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southpawbitch · 6 months

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🎢 of emotions

Two for the Show: Act I

summary - When it comes to relationships, Jake Seresin is hardly conventional. He exchanges money for company and stress relief. He clears out a Tiffany's just because he can. He gives you everything you want like it's his job. But the one thing Jake Seresin doesn't do is fall in love - no matter how badly you wish he did.

warnings - sugar daddy au, ceo au, grumpy x sunshine, language, brief smut, reader has a somewhat toxic relationship with sex, themes around sex work and objectification, Jake is 6'7" because I said so

word count - 3.0k

million dollar man masterlist

Your body bounces slightly on the firm mattress, the bed sheet already sticking to your perspired skin. It’s almost uncomfortable—like hotel bedding—and it rubs up against you in a way that has you arching to get away from it. Your hand falls limply next to your head and you extend it downward to grab a grounding handful of the sheets under your raised thighs.

A pillow slides under your tailbone, keeping you propped up, and then he’s sliding back in and continuing his pace. A large hand grabs at your breast, squeezing it lewdly as the new angle has gentle moans leaving your lips and your eyes fluttering closed. His head drops to your chest, following his hand and biting and nipping at the skin roughly. In your head, you can see him looking at you, those green eyes teasing and lustful as he covers you in hickies. It feels good.

“Fuck,” he groans, raising his head suddenly. “You’re so tight.”

You preen, feeling saliva cool on your skin, and pat blindly for his hand. You want to hold his hand. But suddenly both his hands are holding on to the meat of your hips, fingers squeezing into you so hard you know it’ll leave bruises in the morning. You take it though, it almost feels good, your body bouncing as he thrusts into you harder.

Grunts fill the room, deep and masculine, overpowering your soft gasps. Eyes cinched closed, you let a hand trace up sweaty, muscled skin, your fingernails digging into his tough shoulder when a particularly rough thrust has you shifting against the mattress.

Still shrouded in darkness, your fingers trail up the soft skin of his neck and tangle in blond strands. They’re soft and just slightly wet against your skin. They remind you of something, it stirs in your belly like a kindle of recollection. You know the feeling and you’ve felt it before. Something so familiar, but so long ago you’ve almost forgotten.

It hits you suddenly.

A feather boa.

His hair almost feels like a feather boa against your palm and fingertips. But not just a feather boa, no, a purple one. The purple one your mother had that she’d whip out every Halloween, laying it out on her shoulders on top of her black dress. She wore the same thing every year, a black dress, a pointed hat that she’d always take off at some point during the night, and a purple boa. “I’m a witch,” she told you when you asked. And you wanted to argue that the costume hardly made her a witch and that she couldn’t just dress up as the same thing every year, but then you couldn’t really imagine her being anything else.

She’d hand out candy and the pointed hat would slip down to her eyes as she leaned down to drop chocolate bars in pillow cases—that was part of the reason she always took it off so quickly. She’d gasp softly at the costumes she saw, complimenting them and playing along with whatever they were dressed up as.

“Oh! Good evening, your majesty.”

“Batman… you probably want dark chocolate, right? No? Good choice.”

“A witch! I’m a witch too! Here, you get extra candy.”

When the night got later and the trick-or-treaters were few and far between, your mother would put on festive music on her old portable speaker. She’d dance in circles around your living room, playing with the boa and tickling your cheeks with it as she tried to convince you to dance with her. Being a tween, you never agreed easily, rolling your eyes and ducking away in embarrassment. But she’d get you eventually and then the two of you would be a dancing, laughing mess of purple feathers.

“Yeah, that’s right. It feels so good you’re crying, huh?” Large thumbs wipe your wet cheeks and it’s enough for your brows to cinch together. You hadn’t realized you started crying.

Your hand falls from purple boa hair, wrapping around that firm shoulder as his thrusts become more intense. A dominant hand wraps around your thigh, holding it open as you feel as though the air is being pushed from your lungs. There’s a stretch you feel, though it’s a familiar one, right in your pelvis and you let your grip on his shoulder tighten.

“Ja—” It comes out a strained gasp, hardly the beginning of a word and more a garbled mess of sounds. Your back arches, your eyes rolling, and throughout it all the steady thrusts continue.

Finally, you let your body deflate, regulating your breaths as a guttural groan fills your ears and then the thrusts stop. You wince when he pulls out but say nothing, blinking your eyes open as his weight lifts from the bed. Goosebumps rise on your skin from the sudden chill and you delicately reach for the bed sheets, pulling them over yourself as Beau rolls the condom off and starts getting dressed.

You watch him from where you’ve propped yourself up on the pillows. How he buttons up his shirt quickly and pushes back graying brown strands from his face. It’s when he’s firmly situated in his slacks, fingers moving to zip up the zipper and adjust his belt that you finally build up the nerve to speak.

“Are you coming back tonight?”

Beau sniffs, not even looking up from where he’s sliding his belt buckle through the strap. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

He doesn’t expect an answer from you—he never does—but you give him one anyway. “Okay.”

Not another word is spoken between the two of you. Beau looks down at his phone, lets out a quiet curse, and leaves without even looking at you. The second he shuts your door behind him, you fall down to your mattress, fighting the way tears fill your eyes by shoving the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. You let out a shaky breath, ignoring the dull ache between your thighs as you lock your bottom lip between your teeth.

