you stick it out the window.
Rhett follows you up the porch stairs, a warm presence at your back as you unlock your front door.
“You want to come in?” You ask, looking up at him. The porchlight casts harsh shadows on his face, and yet he’s still one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen.
He smiles softly, tipping his hat up. “Not tonight darlin’.” He kisses your forehead, drawing you closer, an arm around your waist. “Don’t get me wrong, I want to, lord I want to.” Rhett’s words brush against your skin, his lips pressing them softly to your cheekbones. There’s a slight scrape of his stubble when he nuzzles against your jaw. “But you’ve got so much on your mind, darlin’. And when I have you for the first time, I want all of you.”
Rhett’s mouth eases over yours, kissing you softly. He’s sweet and gentle, backing you against the doorframe. One hand light on your waist, the other braced above you, pinning you. “Go on inside, sweetheart. Get some rest.”
He pauses, “for me?”
“For you.” You whisper. You can feel the warmth from his kiss coursing through you.
“You work tomorrow?” When you shake your head, he continues. “I’ll come over look at the car after I feed the horses. I only accept food and kisses in exchange for mechanical work.” He winks at you. “Go on now.”
You open the door, stepping into the house, still buzzing with the effects of Rhett’s touch. The door closed solidly behind you, you lean against it, trying to control your racing heart. It’s not until you lock it, that Rhett’s heavy footsteps go down the stairs and his truck roars to life.
This involves my personal headcanons, so the CH personifications do not represent the government or their presidents in any way, they represent the people, culture, history, etc.
That being said, this one-shot does talk about heavy controversial topics very present in the US as of May 20th, 2022. If you are uncomfortable with reading something that discusses modern politics, please scroll and ignore.
TW/CW: character death, insulting/criticizing(?) modern governments, I made myself cry while writing this
Words: 1,657
.☆.☆.☆.☆.☆.
Empty. Whollow. Waiting. For something to happen. Something good or bad, she didn’t care anymore. No American did. They didn’t know what they were waiting for. A second Civil War? A Revolution? Waiting for the entire nation to keel over and collapse? Perhaps so. With the recent bills and laws being passed, it was made clear that the government was NOT listening to the cries and protests of the millions of citizens they were supposed to protect. Protesting turned into riots, which turned into oppression and unlawful protests. A violation of the rights that made the very constitution that birthed the United States. Yet, less than 250 years later, every other nation was laughing. They were laughing at the sorry excuse for a superpower. They were laughing and making jokes about school shootings. They were laughing at the bills that were murdering her people. Their people. America felt broken. She represented their people, and her people were dying. She was dying. Ame had begged their congress leaders and their president to do something. Anything. Please. Nothing has changed. The bills were passed. It was easy for some to turn a blind eye and say “not my state, not my problem.” Yet even those who put on a false scoff were just as terrified. Everyone was just hoping they were overreacting. It was just a phase, it would eventually work itself out, and everyone could laugh about 2020 again.
It was getting worse and worse. America was tired. So fucking tired.
The personification of China had decided to pay a visit to his lover. He told his president it was simply trade and political matters, perhaps even to scoff and belittle the poor woman. That couldn’t be farther from the truth, but it allowed him a free 24 hours to visit the Country.
China had used the embassy of China in D.C. to make it there, as everyone did in different Countries in the buildings of the embassies. It was stress-free for the Countryhumans to use them effortlessly to teleport from nation to nation to discuss political matters. Although most of the time they were lying and doing anything but using it for political and trading matters, but that's far from the point.
After making his way through security and giving the same lie he had given them and his president, everytime, he walked into Ame’s office, his entire body nearly cracking and breaking from what he saw.
Ame wasn’t at her desk, looking tired and pale as usual, but much worse. She was cowering and trembling on the floor, her one giant wing wrapping around her, to hide their shame. China didn’t need to look around her feathered limb to see the cracks. They got worse little by little every time he visited, but nothing she wasn’t used to, at least in her words. But God, now they were everywhere on her striped skin. She was nearly falling apart. It was almost funny. Ironic, at least. It reminded China of when he had found the Soviet Union in a very similar position, albeit he was too paralyzed to be trembling like his enemy, 30 years later.
The Eastern Country shook his head to clear his thoughts and immediately walked over to kneel in front of his lover, whispering gently, “My love? Can I touch you?” Ame stopped breathing for a moment and slowly nodded, but it didn’t stop her from shivering.
China frowned and caressed the feathers of the wing slowly, not stopping when the giant thing fluttered and leaned into his touch, as if it had a mind of its own. The Chinese nation sighed gently and sat on his knees as he used his other hand to run his fingers through Ame’s golden locks. In response, her breathing slightly settled and she curled in on herself, but had stopped shaking as much. Still quivering, but not shaking like a leaf in a Florida hurricane. China smiled at the barely progress he made and leaned down to kiss Ame on the forehead. It was barely a peck, but it let her know that he was here, real, and not just a twisted hallucination her mind had made to comfort her. That had happened a few times, when Ame had mistaken him for some form of false hallucination.
China hummed and over the course of a full minute and a half, slowly lifted his fiance into his arms and held her like a delicate porcelain doll, rocking her back and forth. Ame sniffed nastily and leaned into her partner's shoulder, the mentioned one not caring if his clothes had gotten soaked in tears and snot. This wasn’t the first time he had done this, he was an expert at it by now…
He just hoped it wasn’t the last.
