Kind of ooc Rhett Abbott, softie drunk!Rhett, dom/sub undertones, let me dom this man one time pleASE, reader is kind of a dick and moves in on their friend’s crush but we’re going to ignore it.
___
Rhett was larger than life in this town, at least from the way your friend described him. Half the girls in here were fawning over him. You thought maybe that was an exaggeration, given the hearts in Lara’s eyes as she tried to explain his allure. And that when you asked how long she’d been fawning for, her cheeks turned pink and she started stuttering.
You poked fun at her the whole way to the bar, not thinking much of it. You didn’t care much for getting tied up in any sort of complicated situation, not when you were here for work and only work. Cowboys be damned.
Easier said than done, it turns out.
—-
An hour into your trip to the bar with Lara your opinion may have changed just a bit. Maybe it was Lara’s play-by-play of every move Rhett made, squealed into your ear against your will, maybe it was the way those jeans fit his thighs so well but,, you kind of understood the obsession now. With every shot you and Lara downed your chest felt warmer, and her mooning became more over the top. At least, that was until another handsome cowboy asked her to dance, and swept her away in the blink of an eye. Then it was just you at the bar, eyes traitorously flickering over to Rhett and back without the excuse of Lara drunkenly waxing poetic about the color of his eyes and the size of his hands.
After all, you were only human.
The difference between you and Lara though, generally, was that you kept that information locked up tight in your chest. So he’s pretty, so what. You still don’t date cowboys and you still are just here to do a job. A contract job. A job that will have you leaving town again at the end of the month and never seeing that cowboy again. It’s something you should be firm about, fully sober you was so set on that. But now that you’ve gone and drank a bit… and maybe stared a bit too long at the curve of his ass…
…….and if he’s the one who sends you a drink from the opposite side of the bar, tipping his Stetson politely when the waitress points him out as the sender….
Maybe you’ll allow yourself one bad decision.
When he slides into the seat and asks your name all polite, the drawl in his voice making you feel some type of way, you tell him.
“I’m Rhett,”
“Oh,” you let out a little laugh, “I know who you are.”
“Do you now?” he laughs, and there’s a little smile drawn across his lips that you can’t tell if it’s cocky or self deprecating.
“Word travels, small towns, you know the drill.” you respond in a way you hope is flippant, eyes drawn down to the hand he has wrapped loosely around the neck of his own beer. You can see the tendons flex in his forearm as he swirls what’s left of the drink in the bottle, and your mind drifts a bit to thoughts of his hands elsewhere. You shake the thought away though. Goddamn Lara, it was like all of her horny thoughts had just been transferred to your brain.
“Wasn’t sure that’d be true for someone new in town.”
“How do you know I’m new to town?” you raise an eyebrow, pausing to take a sip of your drink.
“Word travels, small towns, you know the drill.” he repeats back at you, giving you a little grin that makes his eyes sparkle mischievously.
You roll your eyes at him good naturedly. “Okay, fair enough, I guess I walked into that one.”
He clinks his drink lightly against yours with a little wink, tipping back the rest of his beer, with you following suit. You definitely don’t use the moment to fixate on the line of his throat as he drinks.
“So what’s brought you to town?”
And then the conversation is easy, too easy, and an hour slips by and then two with the pair of you talking and laughing together months instead of minutes. Soon you’re both a bit too tipsy and you decide it’s time to head home, so that hopefully tomorrow your head will be on straight enough for work.
“Can I ask for your number? Or you gonna shoot me down all polite ‘cause you’re already spoken for?” you slide on your jacket as you think about how to answer.
“Nah, not spoken for. I just don’t date cowboys.” you smile, maybe a bit more wistfully than you meant to let show.
“Don’t s’pose I could change yer mind, could I? Cowboy break your heart r’ somethin’?” It’s a very kind pushback to your soft ‘no’, which just makes the war going on in your brain even harder to sort out. He’s so pretty,,, but -
“I think you’d have better luck with someone like my friend Lara, you seem more her type.” You nod over to your sweet tipsy friend on the dancefloor.