This is the third time you'd pictured Jake Seresin while you were getting intimate with Beau. The third time you imagined his olive green eyes and his rugged hands trailing all over your body. The first time had been an accident, it had happened almost immediately after you’d met him. Beau hadn’t liked seeing you so close with the successful hotelier—especially when he realized you were wearing Jake’s jacket. Beau had you in the back of his car, but your thoughts couldn’t help but drift to the handsome stranger who had spilled his drink on you and suddenly it was his voice that was groaning in your ear and his hands holding you firmly by your hips.

You felt guilty. Of course you felt guilty. It felt like infidelity. Regardless of what your relationship was, you did have a relationship with Beau and he certainly wasn’t paying you to think about other men while you were having sex with him. You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t think about Jake again. That he was just some man who paid attention to you and that’s why you feel this way about him.

So the next time you had sex with Beau, you focused on him, and the way he spoke, and the way he touched you. And you couldn’t finish. You faked it—not that Beau could tell the difference—and you spent the night alone in bed wondering if you’d ever see Jake again. Finally you just gave up on trying to be a good person and went back to pretending that all the intimacy you were experiencing was at the hands of Jake Seresin. It was just easier that way and Beau never really seemed to care that you hardly ever opened your eyes—he probably preferred it if you're honest. It was just easier.

You hold your breath until you’re sure that Beau has left. The sound of the front door closing just makes it to your room and, after five minutes, you still haven’t heard it open again. Carefully, you get up, stretching out your somewhat sore limbs as you rock on your feet hesitantly. Beau’s gone, you know he is, but still you can’t help but wait for him to come back.

That’s how it was when you first started living with him, you felt like a new puppy. You’d spend your days just waiting for Beau to come home and your nights trying to hide your excitement when he did because he never had that excitement for you. In the beginning, you craved his attention. You reveled in the moments he’d take care of you, the moments where he was even a tad bit soft.

As time went on, you got a better sense of what Beau Simpson wanted from you. He wanted someone to fuck when he was stressed and someone to be beautiful and polite at parties so that people would think that Beau had finally settled down with someone high class. He didn’t want someone who waited on the couch for him to come home or someone to take to dinner just because. Beau Simpson was not often inclined to take care of you.

Eventually you stopped expecting him to. You took the morsels of comfort you could get from him and didn’t ask for anything more. You stopped waiting for him to come home and you stopped wishing you could change him.

Your legs are still a little shaky as you make your way to your closet. You drop down to a squat, pushing past the skirts of expensive dresses and the rack of even more expensive shoes. Patting around a bit blindly, you wait for the sound and feel of plastic under your fingers. You pull out the bag, sparing another glance at the door even though Beau is long gone.

That night, Jake had insisted that you keep his jacket and, after Beau had finished reminding you who you belong to, he didn’t give it another thought. It had been far too easy to sneak the jacket up to your room.

You don’t really know what compelled you to keep it, but something about Jake Seresin had taken over you obsessively. And it’s not like you’d ever see him again, not while you were with Beau at least. Sliding your arms through the sleeves, you wrap the large jacket around yourself. It still smelled faintly of Jake, cedar wood and musky vanilla, and you feel your body relax under the soft fabric.

And maybe it wasn’t such a mystery why you couldn’t stop thinking about Jake. He was the first person in so long to treat you like you’re a person. There’s something about that—your whole conversation with him and the way he spoke to you—that you just can’t forget.

Getting up, you make your way back to bed. Exhaustion hangs heavy on you and you know you should at least clean off first, but you’re too tired. Physically and emotionally. Jake’s jacket stays wrapped around you as you pull up the blankets and finally let your eyes droop. You wonder if he’d think you were human now—if he saw you like this. If he’d still call you beautiful and answer your questions like they’re worth answering.

You only get a few hours of sleep before your body wakes you again, but you blink your eyes open to find that you feel rested.

Letting out a breath, you gently peel yourself from bed. Delicately, you put Jake’s jacket back in the bag and hide it in your closet. You’ll take a shower, you decide as you pad to the en suite, picking up your phone from where it had been lazily discarded among your clothes on the floor. The device lights up as you lift it, two notifications revealing themselves once you get the item closer to your face.

Missed call from Penny

Penny: Call me when you have the chance.

Your nose wrinkles in confusion and you continue your walk to the bathroom. Penny had always been a notification you looked forward to seeing on your phone. She’s kind and was one of the first people in this life to actually care for you. She scooped you up where Pete had left you discarded and made sure you were always safe and comfortable with the men you were living with.

While she checked up on you occasionally, most of her texts came around the time your contracts were expiring and Beau still had several more months before that would ever become an issue. Fearing the worst, you click on her contact quickly—still standing naked in your bathroom as you bite at your nail anxiously.

“Hello?”

“Penny?” You check quietly. “You said you wanted me to call you?”

From the other end, Penny sighs and you feel your stomach plummet. “Honey…” She starts, sympathy heavy in her tone. “Did you ever have a conversation with Jake Seresin?”

You feel sick. She knows. She knows that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Jake Seresin, that you sleep in his jacket, and want him to want you more than anything. She probably thinks you're pathetic and naive. Just some little girl who likes pretty things. She’s probably here to remind you what your job is and to whom.

“Honey?” Penny tries again and you realize you haven’t responded yet.

“I have,” you confirm quickly. “I did the night Beau took me to his hotel opening.”

Penny’s quiet for a moment and you take the time to swipe your bathrobe from its hook and throw it over yourself. Something in you tells you that this isn’t the kind of conversation you want to have naked in a bathroom.