China rubbed her back smoothly, whispering, “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked quietly, even if they both knew that he was fully aware of the ‘situation’. Everyone knew about it at this point. Everyone was staring at it as it happened. It had gotten so bad to a point where Countries like Canada had people asking their government if they would take in American refugees. How ironic. How sad. How pathetic.
Ame hummed hoarsely and rested her head on his chest. China frowned at how broken her voice sounded just from a hardly audible sound alone. It’s gotten THAT bad. She was already showing symptoms he’s seen from other previously living nations before they died. It ate at his heart. He couldn’t remember the signs. Some symptoms were present when it was already too late, but he couldn’t remember which ones they were.
Or perhaps he did… he was just in denial. Nonetheless, it made his heart sink. It wasn’t fair… they had been together for at least 40 years at this point, and now he was probably holding his dying lover in his arms.
Even he couldn’t help the tears running down his cheeks. It was a mix of already mourning his lover’s death, but also pent up sorrow of his own citizen’s depression.
America opened her eyes and her lips curled downward after she felt salty tears fall onto her arms. She hummed and weakly wrapped her arms around China’s neck, pulling herself up to give him a hug. The man whimpered and tightened his hold on her. “I don’t want you to die.”
Ame hummed and kissed his red cheek, wrapping her wing around him. “I..I know. I don’t want you to s..see me die. My…p-eople are scared. Th..they’re losing h-hope. I repres..ent them.” She explained. “I’m sorry.” Ame whispered, resting her chin on his shoulder. Her muscles hurt.
China tightened his protective hold on her, whispering angrily, “No. This isn’t right. It’s not you or your people’s fault. You don’t have to apologize. It’s not fair. They’re going against everything you’re built on. Fuck, they’re passing bills that are the opposite of what your people voted for. It’s not okay.”
Ame chuckled dryly and let herself go limp in the other's arms.
“You…you think I don’t know that? P…people have dis…distrusted the government since the 60’s. Everyone knows that c-congress is just full of rich men that got where they are f-from exploiting the people.” She closed her eyes, breathing slowly. “It’s ironic, i-isn’t it? T-two hundred years ago I…we were f-fighting an oppressive power for no representation or empathy for th-the people at the bottom… people don’t care about history, until it repeats itself.” She said bitterly, coughing up dry blood as more cracks broke her body.
The Chinese man frowned and kissed her forehead, his hands trembling just the same as he had found her earlier. It was painfully obvious that she was already too far gone to save. Is that why Canada and Britain had stopped talking to her? The thought made his skin crawl… they’d rather just let her die like this? He knew he couldn’t blame them too much, they could only do so much, but Christ, they could’ve at least comforted her. Now she was dying in his arms right in front of his eyes, being held in his arms.
It was clear to him now. He wasn’t engaged. He was already a widowed man.
China parted his lips to say something, only to be interrupted by the dying Country, “I’m sorry we never got married. I was really looking forward to seeing North Korea’s face as I kissed you under the wedding arch.” She laughed gently, kissing China’s shoulder.
He didn’t laugh. He choked a sob and started crying into his unofficial-wife’s shoulder. IT WASN’T FAIR, IT’S NOT FUCKING FAIR, HE WANTS TO GET MARRIED, HE WANTS TO FALL ASLEEP WITH HIS WIFE IN HIS ARMS, HE WANTS TO WAKE UP TO THE SMELL OF HER APPLE PIE IN THE KITCHEN, HE WANTS TO SLOW DANCE WITH HER IN THE LIVING ROOM, HE WANTS TO LOOK ACROSS THE DINING ROOM AND LOOK AT HER AS IF GOD HAD PUT AN ANGEL ON EARTH JUST FOR HIM, HE WANTS- HE NEEDS-
“Yao?” The whisper of his name made him stop and sit stiff. He swallowed a sob and suddenly felt embarrassed. He wasn’t the one dying, and yet he was the one being comforted. “Y…yes, Adrian?”
Ame smiled and pulled back to kiss his lips tenderly, with just as much love and adoration as they had all these 40 years. “I love you.”
China sniffed and smiled, resting his forehead against hers as the cracks were finally taking hold and breaking off her fingers, one by one. “I love you more.”
Ame hummed, letting herself limply lay in his lap as he stroked her hair. Soft and warm. At least she would pass like this. “I love you most.”
Her husband stayed silent as he felt the Western nation disappear from his arms, opening his eyes to find them empty.
“Could you, I don’t know, not be you for five seconds”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means. It means you need to be someone else for the entirety of this party.”
“Why would I do that? Everyone loves me. You’re the only one with a problem.”
“No, I think everyone will agree with me that you have a way of ruining a party.”
“What are you talking about?! I’m the life of a party!”
“Ha, I’d say you’re more the literal death of a party. Or anyone for that matter. Anyone in your line of fire.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Dramatic? Me? That’s rich coming from you.”
“I’m not dramatic at all.”
Before Danny could open his mouth to retort, you walked in between them eyeing them both with a faint glare. They both silenced and looked between each other before dropping their eyes like scolded children.
“Can you two stop bickering like an old married couple for five minutes? The guests are starting to arrive and I’d like to be the one accused of being Steve’s nagging girlfriend?” You cocked your head at them with a raised brow before patting them both on the chest and walking out of Danny’s kitchen and into the living room.