“Not yours?” he doesn’t even glance over to see who you had pointed out, he leans closer into your space. If you wanted to, you could tip forward and brush your lips against his, and the drink pleasantly warming you is making you feel like that’s the best thing to do right now.
“You want the real answer, cowboy?” You ask, closing the space between your bodies until the two of you are chest to chest. You see his eyes flicker down to your lips and up again, completely enraptured.
“Tell me,” he answers, voice so soft you only see the shape of it on his lips.
“You’d have to let me lead.” you whisper the words into the shell of his ear, drag a hand down his side to hold him by his hips, pressure light but firm. “Let me take you apart and put you back together.”
Here’s usually where you usually find resistance. Men who have some issue with the power dynamics and what it means about their manliness, men who take it as a threat and get angry, or men who simply aren’t interested. You think Rhett’s the latter. You’re almost taken aback when he sags against your hold, head tucked low against your neck. “You’d like that? You’d be good for me?”
“I’d let ‘cha, whatever you want.” You feel one of his hands sneak to your waist, just to grip onto your shirt.
When you tip his head up, one finger under his jaw, to look in his eyes you see them blown wide with desire, the deep blue eclipsed almost entirely by black.
“Anything I want, Rhett?” you lean in, brushing your lips against his in a barely there kiss, watching how his eyelashes flutter closed just for a moment. You can see his Adam's apple bob in his throat as he tries to compose himself. He manages a nod, eyes searching yours.
“Please,” he says, his voice a low rumble.
You smile, pleased. You place one open mouthed kiss at the hinge of his neck and jaw and watch his pulse jump. But then you step back, watching as his eyes widen. “You busy tomorrow honey?”
You slide your hand into his back pocket to take out his phone, typing your number in. “You call me tomorrow sober so I know you’re serious, ‘n I’ll take care of you. ‘Mkay baby?”
A boyish almost starstruck look washes over his face.
“You like when I call you baby?”
“M-yessir.” he says low, only slurring a little bit.
Goddamn fucking cowboys, he was going to kill you.
“Good, fits you.” You tip his Stetson up so you can press one kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You make to leave, but he’s quick, loops a hand loosely around your wrist.
“Y’promise?” he asks, and you can see past the desire, past the drunkenness softening the edges of his expression, the vulnerability of his question. You can’t resist drawing back in and pressing a much gentler, sweeter kiss to his cheek.
“Promise.” You squeeze his hand gently and go to leave but he pulls gently again on your wrist. He looks even shyer now.
“S’not true what they say in town ‘bout me. M’ not like that not,” he seems to lose his train of thought a bit. “I like you. I haven’t.” You nod like what he’s said makes full sense.
“Rhett I think you’re pretty drunk, you’ll tell me in the morning okay?”
“M’kay.”
“And for the record, I like you too. S’ why I gave ya my number.”
That brings the full smile back to his face, and he tips back into sitting on his bar stool.
___
A/n: WE NEGOTIATE KINKS SOBER BABES #SAFE SANE N SEXY also if you have ideas for this hit up my inbox bc I want to do a bunch of short flash fics for this concept - there are already several ideas brewing
TUMBLR ATE THE ASK DAMMIT, i am so so sorry anon, but it said:
If you're taking requests...sub!Rhett needing help to clear out his mind after having a rough ride and he can't stop the self-doubt. Poor boy just needs to be fucked so good his brain stops functioning 😈
this is pure filth! i love it. so fun to write. thank you to @girl-in-the-chairs-void for encouraging me and my terrible thoughts lmao, i wouldn’t have picked it back up today were it not for you.