“Did you tell him about your arrangement with Beau Simpson?”

Her words dump over you like ice water and you almost drop your phone. “What?” You lock eyes with yourself in the mirror and they’re wide and startled, you feel like a little kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. Your chest starts rising and falling more quickly. Your throat feels like it’s constricting, like you can’t even bring oxygen into your lungs let alone keep it there.

“Honey,” Penny starts again slowly, a sense of knowing in her voice as she speaks to you calmly. “I need to know if you told Jake Seresin about your relationship with Beau—”

“It was an accident!” You confess finally, tears pricking at your waterline.

Penny sighs heavily. “I know that, I know. But apparently he came to Beau Simpson a few hours ago and revealed what he knew of the situation in a… less than private way.” Penny stops speaking for several beats. “Beau Simpson called me a bit ago and said that he no longer wishes to continue your arrangement. He— He requested that you be gone by the time he gets back tonight.”

“What?” You’re hyperventilating now, eyes darting around the bathroom. Everything's happening so fast. You just woke up. All you wanted to do was take a shower. Beau wanted you to leave? He didn’t want you anymore? That can’t be true, just a few hours ago he wanted you. He wouldn’t just discard you like that. “He can’t— I— We have a contract! He signed a contract, Penny!”

“You broke that contract, honey,” Penny tries to put delicately.

“But I didn’t mean to! Please, I didn’t mean to! I don’t want to go! Why is he making me go?” You feel hysterical, tears rolling down your cheeks as you sink to the floor of your bathroom. Except, it’s not yours anymore.

You just don’t understand. Mere hours ago he was having sex with you. And now he never wants to see you again? You know Beau Simpson doesn’t love you, you know that. But you thought he at least cared about you—he was nice to you in his own way and he bought you so many things. But suddenly you make a mistake and all that doesn’t matter?

No.

No, you may have made a mistake, but it was Jake Seresin who weaponized it. Because all he saw you as was a way to get back at his so-called rival. That’s the only reason he bothered talking to you in the first place—he saw you come in with Beau. And then you told him something that he could use against the older man and suddenly pretending to be interested in you and answering your silly questions was all worth it because he got what he wanted.

You can’t believe you ever thought Jake Seresin was different. That he actually cared about you and your feelings and was the kind of guy who could make you feel so special. No, he’s just like everyone else.

“Honey, I know. I’m so sorry.” Penny pulls you back to the current phone call and the tears dripping down your chin. “But…” She trails off.

There’s more?

You sniffle. “What?”

“Because of how… unexpected this is, I don’t have another client lined up for you.”

You feel more tears well in your eyes. So you were stuck. All you can do is wait around, unpaid, and just hope that a client comes to you fast enough. “So that’s it?” You wipe at your cheek. “Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“Well,” Penny suddenly sounds nervous and you find that incredibly odd since you’ve never known Penny Benjamin to be nervous. “I don’t have any clients lined up for you, but there is a client who’s interested…”

You know the name before it even leaves her lips.

“Jake Seresin has asked to make an arrangement with you.”

join my Jake Seresin taglist here or follow my library @jupitercometgold

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! thank you for reading!

Jake taglist:

@dempy

@kmc1989

@s-u-t

@lonelywitchv2

@cottagecori

@avengersgirllorianna

@under-the-seas

@auroraacrane

@olivia21blunt

@dreamlandcreations

@blue-aconite

@averyhotchner

@sgt-barnesveins

@lillunna

@mamachasesmayhem

@appledressing

@bradswolfe

@lynnevanss

@babyyy2020

@thekebs

@deliriousfangirl61

@callsign-cacti

@yoonbutterfly

@liliana234567

@uniquedreamlandcheesecake

@redbarn1995

@wishingwell-2

@justenoughmadness

@petemitchells

@hookslove1592

@pietrothemovie

@tiredqueen73

@linkpk88

@daddymack01

@smallishbook

@cheesecakeinahole

@berryjuicyy

@ohsolvingaddiction

@takemetooneverlanddd

@fangirling-4-ever

@sveetnn

@queerqueenlynn

@yuckosworld

@scoopsr0bin

@bobgasm

@sailor-aviator

@agentorange9595

@trickphotography2

@lunamoonbby

@valianttyrantexpert

@katiedid-3

@beezusinc

@loveofvernonslife

@katima-silline

@krispybearbouqeut

@shadeds-library

@rogersbarnesxx

@et-homephone

@fangirlvibez

@lilacwh0re

@moonlight-addisyn

@alana4610

@sanfransolomitatm

@topnerd03

@illicithallways

@talktomegooseman

@callsign-magnolia

@shadowsndaisies

@taytaylala12

@blindedbyyourgrace17

@formulapierre

@shakespeareanwannabe

@starswin

@bloop-bleep-sheep

@ephemeralninon

@devil-angel-winchester

@rosedurin

@staringmoony

@emma8895eb

@parkerschurros

@karsinner

@rhettsluvr

@crybaby-21

@seresinslady

@minejungwoo

@tinka490

@oscarisaacsleftknee

@deliriousfangirl61

#mj reads: november #jake seresin x reader

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southpawbitch · 6 months

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I don't know if you've seen the latest iteration of "tumblr is dying" but if you haven't, Automattic (owners of tumblr) have decided they will put the site into maintenance mode. This doesn't mean that tumblr will disappear, it just means that they'll keep the lights on and that's about it. They're taking the staff who have been working hard to try to make the site a success, and they're relocating those folks to other projects. A skeleton crew will remain on tumblr, keeping the site alive.