The two children disguised at men smiled at each other and after a quick hug, they gathered up the snacks and drinks and put on smiles to meet the crew. Just a gathering of family and friends over for liquor and food to ring in the New Year together with laughs and lots of love.
Mingling and coversating among the group of people made the night pass by far too quickly. When Midnight drew night, everyone was tipsy and happy and all paused to start the countdown. Steve, who had been you don’t know where, was all of the sudden at your side wrapping his arm around your waist. You smile up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You all started to count, while you and Steve kept your eyes only on each other.
When everyone hit one, Steve pulled you in close and the moment everyone yelled Happy New year, the Commander’s lips were on you, his arms squeezing tightly around you and lifting you off the floor slightly. Your arms tightened around his shoulders as you returned the kiss just as fiercely and got lost in the feel of being in your lover’s arms.
By the time the two of you broke apart from your kiss, everyone was already sipping celebratory champagne and talking of resolutions and future endeavors. They all ignored the two of you who still in a tight embrace.
“This isn’t over. I’m expecting this same intensity after everyone leaves, mister.” You sneered at him playfully before pecking his lips and releasing him to join your friends.
“Oh, I hope it will never be over.” He said to himself before he pulled the ring box out of his pocket. “Here’s to 2019.” He raised his glass and everyone cheered before he dropped to one knee, already making this the best year of your life.
Safe and Sound || Jake “Hangman” Seresin/Reader/Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw
Safe and Sound Part one.
Summary: Lay mornings are for chores and cuddling.
1,222 words. Female/AFAB reader-- military job (search and rescue) nickname Birdie.
Warnings: None really, poly!Relationship if that’s not your cuppa.
Notes: tagging in @roleycoleyreccenter because they too love poly!squad. Comments and reblogs are loved, likes are appreciated. Thank you so much for reading, it is so appreciated, and means the most.
**Please follow @wbslibrary for updates.**
Off base housing was far better than the barracks, the only drawback finding something affordable with a flexible lease—the chance of being called to relocate with very little warning was highly probable and most landlords wouldn’t put up with it. Thankfully, you found one who rented a three-bedroom beach bungalow at a killer price. It was too much space for you, so you reached out first to Bradshaw, then Seresin who both agreed.
It was a good idea, and while the three of you had ended up tangled up with each other more than once, making the shift from coworkers who occasionally fucked around to roommates was smoother than you expected.
They kept busy at Top Gun, teaching, running hops and being called out to top secret missions. Occasionally you ended up on the same mission, though if you saw each other during work it wasn’t the best of circumstances. Search and Rescue never paid for drinks, and no one ever wanted to see you and your crew, but no one made you feel uncomfortable.
Weekends were the best. At least the ones where the three of you could spend time together. You had woken up first, starting a coffee pot, glancing around the common living space. Clothes were scattered over most surfaces, flight suits, uniforms, towels. Somehow, there was a pair of boxers hanging from the curtain rod. Life sustaining caffeine poured into a mug you set to sorting out the clothes into piles.
“Morning Birdie,” Jake says emerging from his bedroom. His hair stands at odd angles, shirtless and barefoot, gray sweats riding low on his hips. He watches you for a few moments, before blinking sleepily returning to his room, dragging his dirty clothes hamper into the main living space. You can’t help but smile at the nickname, and Jake’s appearance.
“How did it get this bad?” You ask, handing a mug over to him as he sorts his clothes into the piles.
“Work.” Jake says. “Go grab yours.” He looks at the coffee mug like it hung the stars in the sky. Out of the three of you, you were the only one who could function in the morning. “And I’ll brave the wrath of Bradshaw.”
“You’re a peach.” You grin at him, walking past, squeaking when he grabs your wrist, pulling you close.
“I can be.” He says softly, kissing your cheek. “Missed you, between the hops and teaching it seems like you’ve been out of the house a lot.”
“Work’s been tough for all of us.” You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. He sets his mug down, plucking yours from your hand, setting it aside. He pulls you closer, those warm, strong arms wrapping around you as he kisses you again. Properly this time, Jake’s tongue sliding past your lips, his hands spanning your back.
“Go get Bradley’s stuff.” You murmur against his lips when he comes up for air.
“I need another kiss for luck.” Jake’s lips brush against yours as he speaks, sending shivers down your back.
“You can have another one when you’ve completed your mission.”
“Yes ma’am.” Jake salutes you, heading back to Bradley’s room. You go to your own room, retrieving your piles of dirty laundry.
When you pass by Bradley’s room, you can hear the two men talking, voice rough with sleep. You lean in the doorway, watching as Bradley cups Jake’s jaw, pulling him down for a soft kiss. More murmuring, before Bradley is calling out good morning. “Morning Bradley,” you can’t help but smile. It had taken some time and more than a few growing pains, but the three of you had settled into this. A trio, that gave as much as it took, a love protected and fostered.
“Do I smell coffee?”
“Yes, you need to get up to get some.” You call over your shoulder. Once in the main room you start sorting your clothes adding to the already large piles.
“I mean that’s basic biology.” Bradley rumbles softly, draping himself across your back. He’s warm and heavy, sleepy. “Have to get it up to get some.” His mustache tickles as he kisses along the curve of your neck. “Everyone knows that Birdie.”