TW FOR: description of bruises and hard landings, mild angst, brief mention of shitty fathers and poor body image, food and a poor relationship with it (ice cream), mild dacryphilia (crying kink), spanking, oral sex m&f!receiving, anal fingering m!receiving, pegging, dumbification, pet names (honey, baby, good boy, sweetie, darlin’)
Rhett’s thighs always hurt after a ride. The bull’s bucking consistently left his legs black and blue, so he’d grown accustomed to the pain. What he hadn’t grown accustomed to, however, was the sting of his forearms smacking the dirt on a bad dismount. The gravel dug in even through the thick shirt he wore, and the disappointment pierced through his skin beside it. As he scrambled away from the raging bull and into the pen, he sighed heavily, wearily, looking at the time. Five seconds. He hadn’t even made it ¾ of where he needed to be.
As he passed by his father, who clapped him on the back with a lightly-disguised look of displeasure and murmured common words of reassurance, he struggled to smile gratefully. He’d had an off day, he knew that was all. It was only a qualifier, so he wasn’t out of the game. Still, the stinging anger that rested behind his eyes refused to subside until he saw you.
You had his red flannel unbuttoned across your chest and your sports bra exposed to the wind, the summer night heat beating down on the whole stadium. Your jean shorts were just long enough to be decent, and the smile you gave him was anything but. His worries melted away, now just residing in his mind as a quiet nagging voice.
“Hey, baby,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around him eagerly and letting him bury his sweaty forehead in your equally sweaty neck. “How are you feeling after that dismount?”
He pulled back and tried to smile, lips quivering slightly, but ultimately shook his head in resignation. “Not great.”
You rubbed up and down his upper arms, meeting his eyes with a sad smile. “I know. You want to go get ice cream?”
He nodded with a sniffle, feeling like a child. He knew, though, that you only wanted to cheer him up. So, as you led him to his truck and pulled his keys out of your pocket to unlock it, he straightened his back and tried to push his bad thoughts from his mind.
Did it work? Not entirely.
As you shifted into drive, he clicked his seatbelt into place and felt you set your hand on his knee. You rubbed comforting circles on the soft skin and hummed along to the pop song filtering through the stifling summer air, made more tolerable by the blasting A/C and the open windows. He was struck, silently, by how much he loved you, and it gave him pause. Your hand on his knee calmed him significantly, almost enough to make him stop thinking about his off day.
As you pulled into the Dairy Queen drive-thru, you moved your hand back to the steering wheel. “Same as always?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he smiled gently, so entirely enamored with you.
He listened to you order for the two of you, the crackling response that was nearly inaudible, and your loud “thank you.” As you waited in the drive-thru line, you cranked up the radio and plugged in the classic rock cassette he’d recorded for you, much to your amusement.
A number of sleazy songs played loudly across his cheap, 20-year-old speakers, and as you sang— or belted, rather— the lyrics, he couldn’t find it in him to care that the two of you were being the annoying drive-thru patrons everyone despised. The pencil you’d found to use as a microphone was dropped into the cupholder as you lowered the volume and met the teenager’s extended hand with a thank you, collecting the two cups of ice cream that you handed to him. He took small spoonfuls of the stuff as you drove home, the negative thoughts seeping back in in the form of body image. He wondered if he’d have gotten a better time today if he didn’t eat so much ice cream.
Of course, he knew that these thoughts were silly, so he did his best to put them out of his mind as you pulled into the driveway of your home and helped him out of the car, offering yourself as a brace for his bruised thighs and stinging forearms.
You entered the house together, settled on the dark couch and ate silently with one another, content to simply be in each others’ presence. When you’d both finished, you took his cup and ventured into the kitchen to throw both away before returning to your seat. At your gesture, he laid his head upon your thigh and let your hands come to rest in his hair. You sat there, running your fingers through his long hair for minutes, until you began to want more.
You tugged lightly on it, just testing the waters, and Rhett keened, whimpering through the muffling of his palm. “Please,” he whined quietly. A faint smile split your cheeks and you hummed, continuing to scratch his scalp like you’d never pulled on it. “Want you,” he continued, turning to meet your eyes and lifting his hips off of the soft couch to try and find friction against his jeans.
Chuckling softly at his neediness, you nodded. “Okay, honey. Let’s go to the bedroom.” With that, you patted his shoulder to make him move, and stood up behind him. When he moved slowly because of his sore thighs, you smacked his ass. A loud groan ripped through him— and through you— as you said “C’mon, baby.”