If we want tumblr to thrive, however, then we need to do something to support it - and that something is financial.

If you're someone who enjoys your time on tumblr and you're someone who has an entertainment budget, then consider visiting the TumblrMart and buying yourself a badge. Go ad-free. Choose the new option that I just discovered which is "Support tumblr" - that's the shiny t badge I now have that will change colour over time for the longer I subscribe.

This doesn't require every single user to pay for tumblr. Far from it. Just look at AO3 as the example. Time after time, they hit their fundraising goals and beyond, and I don't think they've ever had more than 10K individual donors for a userbase of something like 5 million.

I've been on this site for a decade. It's the only social media I actually like. I think the internet would be worse off if tumblr wasn't around. I'm going to pay what I can to keep this community around, and I'm going to encourage others to do the same.

If that's something you don't want to see, then feel free to block the tag subsidize tumblr that I'll use on posts like that. If you're open to the idea, then expect the occasional post from me on the subject.

Fandom has lost enough homes in my lifetime. If I can do anything to keep this one around, I will.

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southpawbitch · 6 months

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#my hair looks just like this but the back is longer obviously #twins

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southpawbitch · 6 months

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Reality is like 'PROBLEMS PROBLEMS PROBLEMS PROBLEMS PROBLEMS PROBLEMS PROBLEMS' while fiction is like 'mmm problems'.

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southpawbitch · 6 months

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no boyfriend no girlfriend no money no prospects but at least i got all these images on my cell phone

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southpawbitch · 6 months

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this made me feel all the warm fuzzies!!!!

That Abbott Boy | Rhett Abbott x f!Reader

GIF by delopsia

Summary: You and Rhett have stayed in each other's orbit since you were children. But what if there's something more than just friends?

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings & Notes: Rhett Abbott x f!reader, brief mentions of underage drinking and violence, fluffy and angsty (?), childhood friends, Rhett's the town whore and likes boobs, bad mouthin' Perry Abbott, destruction of pinatas, 18+ as always. Happy Halloween, witches! You can play your tricks, but here's your treat!

Children flooded the barn, your daddy’s ranch overtaken by sugar-hyped little hands and giggles as your classmates pet the horses and pretend to drink from the trough. Set up outside were balloons and presents, marking the momentous occasion of your birthday. The sun shines bright upon your cheeks as another year blesses you.

Your ma wrangles the hyperactive group and announces the piñata. A cheap, store-bought thing, meant to resemble a puppy dog but failing. Your classmates scramble to line up, eager to be the one who breaks open the winnings of more sugar. And as you turn to lead the battle, you see that Abbott boy.

Rhett. Cerulean eyes hidden under his baseball cap. That thin smile that says more than his mouth ever does. With only a decade of life under his belt, he comes across like there’s more layers to him than anyone could know. He’s affectionately stroking his hand along the nose of your mare, soothing her after too many grabby fingers. Too distracted by his care to notice everyone else has left the barn.

“You coming?” Your voice is small in the old building. His gaze snaps to you from his thoughts, running his hand along the horse’s flank before following you outside. You’re accurately aware of him trailing behind you. His heavy footfalls into the dusty ground. A dusty rose spreading along his cheeks when your eyes accidentally meet.

Joining the group and taking your rightful place at the front of the line, your ma wraps a bandana around your eyes and twists you twice. Orientation lost as hands straighten your shoulders toward the misshapen papier mâche. The burden of embarrassing yourself overwhelms your small frame, but you swing with purpose. You’re the birthday girl and you will knock it down!

Swing one. Miss. Swing two. Miss. Swing three. Miss.

Rules dictate your turn is over and you hand the blindfold and bat over to the next child in line. Swing. Miss. Swing. Hit. It’s a compilation of hits and misses as the line dwindles. Next to bat is Rhett. You give him a small smile as he steps up. He takes the wood between his hands, shoulders squaring to the challenge as he runs his fists over the woodgrain. His eyes are focused, a boy with only one goal.

Swing one. Miss. Swing two. Miss. Swing three. Hit! A bit of paper dislodges from multiple blows and a few treats fall to the ground. The next kid in line holds their hand out expectantly for the bat. But that Abbott boy has other plans.

Thwack. Thwack. Two more hits directly to the piñata, splitting it and upending every sweet in its arsenal. Children flock to the ground as they pick up as many as possible. Rhett’s face is proud - the winner of the arbitrary game - and he bends to pick up a chocolate.

The kid not picking up candy? You. A slow heat rises from your chest and the tips of your ears flood a rosy color. How dare he cheat! On your birthday! Squaring your shoulders, your ma catches you quickly. She knows your temper. Gives you a shake of her head and advises you to spend your energy on other ventures.

“That Abbott boy is gonna be trouble, just you wait and see.”

_____________________________________________________________

The church is stifling, holding the hot July air hostage. Sunday best sticks to sweaty skin. Programs are used as makeshift fans to create a breeze. The preacher drones into the still air that threatens to choke the life from this joyous union.

How Perry Abbott found someone to marry him is beyond you. Aloof one moment, violent the next. You saw what he did to Trevor Tillerson at the skating rink all those years ago. His brother may be a piñata cheater, but Perry was actual bad news. This poor blonde woman must be missing some grey matter to think this was a good idea.