“You’re such a brat.” You squirm away and he chuckles softly. Jake’s rummaging through Bradley’s dirty clothes before he’s gathering up the flight suits and heading toward the garage.
Food is a simple affair, breakfast burritos while barefoot in the kitchen. Bradley and Jake bicker playfully while you eat. It’s comfortable, familiar and the realization that the three of you hadn’t shared a space together for nearly three weeks. Sure, there were hellos and goodbyes, kisses in passing; but this comfort creature hadn’t happened for a while. Bradley disappears to change the laundry over, Jake’s at the sink washing up.
Bradley comes back, slotting himself between your thighs. You had sat on the kitchen island to eat and hadn’t moved when your boys started to do things. Bradley rests his head on your chest, his arms around your waist. He makes a sound akin to a purr when your fingers tangle gently in his curls.
“Comfortable?” You ask, kissing the top of his head. He rumbles his approval, burrowing closer to your body. His body heat seeps through the thin t-shirt and sleep shorts you wore as pajamas, his fingers brushing under the hem of your shirt. His touch is soft and slow, drawing circles on the small of your back.
“We should probably go grocery shopping too.” Jake says. He’s started a list, standing next to the two of you.
“Instacart,” Bradley says not even bothering to lift his head. “Laundry and snuggles today. Maybe movies and naps.”
“I could get behind that.” Jake says. He pulls himself up on to the island with you, hand curling gently around the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. “My reward for facing the slumbering dragon and getting his clothes.” You can’t help but smile, sneaking another kiss, feeling him smile against your mouth.
“Can we go somewhere more comfortable?” Bradley lifts his head, lips pursed for a kiss. You kiss him soundly, Jake following suit.
“Couch, that way we can hear the washer and dryer, and the clothes will be in sight.” You murmur, pressing another soft kiss to Bradley’s mouth. Bradley offers his hand when you get down from the counter, Jake hot on your heels.
Bradley sits on one end of the couch, his back against the arm, legs sprawled out. You crawl onto the couch with him, your back against his chest. Almost immediately, his head drops to your shoulder, pressing soft kisses to your neck. Your fingers find their way into his curls, untangling them gently as he hums in pleasure.
“You alright there, sleepy boy?”
“Mmhm,” he hums softly, nose pressed to the curve of your neck. Jake joins the pair of you, settling between your legs, his head on your chest. It’s warm and comfortable, one of Jake’s hands sliding up and down your side. Safe, sheltered, protected, nothing could reach the three of you here. Bradley’s breathing so slow and even against your neck, Jake’s weight comfortable and heavy, grounding you between the two halves of your heart.
Maybe, just maybe the laundry can wait. Home was more important.
/end
Rise and Shine | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw /F!Reader.
Rise and Shine 1/4
What: Waking up to Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw hogging your bed after a night of fooling around leads to some birthday morning celebration.
1661 words. AFAB/female reader. Reader is an enlisted medic.
Warning: 18+ MINORS DNI. Smut, porn no plot. Unprotected vaginal sex, oral (male receiving), internal ejaculation, ejaculation kink.
Notes: Um, this is absolute filth for our favorite Rooster on his birthday. Thanks for reading. :) I would formally like to blame @evansrogerskitten simply because I can. Thank you so much for @therebeccaw for the header.
You had only been gone for five minutes. That’s how long it took to walk into the kitchen, get a glass of water, drink it and walk back. In the short amount of time you were gone, the man in your bed had completely taken it over. He was all arms and legs, tanned skin standing out in stark relief to your white sheets. The blanket is bunched low around his hips, chest rising and falling slowly as he snores. It’s not often that you get to see Rooster relaxed, but his face soft as he slept made your heart skip a beat. There’s no tension in his toned body, and you find yourself sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching him sleep.
Idly, you trace your fingertips along his side, watching for any reaction. The flat planes of his stomach jump under your touch, and he shifts slightly on the bed, a quiet sound coming from him. There’s a slight shift in his breathing, and you know he’s awake.
“It’s not nice to tease.”
He hadn’t moved, and just the grit in his voice made you shiver. “It’s not nice to steal the entire bed, Bradshaw.”
“I conquered what was available.” His hips roll up meeting your wandering fingers. “Started with that pussy last night and continued with the blankets.”
You bite back your smile, adopting your work voice. “You know Lt. Bradshaw, that’s no way to talk about medical staff.” The two of you had been dancing around each other since he stepped foot on North Island, the near daily interaction leading to a buildup of tension that had finally boiled over the night before.
“Sorry, Doc.” He cracked open one eye and grinned. “I will say that your bedside manner is absolutely delightful.”
“That was the passenger seat of my car, not the bed.”
He laughs then, and everything fades away for a moment. You’ve heard him sing, you’ve heard him tell you stories, recount training runs, you’ve heard him cum with his cock buried down your throat, but the sound of his laughter----that was something you were willing to do anything to hear again.
Instead, your hand slides lower, dipping under the sheet, tracing along the sharp jut of his hip bones. He’s still under your touch, both eyes open, propped up on his elbows watching you. He’s warm and willing, skin sun kissed and pliant. A slow shiver works through him, and he licks his lips when you move the blanket lower.
“It’s the 27th isn’t it?”