He started walking faster, your legs keeping easy pace, and made it into the bedroom quickly. He turned around and grabbed for you, pressing his lips to yours eagerly.
“Need you, please,” he whined again, to which you pressed your lips against his harder, biting at his bottom lip and swiping your tongue against his. His desperation only served to turn you on, lightning ripping through your lower abdomen.
You pressed one more harsh kiss against his lips before you squeezed his ass and commanded, “Strip.”
Ever obedient, he reached to tug off his tight t-shirt as you took a step backwards. He shed the rest of his clothes quickly, his boots slipping off of his feet with ease, jeans and boxers falling to the carpet with the quiet whoosh of denim against skin. You watched eagerly as his cock, red and swollen, smacked against his milky-white thigh; you listened as he whimpered from the small amount of contact. You felt yourself clench with excitement as his hand twitched towards it, but you met his eyes and shook your head solemnly. He pursed his lips, breathing heavily, and nodded quickly in return.
“Good boy,” you crooned, approaching him again. One of your fingers traced along the ridge of his cock, a hum breaking from your chest as he bucked against you with a cry. “Stay still for me, sweetie. I’ll give you what you need.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The words were quiet, but the obedience warranted some kind of reward; noting this, you kissed down his neck, to his torso, to his Adonis belt, to the base of his cock, all the while slipping to your knees before him.
His breathing sped up, bruised thighs clenching and unclenching as he struggled to stay still for you. “Good boy,” you said, kissing along the tops of his thighs gently, working ever closer with each kiss.
Finally, reaching the wiry hair at the top of his cock, you looked up to meet his eyes. His eyes were foggy, lust-addled and exhausted, but when he met yours, you saw them warm up slightly with adoration.
You held that eye contact as you kissed down his length, gently taking the tip into your mouth and suckling lightly. A wail broke from his lips as he doubled over, hands balling up into fists with concentration. “Please, please, oh god—” Rhett breathed the words quietly, just loud enough to be heard over your own breaths.
The resolve to be good for you made you moan around him, your thighs pressing together to find some sort of friction. Your mouth popped off of his tip with a pleased hum. “Use your words, baby.”
He struggled to meet your eyes, his pretty blues looking straight through you for a moment before you snapped your fingers to catch his attention. He focused in on you, just barely, and you raised your brows. “Words, darlin’.”
He nodded absentmindedly, trying to gather his thoughts. “Please, oh— please suck me off— or— or fuck me, please,” he stuttered out, breaths coming quickly as he tried to process what he was asking for.
You closed your hand around one of his ass cheeks, avoiding the tender bruises. In response, you got a broken moan and a few senseless words of thanks. “Good boy, thank you for telling me what you need. Let me take care of you, sweet thing.”
Finally, you opened your mouth and let his dick fall onto your tongue, drool sliding down the length of it. You used your spare hand to collect the moisture, stroking it from where it fell from your mouth to the base of his cock. He sobbed above you quietly, eyes still fogged when you look up. The wiry hair scratched at your hand as you held his base tightly, allowing yourself to take him into your throat carefully, but not wanting him to let go just yet. It was a struggle not to gag, as it always was, because his cock filled your throat with so pleasant an ache. Still pushing your thighs together, you shifted your weight slowly to try and find some relief against your clit, moaning harshly around him when you succeeded, punching a groan out of him at the vibrations.
The hand that remained on his ass started to squeeze again, working its way between his cheeks. You sunk your middle finger in, searching for his rim. Finding it rather quickly, you reveled in the loud, strangled noises he made as you circled it with some pressure. He begged and pleaded for more nearly incoherently. “Oh god, please, oh my god,” was most of what you pieced together. Not deigning to pull off of him to respond, tongue and mouth still working around him, you pushed those two fingers in gently, more harsh crows tearing from his chest.