The preacher finally starts saying words you recognize (“Do you take this man…”) and the church doors open as Perry kisses his bride. The wash of fresh air clears your head and allows you to be happy for the couple. Love is in the air!

At the reception you mingle with a few girls from class. Only a year until you escape this hellhole. Wabang is nothing but girls turning into their God-fearing mothers and boys becoming their drunken cowboy fathers. Before you’ve hit drinking age most of them will be married, taking over their families homesteads and pushing out children. You’re not even eighteen and yet this is the dream floating through every classmates mind. Your skin crawls at the idea of settling down with someone like a Tillerson.

Food and dancing is outside - thankfully - and various members of the community are congratulating the newlyweds. Your own parents are wrapped in conversation with the sheriff and your neighbors. Land disputes are as frequent as phone bills here. A classmate asks if you’re going to the ol’ back roads that evening. Wink wink. You barely begin to answer her when a laugh carries over from the church, a group of high school boys leaning against the cracked siding, swigging from smuggled beers over quiet conversation.

You catch Rhett Abbott’s eye. He smirks back over the lip of his bottle, a twinkle in his eye. Good money could be bet that he’s been drinking since this damn service began. He draws the bottle away and holds a finger to his lips, his smile quirked to the right as he asks you to keep his secret. As if you’d ever tell.

His eye slips into a wink. God, he is such a flirt.

Since that fateful piñata day, you and Rhett have stayed in the same orbit. Although, while you’ve remained studios with your head down to ensure an easy exit from the town, he seems to always be mixed in something. Too many nights at the ol’ back roads, scrapes from roughhousing with friends, more than one girl making insinuations the next morning in the girls restroom. But that Abbott boy has always been good to you. A tip of his cap when he walks by you in town, feed sack in hand. That slow smile when he returns the pencil you dropped in class. Last fall the two of you had spent the afternoon sprawled in the sunshine behind the school, skipping out on government because the government can go fuck itself. And it was too nice a day to be cooped up in a concrete building.

Your friendship was easy. Rhett soothed the tension in your brain, that drawl of his like music as he went on about ranch work and dreams of riding bulls one day like his dad. You were going to miss him when you left.

Your head shakes to indicate silly boy and you return his naughty grin so he knows he’s still in your good graces. He turns back to the group, and you miss him looking back at you when you join your parents.

______________________________________________________________

Staring out from behind the curtain, you see your parents and other relatives of your family sat near the front of the audience. Holy hell, this is real.

You’ve been dreaming of high school graduation since the day Wabang lost its appeal. That printed diploma claiming that you paid your dues in this town and the world is your oyster now.

The dinky auditorium they held graduation in each year was filled with the sound of chairs scraping and families clapping each other on the back for their children’s newest accomplishment. Behind you, your graduating class is alive with nervous titters.

A hand slides across your waist, high enough to not raise question, and Rhett peeps his head next to yours. His newly grown stubble is neater than usual, and his curls are actually combed. You lift a hand to smooth the collar of the shirt that’s crumpled under his graduation robe. You’re so proud of him for making it here.

You follow his eyes and catch where his family is sitting. Royal and Cecelia both deep in conversation with their neighbors, Perry and his little family occupied in their own bubble. What’s the daughter’s name again? Ashley? Anna? Amy? You don’t worry too much, she’ll come up soon enough in conversation with Rhett. Not even two and she’s the center of their household. He adores her.

The two of you share a smile as you acknowledge the moment. So many of your shared dreams have centered around this day and what it means. Finally leaving this godforsaken town. His eyes twinkle with the promise of leaving his family behind. That Abbott boy is finally going to make his own path. You’re so fucking proud.

A microphone crackles. The ceremony is commencing. Rhett squeezes your hip excitedly before finding his spot at the front of the line. Let the beginning of your lives begin.

______________________________________________________________

The door squeaks open, letting a blast of icy air flood the bar. Patrons let out their individual noises of complaint. The Handsome Gambler fills with more bodies, huddling around booths as holiday greetings are exchanged. Yet another Christmas in Amelia County. You’ve avoided the town the last few years, but when your roommate’s parents took a last-minute cruise she begged you for a “traditional cowboy Christmas”. She had been disappointed that your parent’s ranch didn’t look out of a House Beautiful spread.

She’s delighted by The Handsome Gambler though. The “quaint” charm as sun-beaten men drink their Jameson and Rainier. You’ve already seen several people you know, raising your chin in hello.

But it’s the one face that hasn’t returned your greeting that plagues your mind. Sat beside a buckle bunny blonde who cannot keep her hands off his arms - Do you blame her? That ranch is doing everyone favors - and you can’t seem to catch his eye. You haven’t seen him since your final goodbye three years prior, your daddy’s truck full with your things.

You’ve heard about him though. One of your parents always has something to say about that Abbott boy.

Ridin’ bulls like his ol’ man. Pretty damn good too.

Seen him with half the girls in town. He’s gon’ get one of ‘em pregnant if he don’t watch out.

Always in a brawl, limpin’ around town. Never know if it’s a bull or person throwing the punches.

No one ever talks about how Rhett still lives at home, in his plaid bedroom at the end of the hall. Never making it out of Wabang like he so desperately wanted.

You glance over one last time. His head ducks down. What happened to him?

______________________________________________________________

That next summer you get stuck in Wabang when your car won’t start after visiting your parents. The mechanic in town gives you a week minimum for the part to come in. Theresa at the library offers you a few shifts of your high school job, something to pass the time until you can get to your real job a few hours away.