“Doc, I don’t care what day it is.”
You hear his breathing shift when your hand grazes the head of his cock. He’s already struggling to stay still under your ministrations, and you haven’t even gotten started. “You should, especially if you’re getting wake up birthday sex.”
“I’m already….” He thinks about finishing the comment and groans instead, eyes fluttering when you lean in, placing a light kiss low on his stomach. “Please…” His cock twitches when he moans your name.
Your pussy clenches, remembering how hard he had fucked you, your name falling from his mouth like a perverted hymn. Tugging the blanket completely free, you settle lower on his body, licking a long line along his cock. Liking the moan that tears from his throat, you tease, peppering his skin with kisses, nails skimming along the inside of his thighs. Easy touches, nips to the soft skin high on his thigh, and his back arches slightly. You lick the smear of pre-cum from his belly, intentionally lapping at it slowly. His voice breaks, nearly sobbing when your lips close around the head of his cock. You keep your throat relaxed, taking him further, humming at the slight stretch of your jaw. Slow and easy, you take your time, not caring about the wet sloppy sounds that slide past your lips as you suck his cock.
His voice is a constant murmur to you, absolute filth spilling from him. One large hand slides into your hair, tangling in it guiding you to take just a bit more of him. You oblige his request, feeling the press of his cock further in your throat. You soften your jaw, tapping his hip when his hips rock up. Bradley thrusts up, pushing into your throat and you take it with a needy sound. The hand tightens slightly in your hair holding you still, and he rolls his hips again testing his options before fucking into your throat.
Your jaw aches, spit and pre-cum sloppy on your chin, your nails leaving half moon imprints on his thighs. You shift your weight slightly, hand dipping between your legs, sliding into your panties. Your cunt is soaked, aching, fingers teasing through the slick, the wet sounds of your fingers fucking into yourself paired with his cock sliding past your lips makes you whine needy for him.
“Fuck baby…” He moans, “that’s so goddamn hot. Stretch yourself out for me.” He’s breathless and raspy. His head thumps back against the pillows, the movement shoving him further down your throat. His cock is so heavy, so hot, twitching as he takes your mouth. “I’m going to fucking ruin you. You’re gonna fucking crave me, baby.” That rough baritone cracks again.
You find yourself flat on your back, calloused hands pushing your knees apart, panties yanked from your hips and tossed aside. He’s sucking on two of his fingers, releasing them with a lewd pop before they’re pressing into you. The stretch is incredible, and you moan, back arching wanting more. Slow, lazy circles of his thumb drag across your clit, as those two fingers fuck into you. His mouth is on your neck, the scrape of his moustache on heated skin, teeth grazing your collar bone. It’s all you can do to keep your hands splayed on his back, gripping his shoulders.
His fingers curl just right, your eyes nearly rolling back in your head, whimpering his name. Pleasure is spiraling through you, you feel too big for your skin, aching and desperate for him. “Not yet baby, I wanna feel this pretty cunt squeeze me tight.” He’s sucking red patches on your skin, and he’s taking, the only thing on your mind is his touch, and how he’s under your skin already. One night and your body is already craving him, needing more, even with two of his fingers buried inside of you, sloppy wet sounds filling the space between you.
“Please, please, Bradshaw…” your hands grab so tightly at him, your sure your nails have broken skin.
“Say my name and I’ll give you this dick.” His hand, coated with your slick strokes his cock. “Come on sugar, I know you know it.” He braces over you, cock teasing against your wet heat, “Your neighbors may have forgotten it though, let’s remind them.”
“Bradley, fuck me.” He trembles under your hands, and he smirks, eyes heavily lidded and blissful. You let your legs fall open, baring yourself to him completely.
He growls, those rough hands bringing your legs up over his shoulders. He slides into you in one smooth motion, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt. The ache of the previous night’s activities roars to life, but you can’t bring yourself to care. He fucks into you, dragging the full length of his cock in and out with each stroke. Higher thought leaves you and there’s only him. Bradley is staking claim to you, urging the most illicit responses from you. Your body moves against him, meeting his relentless thrusts.
Your toes curl when he whines, shifting his weight. You’re nearly folded in half, his hands braced on the wall, fucking into you with his full weight. He’s fast, sloppy, rhythm lost, only concerned with drawing more from you. That tight spiral of pleasure winds ever harder, and you’re so close to that edge that when his hips snap hard enough to jerk you on the mattress you lose it. His name rips from your throat, as you wrap around him, Bradley continuing to fuck into you through your orgasm.
“I’m close baby, where...”
“In me.”
His hips snap into you, head bowed, eyes shut tightly. Your name is on his lips when he comes. You get a glimpse of that absolute bliss as he pours into you. He drops his weight on you, panting for breath. “Fuck, Doc…” He murmurs pressing a lazy kiss to your mouth. “You’re fucking milking my cock. Squeezing every fucking drop from me. You take it so well baby.” He shifts his hips, not completely soft, pressing into you again. You whimper, and he kisses you again. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry baby.” A soft kiss to your forehead, and he’s pulling out.
You whimper, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. He chuckles softly, nudging your legs apart, sitting back on his knees.
“I should have laid down a towel. You soaked my cock when you squirted.” His gaze is focused between your legs. “So fucking pretty. You’re so goddamn soft.” His fingers swipe gently at your slit, sliding inside just barely. “I’d sit here and watch my cum slide out, but I want you to keep it in.” He licks his lips. “You’ve got such a pretty cunt. I want to fucking fill you until I’m dripping down your thighs.”