Distantly, you mourned the fact that you wouldn’t get to take him down your throat entirely, needing to keep that hand there for his sake. But still, you were having your fun and getting off on just this, your spit dripping down his cock and onto your wrist, and the middle finger from your other hand teasing lightly around his most sensitive spot. He was sobbing above you, hands balled into fists as he approached the edge but couldn’t quite reach it.
Quiet whines, praises, and pleas left his throat, high-pitched and needy; putty in your hands. Your jaw had begun to ache rather quickly, the sheer girth of him making the fun short-lived. So, pulling back and standing up, you told him to get on the bed. You tore your own shirt and pants off of your body, needing your overheated skin exposed to the air.
Rhett had laid down face-up, just how you’d wanted. Walking up to him, you slipped a finger between your thighs to show him just how slick you were. You were positively aching: throbs of pleasure were radiating through your hips with every step you took, the sight of his cock twitching against him and the sound of his whimpers only exacerbating the issue.
When you reached the bed, you climbed up onto him to straddle his face, his eyes following your pussy eagerly. “Oh fuck,” he whined, hips canting off the bed with desire, before you wrapped a hand around the base of his cock again, He panted below you, breaths completely erratic as you settled down onto him. Your hand tangled in his hair, balancing you directly over his open mouth as you kept a tight clutch on his dick. Licking eagerly into you, Rhett pushed his hips down to try and keep from thrusting into your fist. As a reward and in order to satisfy that ache, you ground down against him. His nose caught your clit, and you groaned a guttural sound that sounded like you were being torn in two. Again, and again, his nose caught your clit, and you felt that tightness ratchet higher and higher within you. After one more good grind down against his open mouth, his tongue trying to work its way inside of you, you let go, collapsing forward as you let his cock go, one hand clutching tightly into his hair and the other against the headboard. Shocks wracked your body, moans leaving your mouth entangled with expletives in a stream. You sat atop him for a few more moments, still clenching lightly as you tried to gather yourself.
When you finally felt that you’d recovered, you dismounted his face with one more grind and strutted to the bathroom to get the strap-on, sure to sway your hips for the boy watching. You pulled it and the lube from the cabinet you kept it in and rinsed it thoroughly, removing any dust that may have settled since you last used it— purely a precaution, but you were nothing if not thorough. Having shook most of the water off and slid the harness and vibrating dildo on, you shut the bathroom light off and emerged to find Rhett face-down on the bed, knees spread below him and hands clutching the sheets beside his head.
“Oh, darlin’, you’re so smart. Just what I wanted to see,” you crooned, one hand coming up to smack the unbruised part of his ass as you approached the bed. He rocked forward with the impact, arching his back towards you as he cried out.
You popped the cap of your water-based lube and slicked your fingers, warming them up for a moment before tracing circles around his asshole and slipping two fingers into him. With a loud moan, he pressed back against you, ignoring your command to stay still for the first time that night.
Smacking him lightly again, you scoffed lightheartedly. “Already fucked stupid? Stay still, baby.”
He nodded, sobbing muffled apologies into his pillowcase as you worked another finger in. Taking his sobs as a good enough apology, you grabbed for the base of him again and pressed gently at his prostate. He wailed into the pillowcase, his head flying back and forth as he struggled to keep still for you.
When you pulled your fingers back, he settled down a little, just enough to catch his breath. Moving up enough to level your hips with his, you smiled down at the sight of his farmer’s tan-striped back arched against your flowery sheets, the perfect composition of beauty, before you pressed the head of the silicone cock into his ass.
Slipping past his rim, you continued to slide in slowly, letting him adjust to the width of the toy splitting him. You didn’t use this one often, usually opting for the thinner pink one, but you really wanted to fuck the brains out of him tonight. It seemed that this toy was the right choice for that objective, because he was babbling mindlessly into the pillow, drool seeping from the corner of his mouth.
With a smile, you pulled your hips back, then slammed into him with all of your might, sure to angle your hips down. He screamed into the pillow, hands fisting the sheets as he let go, streaks of come spurting onto the bed as he shook like a leaf. “Fuck!” You heard, the first intelligible word you’d gotten in minutes. He rocked back against you and continued his babbling, still recovering from his last orgasm but wanting more.