The last few days have been pleasant, mostly elders in the community and the odd teenager whose homestead doesn’t have dial-up. The monotony of checking in battered paperbacks feels good. When you had a moment you spruced up the children’s display with summer books you had enjoyed as a child.

“H’ya.” The distantly familiar voice startles you. Your heart thumps against your chest as your gaze raises to two wide blue eyes and a sheepish smile. “D’nt mean to startle ya.”

Next to him is Amy, nearly as tall as the stack of books she’s carrying. She’s participating in the daily summer program led by Theresa. Every day this week a member of her family has dropped by to pick her up, stopping by to inquire about your folks or your life away. Your mouth goes dry after so long away from the presence of that Abbott boy.

You go along scanning Amy’s books, listening to her prattle on about this and that. She’s an inventive kid, the stories are never dull. Rhett keeps rubbing the back of his neck, that strong bicep hidden underneath a shirt stained with pasture mud. You suppress the urge to tuck an unruly strand back into his cap. But that privilege died years ago.

The two leave with a polite goodbye and your head is reeling. Especially the next morning when Amy strides through the library doors chattering excitedly, her uncle on her heels balancing two coffees. Dropping her off with the other kids with a tap of his elbow. You make yourself busy arranging a shelf when he turns toward you.

He slides the styrofoam cup toward you. You can smell the cinnamon, exactly how you take it.

“S’for you.” A tension breaks between you two as you accept the coffee, tentatively raising it before enjoying that first sip. Your lips curl in a smile as that warm feeling envelopes your entire being.

“Thanks. How’d you know I’d want a coffee?” While you know the answer is because he’s thoughtful, he mumbles something about Amy and his mother and a barista. Your smile lets him know that you’re thankful regardless of the reason.

There’s so many things you want to ask him. What is his life like? Is bull riding everything he imagined it to be? Why didn’t he leave Wabang?

But before you can launch into that conversation, he’s excusing himself back to the ranch, Carhartt jacket out the door before you can ask if he wants to grab a drink later.

Every morning as Amy walks in for the summer program, Rhett trails behind her. A coffee in each hand. Drops it off without any explanation, just a smile so hard to read it plagues your mind.

This goes on until the part for your car finally comes and you can leave this town - and the people in it - behind you.

______________________________________________________________

You’re running late. Another Wabang wedding that has eaten up your weekend with the drive you loathe. There’s a pair of heels and a lipstick in your glovebox for “emergencies” after forgetting and wearing your dusty work boots and a slip dress at the last one. The “Entering Amelia County” sign whips by as you toe the speed limit.

Pulling into the church lot, you’re thankfully not too late. You slip into the back and hope your parents don’t notice, but you’re easy to miss amongst the ten gallon hats.

Vows exchanged. Preacher preaches. A kiss to top it off. And now you’re back where you were ten years previous, standing to the side of the dance floor catching up with classmates while Rhett Abbott drinks a beer leaning against the church.

The biggest difference is that he’s a man now. He’s no longer that Abbott boy. All sinful broad shoulders and muscle from hours of labor. Skin tanned and scarred from sun exposure and barbed fences. That damn brace on the hand not nursing a beer. And instead of cracking jokes with the other twentysomething cowboys, his focus is solely on you.

Neither of you makes a move to connect, letting your gazes linger as you stay with your respective parties. The afternoon fades into dusk. The string lights at the edge of the reception area come to life, offering an amber glow to the increasingly drunken crowd. Even you have enjoyed more than your fair share of whiskey. When the ol’ timers leave, the festivities really begin.

“Care t’dance?” He’s drunk, sliding up behind you smelling of leather, malt, and cinnamon. You know he has three left feet, but when those warm hands wrap around your waist, any worries about your toes promptly disappear.

He’s intoxicatingly close. You’ve never been this close, touched this much. Just quick hip squeezes and the occasional shoulder push, the odd side hug after high school afternoons sitting amongst the grass. At this distance you can see that his eyes have dark spots of indigo. That one eyebrow dips lower than the other. At this distance you fully realize how attracted to him you are.

Rhett’s always been a friend, nothing more. Someone who shared the dream to leave. Another animal lover. The piñata cheater who ruined your tenth birthday. So why did he smile always make you heart flutter?

His dancing is as bad as anticipated. He steps on your toes every few steps, muttering “S’ry” each time. Eventually succeeds to just swaying back and forth, letting you take the lead. His blush feels like a reward, your favorite bashful cowboy.

The music slows to a hauntingly sweet melody and you allow your head to fall to his chest, already missing watching his beautiful face. There’s a wall between you two, unspoken and heavy. It weighs on your chest. Where are the words to express what you’re thinking?

Before you can summon the words - the courage? - to say what you want, the song ends. Panic floods you. And you’ve always been one to choose flight over fight. An excuse tumbles from your lips and suddenly you’re fleeing the makeshift dance floor as quickly as those godforsaken heels will allow.

The blood is rushing in your ears, too loud to hear your name called out behind you. The church is too full of partygoers. Your feet turn toward your car and the solace it provides.

He catches up to you in the parking lot, his legs longer and faster. Takes the creamy white Stetson off his head while he catches his breath. He didn’t realize you were so fast.

The two of you are suddenly alone for the first time in years, no distractions to disrupt the brewing emotions. Your back to the driver’s seat door, eyes alight with confusion. Him towering over you with the kindest expression painted over his features.