Heat rises on your face, and you hide behind your hands. “You’re awful.”
He chuckles, licking your inner thigh. “We taste good baby.”
“You realize I’m not going to be able to keep a straight face at your post flight exam.”
“I’ll go last. Bend you over that counter and wreck you.” He grins up at you, reaching to pull your hands away from your face. “Get your cunt nice and sloppy and if I ask nicely maybe you’ll let me fuck that sweet ass.” That sweet boyish grin should not be on his face with the words that he’s saying. “It is my birthday after all.”
Summary: Rhett comes home after a trail ride. The two of you talk about playing house.
1,496 words. Female/AFAB reader.
Warnings: EXPLICIT MINORS DNI breeding kink, cream pie, dirty talk.
Notes: Someone had asked me for breeding kink/wifey with Rhett. This is my best attempt. I tried. Really I did. Comments and shares are absolute gold and feed my muses. Likes are appreciated. Thank you so much for reading, it’s so appreciated and means the most.
The back door opens, and you turn to see Rhett entering the kitchen. His clothes are dusty, boots filthy, caked with dry mud. He’s got a few new healing scrapes on his knuckles, and a weariness emanating from him that you can feel in your bones. His skin is deeper than when he left, a sunburn gracing the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, his eyes bright and focused on you. He swallows, and you can see the bob of his throat as his gaze moves up and down. “You look good.” His voice is hoarse, and it sends goosebumps cascading over your skin.
“Welcome home,” You smile.
He had sent you a text a few hours beforehand letting you know when he’d be home, and so you took advantage of it. Cleaned the house, baked a cake, and put dinner in the oven. You knew he hadn’t missed that you’re wearing a dress, one of his favorites, and an apron, barefoot as you move across the kitchen to set the table.
He lets the door close behind him, the lock clicking audibly into place. It takes him two steps to get to you, his hands landing on your hips, pulling you to him roughly. “You know what that dress does to me, girl.” His mouth against your neck, rough stubble scraping against your skin until his mouth is on yours, and he’s kissing you.
“Do I?” You feign innocence kissing his cheek. “Go get cleaned up, dinner will be ready soon.”
Rhett doesn’t let go, instead his hands sliding down to grip your rear, pulling you flush to him. “I’m gone for four days helping Perry move the stock, and you’re playing housewife?” There’s no bite to his words, but a warmth that you recognize instantly. “You want to be a rancher’s wife that bad darlin’, who am I to deny you that?”
“You going to make an honest woman out of me Mr. Abbott?”
You can feel him fiddling with the apron strings as he palms your ass with those rough hands. “If you’ll have me ma’am.” You tip your head, giving him more access to your neck. “I like the thought of having you in my house. Sweet and barefoot,” He nibbles at the curve of your neck. “Couple little ones runnin’ around.” His voice is so soft, you barely hear the last bit.
“Little ones?” You arch your eyebrow. His expression is guarded, and he’s not meeting your eyes. “You want kids Rhett?” You reach up, sliding your hands into his hair, tugging his head to meet your gaze.
“Been thinking about it.”
“With me?”
He nods, lower lip worried between his teeth. “Can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend my life with. Build something with.” He clears his throat, “Next ride I’ll have enough to get you a ring. Make it official.”
“That’s a couple months from now.”
“I wanna do this right,” he says, kissing your mouth softly.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t start getting ready. Little ones take time to make you know.” He blinks at you, confusion on his face. “We can start practicing cowboy.”
Confusion faded quickly as he grinned, eyes bright and mischievous. “Are you saying what I think you’re sayin’?”
“Take me to bed, cowboy.”
“Oh no,” his voice rumbles in his chest, scruff brushing against your skin as he nuzzles your neck. “I’m going to have you right here, on the table. Since you went to the effort to make dinner and all.” His hands are back on your ass, groping, lifting the hem of your dress. “You aren’t wearing panties, are you?”
Whatever smart response you were going to give him died on your lips when he backed you against the table, lifting you onto it. He wedged himself between your knees, one hand cupping your cheek as he kisses you, slow and deep.
Rhett wasn’t ever big on words, but the way his fingers brushed so softly against your cheek, the quiet moan of pleasure that came from him when your lips parted under his, the press of his entire body against yours, said everything he couldn’t. He kissed you as if he were drowning and you were a lifeline to shore. Rhett carried so much, so very much, and when your hand slide over his shoulders, down his back taking more of his weight, the sound that tears from the back of his throat goes straight through you. He's all hard angles and planes, your fingers twisting in the hair that curls just slightly at his collar, his hips thrusting against you. The scrape of denim and the press of the cool metal of his belt buckle are electric, goosebumps rising on your skin.
“Need you darlin’.” He rasps against your lips. Beautiful blue eyes are swallowed by desire, the scrape of the scruff on his jaw against the curve of your neck makes you moan. “Please, sweet girl. Need to be in you, want to lose myself in you.”
“Come on, Rhett.” His hands flex against your hips. “I know you’ve been thinking about me sweetheart. Missing your wifey. Thinking about fucking me and filling me instead of wasting your cum in your fist. Make me yours, need to feel you in me.”