With a smile, you continued to rock into him slowly, stroking up and down his back with a nail for a few minutes to allow him to recover. When his breathing seemed to return to a steady pace and his hands had returned to an open position, you reached down to flip on the vibrator, the harness resting against your clit perfectly.
He jumped at the sudden change, but quickly melted again with a moan when he realized what happened. “Oh my god…” he sighed, hands balling into fists once more. You rocked into him slowly, testing the waters, before slamming your hips against his ass and setting a grueling pace.
The vibrator allowed you to find pleasure, steadily building both of you up as you whispered praises to the cowboy underneath your hands. You ran your palms along his ass, squeezing occasionally to get a garbled moan out of him.
Angling your hips down, you set yourself to getting him off at the same time as you, because you felt yourself rapidly approaching that peak. “C’mon, baby, I know you can do it,” you murmured half to yourself and half to him as you nailed his prostate. He rubbed his face into the pillow at the thrusts, trying desperately to muffle his desperate sounds.
You leaned back and wrapped your hand tightly around his cock, throbs resonating through your hips as you tried to hold on. Just as you were about to give up and let go, he wailed into the pillow and thrust his hips into your palm, hot, sticky ropes of come falling onto the bed. Content, you thrust into him one more time to rub your clit harshly along that bump in your harness, letting go with a cry of your own and grinding your hips against his as you rode it out. The waves died down, your walls still clenching lightly as you pulled off of him and discarded your harness in the bathroom sink. You grabbed a towel and ran warm water over it and wiped yourself down before repeating the process and bringing the cloth to the bedroom.
He murmured your name, reaching back to stroke your hair when you bent over his back to kiss his neck. “Roll over, baby,” you murmured against his skin. With a groan, he obeyed you, his eyes cracking open to meet your own.
You tenderly wiped his thighs and ass, wary of his hiss of discomfort, meeting his eyes again and only continuing at his nod. You folded the cloth to swipe quickly at his sweaty armpits and chest before you tugged him out of the bed, throwing the blankets (that had luckily been at the foot of the bed) to the floor, stripping the sheets, and removing the bed cover. You turned to tread to the linen closet to grab the extra sheets, turning over your shoulder to see him behind you, butt-naked and tired, coming to help you.
You waited for him to catch up and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, continuing to walk to the closet and collecting the sheets. After you’d returned to the bedroom, you struggled to put the fitted sheet on together, threw the flat sheet on top, and reassembled your bed set.
Utterly tired, you collapsed into bed together, your head lying on his chest and feet curled behind you. You turned to press a kiss to his bare chest, eyes closed, and whispered against his skin, “I love you, Rhett.”
He pressed a big, scar-mottled, and calloused hand to your hair and bent to kiss your head: you felt the rumble in his own chest and the swell in your own when he opened his mouth and got nothing coherent out, his “I love you too” sounding more like an “Aluh’y’t…”
enoch enoch, okay hear me out. breeding kink with rhettt right?? OKAY BUT LISTEN….. breeding kink with sub!rhett
oh, anon you know me so well… 🥺🥺🥺
"You gonna fill me up, my good boy?" you purr to him, sinking down onto his cock at a painfully slow pace, watching his face for every minuscule expression, every bead of sweat to run down his temples, every flutter of his eyelashes, every inch of his neck that he bared to you when you clench around him.
"Yes..fuck...god. Please!! Need it inside you. Please, Bambi. Need you to take my cum, please, please.. I'll be good……be a good boy for you Bambi”
He’s blubbering utter nonsense at this point, so pussydrink he can’t even open his eyes fully, his jaw going slack and a small puddle of drool forming at the corner of his mouth that makes you slow your pace and lean down to lap up and pressing a small chaste kiss there, showing him a little softness before setting a merciless pace with your hips, clenching every time your hips crash down on to his. Gritting your teeth and ignoring the burning ache in your thighs.
"Come on then, come for me, put a fuckin' baby in me, Abbott"
