#bob floyd x reader x rhett abbot
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Two Little Rings | Bob x Reader x Rhett
Word Count: 10,400
Cross Posted on AO3
Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader. Blood, bodily injury, scarring, food, Rhett gets hurt a lot, proposals, blow jobs, unprotected sex, Perry Abbott. Contains a special blink-and-you-miss-it introduction to a future reoccurring character, Archie ❤
Brief Summary: Bob keeps trying to ask you and Rhett to marry him, but he keeps picking the worst possible times to pop the question.
These rings might as well be boulders.
Heavy, weighing down his pocket with their big, "look at me!" attitudes and distinct, round shapes that Bob swears are leaving massive indents in his back pocket. Their unmistakable appearance begs someone, anyone, to look and realize what he's planning before he's even tried to pop the question.
Try being the keyword here.
They're too heavy to even sit in his palm. Wavering, about to drop them at any given moment. Sweat beading on his forehead. Heart hammering against his chest so hard he's surprised it hasn't broken out.
"Bobby!" Comes your voice from across this big, unfamiliar house, "Did you notice that there's a deck in the second bedroom?"
"No?" It's only one little word, and yet his lie feels as obvious as the sun in the sky. He'd noticed it when the realtor showed the blueprints, but he's not about to ruin your excitement.
Once again, he drops the little rings into his pocket, allowing them to resume taunting him with their barely there outlines. Walking to the bedroom should be easy, but these little hunks of metal are threatening to jump out and ask you and Rhett the question themselves. Even the sound of them would be unmistakable.
And the echo in this house is horrible.
Given it's entirely empty. Every house the three of you have toured so far has suffered with it. Every little sound jumps off the hardwood, ricochets off the too-white walls, and bounces down the hall. Even from here, he can hear the soft pitter-patter of your tennis shoes and the heavy clunk of Rhett's work boots.
And the clicks of the realtor's shiny black heels. Following loosely behind him. Grinning down at the phone in her hand because those damned rings have garnered her attention, and she can't miss the chance to catch a proposal on camera. What's worse, confronting her on it would ruin the whole damn surprise.
He wonders if his smile looks as forced as it feels.
She's got to put her phone away eventually...right?
"What did you find?" He's asking as he passes the threshold; doesn't know what to say, but it feels like something he should say.
Rhett jabs his index finger toward the open door on the other side of the room, "deck." That's all he says. Not another word needed. Those deep blue eyes glitter with what Bob can only place as hesitant excitement. This is the best house the three of you have viewed yet, but it's hard to get hopes up when the past house fell through.
And the house before that. And the house before that one. And the house before that house...
Heels click up behind him, overapplied, floral perfume meeting his nose. It's impossible to have a third eye on the back of his head, but he can feel the lens of the realtor's camera trained on his back. Burning a little hole through his t-shirt and into his skin.
"And you said how many offers were made on this house today?" Clearing his throat, Bob turns, and maybe, just maybe, she'll have to scamper back to the kitchen to review her notes before she can give him a clear answer.
"Four." Short. Sweet. Straight to the point. But at least now she's shyly pocketing her phone. Caught in the act and unsure of where to go from here. "The owners have until midnight to decide whether they'd like to accept or reject them."
Four?
Hell, maybe this isn't going to be your forever home, either.
In his peripheral, Bob can see you emerge from the deck, quietly shutting the door behind yourself. You've got that same starry look in your eyes that Rhett carries; this is it, this is the one.
But it seems four other parties have had the same thought. And Bob hasn't the slightest clue what their bid is or if the three of you are even capable of topping the offers.
"Can we have a moment to talk about the house by ourselves?" You ask, your shoulder brushing against Bob's as you come to stand next to him, intent on being close.
Mere moments ago, Bob was looking for a way to get her to leave, hoping to find a chance to pull those two little rings out of his pocket. But now, as he listens to her heels click down the hallway, he can't bring himself to reach for them. Four offers. There are four offers.
Maybe proposing here isn't such a good idea.
Knuckles gently knock against his forehead.
"Hello?" Rhett chirps, "Anyone home up there?"
Blinking, Bob picks his gaze up off the floor, can't quite recall when it dropped. "Huh?"
You and Rhett giggle, a soft noise that dances around Bob's ears in this gentle sort of fashion, probably the only reason he doesn't turn beet red on the spot.