“I know you don’t kiss your momma with that mouth.” Rhett’s chuckling, even as he’s undoing his belt buckle and fussing with his jeans.
“No, but I suck your cock.”
“Woman, I’m going to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to say shit like that let alone remember your name.” He growls, shoving your dress up over your hips, and his pants down enough to free his cock. His eyes close, smirk fading into absolute bliss as he settles between your thighs. The stretch of his cock leaves you gripping the back of his neck, nails biting into tanned skin.
“Now I’m home.” Rhett whispers against your mouth, kissing you again. He rests his forehead against yours, buried to the hilt inside you. “You feel so good darlin’.” His hands are shaking as they skim up your sides, pulling you up and against him before they settle on your hips. He sets a slow pace, gentle, letting you feel every inch of him sliding into you. The drawl is more intense, his voice so deep that it rattles your bones, mouth soft as he peppers your face with kisses.
Your hands are splayed against his back, feeling his muscles flex and roll as he fucks into you. His hair has fallen into his face, his expression so soft it makes your heart skip a beat. “I missed you, Rhett.” The snap of his hips against yours makes the table shake under your combined weight. Your grasp one of his hands, his fingers interlacing with yours.
“I’ve got you sweet girl.” He says against your neck, his voice cracks, pace faltering slightly. He whimpers against your skin, driving harder into you, the slick sound filling the space between you. All his weight drops onto you, the force of his thrusts moving you against the table. Your hand finds its way to his hair, pulling playfully. “Gonna make you mine, darlin’. Want something good with you.” He’s panting against your shoulder, and it’s all that you can do to hold onto him. “Make something I’m proud of. Something worthy of you.”
Rhett lets go of your hand, calloused fingers easing between you, rubbing at your clit, slow and steady. “You’re so good for me baby.”
“Rhett…” You’re not quite sure what you’re asking for other than more. More of him, more of his touch, the way each slow drag of his fingertips sends electricity coursing through you, the way he presses so incredibly deep, filling you, the sharp just of his hip bones against yours, the flutter of his heartbeat under your lips. He’s all consuming, and you’re taking all that he has to give. His name falls from your lips over and over as he brings you over the edge and you’re clutching at him as your orgasm tears through you.
He’s not too far behind you, spilling into you with a low growl, your name rattling around in your ears. Rhett presses another easy kiss to your mouth. “You really wanna be my wife?” He murmurs, eyes locking on to yours. When you nod, his lips quirk up into a lopsided grin, “and a whole mess of lil ones?”
“If you’ll have me Mr. Abbott.”
“It’s supposed to be the other way around.” There’s a pink flush to his cheeks that travels down his neck. He hasn’t moved, still buried inside of you, his hands resting lightly on your thighs keeping you wrapped around him.
“You already asked, Rhett. I’m reminding you that you’re worthy of the world.”
“You are my world darlin’.” Rhett murmurs, nose pressed to the soft spot just beneath your ear. “And I’m not fixin’ to let you go anytime soon.”
Weather the Storm.
Synopsis: In the middle of a thunderstorm, you get a visitor. But Bob’s not quite himself.
1,524 words Female/AFAB reader
Warnings: ptsd, flashback, anxiety, nightmares. Angst with a happy/soft ending.
Notes: Thanks to @princessmisery666 for the beta and bunny bouncing. Many thanks to @therebeccaw for the moodboard. Likes are welcomed, comments and shares are so loved. Thank you so very much for reading. I appreciate it so much, and it means the most.
The walls of your bedroom shake with the force of the thunderclap, the room illuminating briefly by the flash of lightning. You’re curled up under the blankets, cell phone clutched in hand trying desperately to ignore the storm raging around you. There’s a moment of silence, punctuated by heavy rain when you hear a much smaller bang coming from downstairs. Hesitantly you peer out from the edges of the comforter, straining your ears, when it comes again. Clutching a smaller blanket around your shoulders, using it as a makeshift hoodie, you leave the safety of your bedroom, and into the main part of your house. The sound comes again, realization settling in that someone is at your front door.
Your hand shakes, and you press your palm against the door, looking through the peephole. Biting back a gasp, you unlock the door, yanking it open. “Bob?”
The man blinks, slowly, eyes landing on your face. His hands tremble as he runs them through his hair, pushing the soaked locks away from his face. Water drips from his nose, his eyes red and swollen. A thin white-tee shirt clings to his frame, transparent from the rain, dark gray sweats waterlogged and low on his hips. He’s barefoot, his watch on the wrong wrist, and his mouth is moving, voice too soft to make out any of the words.
You know better than to reach for him, watching him pace on your narrow porch. “Bob?” Thunderclaps, loud, directly overhead and he shrinks back. “Bobby?”
He blinks then, some clarity coming to those baby blue eyes. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, and he says your name.
“Come on in, sweetheart.” You offer your hand, and he takes it. He follows you through the door. “Do you remember why you’re here?”
He shakes his head, trying in vain to wipe the water from his glasses with his wet shirt. You take them from him, using your tank top to dry them, and hand them back over. “Do you even know where you are Bobby?”
“With you.” He says softly. “I’m with you.”