“Why’d’you run?”

His breath washes over you, warm and comforting. Every instinct tells you to run, to get away from the rush of emotion consuming your soul that has been building for a decade. But then…fingers intertwine with your own, a soothing thumb over your palm. You’re reminded he’s still that Abbott boy, smelling like trouble but gentle as the prairie grass. You have no need to worry about being vulnerable with him.

A deep breath shudders through you. You break eye contact to answer his question. “Got a little too wrapped up in the moment and forgot I’m not one of your buckle bunnies.”

He lets out a hesitant laugh. Hands released as he cups your chin to look into your eyes. Such pretty eyes.

“I’d trade every one of ‘em for a moment with you.” It’s silent as both your breaths cease, his heartbeat vibrating between you. Your eyes plead for more reassurance, more proof that you’re more than another conquest for a man with too many trophies. He licks his lips. “You remember that piñata?”

You nod. Hard to forget being that mad.

“S’ry for cheatin’. I wanted t’be the one t’get the candy out. Impress ya, show I was the best.” He chuckles. “I’m s’stupid. You like rules. And probably wanted the candy yerself. Surprised ya didn’t kick my ass.”

“I wanted to.” Another low laugh escapes his lips.

“Figured you’d want nothin’ to do wit’me and was good with it for a while, but the summer you grew tits? Came back t’school and nearly passed out. So self-conscious and kept coverin‘em. Wanted to smack your arm, I couldn’t look away. Luke Tillerson brought ‘em up on the way home ’n I punched ‘im in the jaw. That’s when I knew I liked ya. Wanted you to be mine.”

That dirty cowboy. Naughty smiles exchange as you both glance down at your chest, much more developed and pushed up thanks to underwire. He blinks hard to clear his mind.

“When you left, figured t’was time to move on. Beat myself up for never gettin’ the courage to leave too.” Your hand slides up his forearm, sharing comfort for such a raw nerve. He smiles his thanks and runs his own hand up your arm, resting a thumb on your shoulder. “Thought maybe y’were back perm’nently when I saw ya a’the library.”

“It was just until my car was fixed.”

“Know that now. But a guy can dream, right?” The wall has completely crumbled now, your bodies close, breaths intermingling. Your mouth opens to speak, to fill the space.

The words are stopped by a warm cowboy mouth fitting over yours.

The stars align. Planets shift. The cars leaving the party around you fade into the distance. All that remains is Rhett and everything he offers.

Maybe Wabang is worth it after all.

#mj reads: november #rhett abbott x reader

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southpawbitch · 6 months

Text

i'll read the shit out of this!!!!!!

GUYS IM SO EXCITED!!!

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𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘…

you’ve loved the band ‘taking back wednesday’ since you can remember. so when you can finally move out of your small town and into the glamorous and busy scene of 1975 new york city at the age of 22, you become a groupie for them, and delight at the attention you receive from the band’s lead singer, bradley bradshaw. however, you soon learn how quickly it can turn sour when you’re in world of sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll.

1970’s band au

coming soon.

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tagging moots and TGM creators i like!!

@rsfesgirlfriend @mak-32 @cruelmissdior @waklman @sebsxphia @lanadelreyslove @sunlightmurdock @roosterbruiser @roosterbruiser @topguncortez @beyondthesefourwalls

#mj recs #bradley bradshaw x reader

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southpawbitch · 6 months

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fucking loved this!!!!

Idle Hands

Author's Note: I want to preface this by saying I know that this isn't my usual content. This mini-series is a result of my insomnia fueled rewatch of Outer Range, adhd, the high amount of Lew content we have been getting lately, and my dive back into country music. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, violence/ fighting, rodeo inaccuracies, smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Masterlist Next Part

...........................................

Part 1: The Devil's Handiwork

Rhett hadn't planned to end up at the Handsome Gambler tonight, honestly.

But with Perry in jail, his parents on the outs, and Maria having left town, the Abbott house was just too—quiet.

So, he hopped in his beat-up old truck and headed into town. He had only planned to stay for one beer, really. But after he finished it, he realized that another one couldn't hurt. And boy, was he glad he talked himself into a second one.

Truthfully, Rhett was on his fourth beer now. But that was all because of you. Your band had been setting up when he first walked in and took a seat at the bar. Rhett had scoffed and rolled his eyes when he saw you.

You had on some well-worn cowboy boots, a flannel draped over you, and a pair of blue jeans that had to have been painted on because the fit you just right.

He figured you were one of those pop-country wannabes that seems to grace the bar more and more frequently.

But the minute you stepped on stage, Rhett knew he was wrong about you. You were different in the best way.

You didn't sing the songs that were all over the radio, that were upbeat, and full of life.

No. You sang songs about love and loss and betrayal. Songs that reminded him of the old country his father had raised him on.

And you were so convincing when sang them. Your words haunted him. The shake of your silver tambourine enchanted him. Drawing him in with every note. They bar must have had almost fifty people in it from here or there, but Rhett swore that you were singing right to him.

He was so bewitched watching you that he didn't realize how much time had passed. Soon, you were announcing your last song. It wasn't one he was familiar with, but he found himself tapping along to the beat as you sang

"Oh, lord, I need a little help."

You crooned into the microphone as you met his eyes.

"Oh, lord, come and save me from myself"

You sighed as you trailed your hand across you the tidbits of lace that peaked out from under your shirt and up your neck.