"We asked about your opinions on the house," you repeat, the corners of your lips wavering, fighting off the laugh that's trying to bubble out of you. "Do you still want to make an offer on it?"
He's trying to think. The sunroom by the entryway is adorable, but the garage is a two-car rather than three. Oh, but then there's the loft outside of the upstairs master bedroom. The basement has carpet that needs to be pulled up, but there's an adorable little office down there...
"Yeah." It shoots out of his mouth before he can stop it.
Rhett's eyebrows raise. "Yeah?"
Why did he have to say that, of all things?
"Yeah," licking his lips as he fights for words, mouth dry as the damn Sahara, "I...I still like it."
He's just digging his own grave at this point.
Fortunately, discussing the house seems to be more important than mulling over his unusual choice of words. Favorite points and the things you'd want to change. Rhett's fine with the two-car garage because his work truck is too dirty to go in the garage, to begin with. But you aren't a fan of the countertops in the bathrooms, finding the material tacky, and Rhett isn't so sure about the carpet in the kitchen. The basement walls are painted moss green, a few doors need to be replaced, and there's a cracked window upstairs.
But it's still the best house you've viewed in weeks.
A deep part of Bob wishes that it was the opposite. That the house was horrible, the kind of thing that sends the three of you back home, ready to find the next one. At least the feeling of disappointment would be immediate, as compared to making an offer and thrusting yourselves into darkness, unknowing of whether disappointment or excitement awaits you in the future.
"We shoulda ate before we got here," Rhett mutters on the way back to the truck, unusually pale in the face, "'cause now 'm nervous."
Those rings couldn't be any heavier.
Proposal attempt number two doesn't come until Bob finds himself stumbling into Wabang, Wyoming. Fresh off a plane, resisting the urge to cover his ears as the announcer's voice booms through the speakers, rattling off words that he can't understand. It's a necessary evil, being in this very spot; right next to the bleachers exit, as close as you can get to where Rhett is stationed, near the chutes.
"Is it still loud?" You're half yelling as you tilt your head up to look at him.
And oh, he's so happy that he chose to sit in the row behind you because this is something else. Your eyes soft as you look at him from upside down, lips parted the slightest bit. All he can do is shake his head no. There's no way you'll hear him, not with his hands over your ears, reducing all of the noise to a dull mumble.
He's not going to be able to hear out of his right ear for the rest of the night, but it's worth it for this.
Little do you know that your future ring rests mere inches away from your head, tucked safely away in his pocket. Well, technically, it's tucked in a plastic bag inside of his pocket because it kept clanging around against Rhett's and almost got him caught. Who could have thought that rings would be so difficult to carry around?
And how the hell do some guys get away with carrying the whole damn box in their pocket? He can't even get away with hiding it in his jacket for the two hours it takes for the rodeo to end.
"Alright, Amelia County!" The announcer yells through the speakers, "Let's hear it for last year's rodeo champion, Rhett Abbott."
Even you can pick up on the familiar tune of your cowboy's name, head shaping back toward the chutes. If your ears weren't covered, Bob's sure they would be perked, tuned in to every little sound.
There he is. Hands braced on either side of the railing, carefully settling onto the back of a fifteen-hundred-pound animal bred for this very event. That stubborn cowboy hat sits proudly atop his head. No helmet. No mask. Just a soft felt hat.
One of these days, Bob's gonna get through that dumb, thick skull and convince Rhett that taking safety precautions doesn't take away your cool points. A funny-looking helmet is worth it if it protects you from a blow to the noggin.
Today is not that day.
Tomorrow probably isn't, either.
But the hat is the only way to see Rhett's sharp nod of his head. Ready to go.
Bob blinks, and then Rhett's bursting out of the chute. Right hand held high. Left clutching at the strap around the bull's chest. The animal spins to the right. Back legs still coming down as the front ones lift from the ground. Never on more than two hooves at once. Dirt kicking into the air. Sharply turns left. So abrupt that the bull himself stumbles.
The buzzer sounds.
Rhett comes loose.
Falling to the ground. His arms rising to protect his face. Boots scrambling for purchase on the soft arena soil. And then he's up. Stumbling backward. Away from the still bucking bull. Fighting to get the flank strap off. Twisting. Turning.