“Yes, but why are you here?” He shakes his head, flinging water everywhere. “Come on, let’s get you into something dry at least.” You turn, heading back to the bedroom. There’s a box tucked in your closet of clothes your ex had left behind, and while they may not fit well, they’d do for Bob in a pinch. Bob’s following behind you, holding on to the hem of your sleep shirt. You retrieve a pair of sweats and a shirt from the box, leading him to the bathroom, and pointing at the toilet. “Sit.”
“Couldn’t sleep.” He says, staring down at the linoleum. He lifts his arms as you tug his shirt up off. You drape one towel over his head, handing him a second one, but he doesn’t take it. Brow furrowed you start to dry his chest and shoulders, wincing when you wipe over black and purple bruises and scrapes. He's more muscular than you expected, lean and long, his hands resting on his thighs. His breathing is short and shallow.
“How’d you get these?” Gentle fingertips trace the edges of one of the bruises.
“We had to eject two days ago. It’s hell on the body.” His voice is thick, his shoulders shaking slightly. “I’ve been cleared. Can’t sleep.”
“You said that.” You place the towel on the counter, starting to dry his hair with the one on his head. “Still keyed up?”
His arms circle your waist, and he leans forward, his head resting against your torso. “I close my eyes and I can feel the flames, I can smell the smoke. We can’t eject.” You feel his shoulders hitch, as he presses his face harder against your midsection. He flinches against you when another loud clap of thunder rattles the walls. “It sounds like the engine blowing.” He hiccups, “she did everything right, everything. We still lost it. What if something else went bad.”
“You’re safe here.” Gently, you take his arm, bringing his hand to your chest, resting it over your heart. “Yes, things went bad, but you’re here now.” You press his hand a bit firmer to your chest. “The nightmares, the thoughts, they aren’t real. This is real. I’m real. You’re here, and you’re safe.”
He nods, and you can feel the wet spot on your shirt from his tears. “You’re a safe place.”
“I’ve got you.” Something in your chest twists. Your friendship with him was still so new, the two of you connecting just a few months before. You had fallen into an easy pattern of weekend movie marathons and exhausting every option on the local Thai take out menu.
Sure, his shy smile and unrestrained laugh sent butterflies spiraling in your stomach. How when you got sleepy but refused to turn the movie off, he’d pull you close, one arm over your shoulder, letting you settle against his chest, the slow brush of his fingertips against your arm—and how after you said goodnight the ghost of his touch lingered. It was an easy friendship.
He sighs, some of the tension easing out of his frame. “Feels good.” He murmurs. You realize then that you had been skimming your nails up and down his back, across his shoulders.
“Here,” you hand him the shirt. “Put this on and then get out of the wet pants. I’ll be right outside.” You manage to untangle yourself from his arms and step toward the door.
“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t go.” He’s watching you and he looks so goddamn lost. “Please.”
Instead, you keep your back turned to him. You can hear him getting out of the wet sweats and twin thumps as he drops the wet clothing into the bathtub. His arms are around you once more, pulling you to his chest. He molds himself to your back, his chin resting on the top of your head. He’s starting to warm up, though there’s still a tremble to his hands.
“Do you want to lay down?” You can feel his heart racing against your back. “Watch a movie or something?”
“If I lay down, I’ll close my eyes, if I close my eyes…”
“We’ll watch a movie.” You make the choice for him. “Come on Bobby.” You lead him back through the house, his hand tight on yours, and you find yourself marveling at how well they fit together. His fingers lace with yours and you rub the back of his hand with your thumb. The storm is still going strong, though less boisterous than before. He lets go when you sit on the end of the couch. “Come on,” you pat the spot next to you.
He stands there for a few minutes, before his hands land on your knees. Gently, he’s putting your legs on the cushion, and you shift so your back is resting against the arm of the couch. He crawls onto the couch with you, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder, his head resting on your stomach. Your fingers card through his damp hair, and he rumbles softly, the vibrations in his chest rolling through you. His arms slide behind you, hands warm on your back.
“Your phone is ringing.” He murmurs.
You glance down your body, and while his gaze is locked on the television, his eyes are heavy. His words are softened by the low drawl of an accent, and his breathing has finally leveled out.
You manage to snag your phone off the coffee table, Bob’s number flashing across the screen. “Hello?”
“Hey, is this—” the voice on the other end asks your name. In the background you can hear two more people arguing.
“Yeah, why are you calling from Bob’s phone?”
“Is he with you?” There’s worry in the raspy baritone. “He’s not where he’s supposed to be, and he left his phone.”
“He’s here.” You cut in, “He’s here with me.”
The relief is tangible, coming over the phone in waves. You hear the man call to the people in the background that Bob’s been located. “How is he?”
“He had a nightmare.” You glance at Bob once more, his eyes are closed, his breathing deep and slow. There are flickers of emotion on his face, but he seems restful. “I don’t even know how he got here, he doesn’t have shoes or his wallet.” You clear your throat.
“Text your address. One of us can come get him.”
“Can you wait until morning?”
“You sure?” the man asks.
“He’s sleeping.”
The man on the other end of the line chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Leave him there. One of us will come in the morning.” There’s a pause, “Thank you, for taking care of him.” Another pause, “thank you isn’t enough really.”
“I’m glad I could be what he needed.” You say. You let him know your address before hanging up. A second rumble draws your attention from the movie, and you glance at the man draped on top of you. Bob’s snoring, his face soft and relaxed, his body heavy against yours.
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