"And that devil's in the market for a pair of idle hands"

You finished with a wink and a crimson smirk across your face.

Rhett wiped his palms across his faded jeans as his very own hands, that had been setting idle just moments before, wrapped around the neck of his beer and brought it to his lips. He downed it in one gulp as you made your way off the stage and down to the crowd of on lookers, straight towards him.

Rhett fumbled with his wallet, trying to quickly pay his tab and leave, because in his head, he knew that you would be trouble.

He grabbed his hat from the bar and secured it on his head. He turned on his heels and collided with whoever had the misfortune to be behind him.

Rhett quickly caught himself and looked to apologize to whoever he crashed into, only to be met with you standing in front of him.

"Leaving so soon, Cowboy?" You spoke to him sweetly, voice flowing over him like honey.

"Y—yes ma'am." He stammered out.

You cocked your head to the side and clicked your tongue, not moving from your spot. You reached up and adjusted the hat that now sat askew on his head.

"Shame, I was hoping to have a drink with a thirsty cowboy, but if your whistle has already been wet, I guess I can find someone else." You sighed as you trailed your fingers down his bicep and looked up at him through your lashes.

"I—I suppose one drink couldn't hurt." Rhett stuttered. Your warm fingers on him was making it hard to think.

"Perfect." You smiled at him with a devilish grin.

Rhett swallowed thickly. He knew that this was either going to be the best or worst decision of his life. He just wasn't sure which one yet.

"So, Cowboy, you from around here or just passing through?" You ask him as the two of you settle into a booth tucked away from everyone else at your request.

"Born and raised here." Rhett answers you as he fiddles with the label on his beer before taking a sip of it. The hops of it dance across his tongue. Smoothe and familiar. It's a local brew, not something you can find at every bar and store. It surprises most people that Rhett drinks with when they see him order something niche.

"I've never seen this kind before. Is it any good?" You ask him as you gesture to his drink.

"S'one of my favorites," Rhett mumbles as you slide closer to him. Now your thigh is pressed against his. He can feel the warmth radiating off of your body.

"Wanna try it?" He offers as he tips the neck of the bottle towards you. "Sure." You grin at him.

Rhett expects you to take the bottle from his hand, but instead, you surge forward and connect your lips with his.

He lets out a surprise gasp, which allows you to slide your tongue into his mouth. Rhett relaxes into you. One of his large hands curling at the nape of your neck. But just ask quickly as you kissed him, you pulled away, leaving him breathless.

"You're right. It does taste pretty good." You breathe out as if nothing had happened. A laugh bubbles out of Rhett as he shakes his head and takes another drink.

"You're something else, darling." He chuckles. "Y'know, I just realized I never caught your name."

Now it's your turn to laugh. You smile at him sweetly before telling him your name. He repeats it back to you in his gravelly draw, and you think that it's never sounded better.

"You've got a mighty fine name, darling, but I think I'll call you Honeybee." He says.

"Oh, and why's that, Cowboy?" You challenge him.

"Because you're sweet with a little sting. And you can keep calling my Cowboy if you want, but Rhett works just fine, too." He smiles.

"Rhett." You draw out his name like the melody of one of the songs you just sang. Even though he's only heard you utter it once, Rhett can already tell he's addicted to the way his name falls from your lips.

"So where are you from? Because I know it's not from around here. I'd remember a pretty face like yours." Rhett asks you.

"You think I'm pretty?" You fire back. He cracks another smile and nods.

"I'm from Oklahoma. But I've been on the road for a while, following a dream." You tell him. "How the hell did you end up here?" He asks you. "My aunt and uncle have a ranch here. I'm spending the summer with them. Trying to reconnect with my roots." You explain.

Rhett shakes his head and realizes that your aunt and uncle's ranch is a few miles away from his family's. He hopes that means he'll get to see you more this summer.

"So what do you do for a living, Cowboy? Or do you just hang out in smokey bars all day?" You ask him. "I work on my family's ranch, and I ride bulls." He tells you with a shy grin.

"A bull rider. Guess that means you like to walk on the wild side?" You raise an eye brow as your hand comes to rest on his thigh. You trace lazy shapes over the faded denim.

"I've been known to take a few risks." Rhett says as he shifts closer to you.

"Is that so?" You ask him as you slide your hand along his thigh until it's resting atop of his obnoxiously large gold belt buckle that he won in his last rodeo.

"Yes, Ma'am." He replies calmly. You lean in closer to him. So close that he can smell the floral perfume you're wearing. Your lips are millimeters from his ear. "I may not be a thousand pound bull, but I sure could give you one hell of a ride tonight, if you're up for it, Cowboy." Your hot breath fans over him.

Rhett shutters at your words. And you smirk, proud of the effect you have on him. You go to pull your arm away, but he catches you by the wrist and places your hand over his bulging jeans. You cup his length through the fabric and press your thighs together.

"I think I might be the one giving you the ride of a lifetime." Rhett practically growls out.

"We'll see about that, Cowboy. I've been known to hold my own. I'm staying at the motel across the street for a few nights until my aunt fixes up the guest room at her house. I'm in room six. See you there." You wink at him before dropping a key onto the table and sliding out of the booth.

Rhett shamelessly watches you walk towards the exit. And when you turn back to blow him a kiss, he notices that the stetson hat that was once on his head now rests atop yours.

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#mj reads: november #rhett abbott x reader

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