Its back right hoof connects with Rhett's knee.
No warning. No indication of danger. Not even a sound. And yet Bob swears he heard the snap of hoof hitting bone.
You're darting out from the bleachers in the blink of an eye. Blindly reaching behind yourself to grab ahold of Bob's wrist. Tugging him behind you with a surprising force. Shoes scuttling across the slippery stairs. Pushing through the crowd. Darting around anyone who gets in the way.
He doesn't need to ask where the two of you need to go. Injuries are common in this sport, and even more so for anyone with the name Rhett Abbott.
One would think that the frequency of Rhett's injuries would mean a stop to the sweat beading at anxious foreheads. No more frantic beatings of the heart and bated breath as you and Bob tumble around the corner in search of the singular ambulance stationed for the event. That clasped hands wouldn't tremble, and the silence would become bearable.
But it never gets easier.
Rhett's stumbling through the dirt, his arms slung around one of his buddies, helping him walk with just one foot. Spurs chiming with every step.
"Long time no see!" Archie—or at least who Bob thinks is Archie—yells as you and Bob make your way through the clearing, "c'n y'do me a favor 'n tell yer idiot he can't bloomin' walk?"
Yeah, that's Archie.
"'m fine," Rhett grits through his teeth, left foot scratching at the ground as he tries to put weight on it. Searching for purchase that Archie won't let him find. "Y'don't need to worry 'bout me."
"Too fuckin' late for that, pal," Archie's not a small man by any means, but even he's struggling to keep hold of Rhett as he squirms and tries to stand on his own two feet. Stubborn to the goddamn end.
There are so many words jammed in Bob's dry throat. Full sentences tangling and creating a knot that he can't swallow down. Silent as he darts forward and slips beneath Rhett's open, flailing arm.
"Bobby, I said I'm—"
"I don't care," Bob's words come out a little too sharp. Bursting past the dam.
"Just until the medic takes a look at it?" Your voice floats through the air with all the softness of a cloud, unsure and wavering. "Please?"
Stillness.
For a moment, Bob thinks Rhett is still going to put up a fight. But whatever fight was in him seems to have fizzled out because he gives up almost immediately. Head hanging low as he allows his weight to settle onto Bob and Archie's shoulders. Has the audacity to look like a kicked puppy, big blue eyes pleading for you to let him have his way.
But he can't hide the way that he minds his leg. Gingerly placing his weight onto it. Jaw tightening as a hot spark of pain sizzles up his nerves. But he doesn't make a damn sound. Too stubborn to voice his hurt.
"'ve got it from here," he grunts, mere yards away from the quietly parked team of medics, already waiting for him. Bob hates that he knows most of them by name. "I said—"
"Rhett," and maybe it's the wind that causes Bob's voice to break on the vowel. Too fragile for even the slightest breeze.
Again, Rhett's quiet. Doesn't say another word as he's brought to the bench next to the ambulance and helped to sit down. There's a tear in his jeans, exposing a glimpse of dark red flesh, already beginning to turn deep shades of blue and purple. Blood stains the side, cut but not horribly so.
Knuckles bump against Bob's shoulder. Tapping.
"Hey man," Archie's whispering, "C'n I talk t'ya for a sec?"
It's more of a command than a request because he's already beginning to tug Bob around the side of the ambulance. His right fist clenched tight around something, looking over his shoulder as if he's expecting someone to be watching.
"Did something—"
"Y'dropped a lil' somethin'," his hand opens. Reveals a tiny, crumbled plastic bag, something shiny tucked inside.
Your ring.
"Jesus," is the only thing he knows to say, plucking the tiny thing from Archie's palm. His other hand dives into his pocket. Breath caught in his throat until his fingertips brush against cool metal. "Thank you."
"If it helps ya," Archie's quiet as he leans closer to Bob's ear, "I used t' hide my wife's ring in my wallet."
And so maybe tonight isn't the night for proposals, either.
Neither is the next day. The medic says Rhett should be fine, but he's practically dragging that left foot as he tries to walk, and proposing is the last thing on Bobby's mind. Preoccupied with improved ice packs and carefully managed dosages of painkillers that never seem to even take the edge off.
"Why're you handin' me a bag of corn?" That sleepy voice grumbles, one eye open as he turns the bag back and forth in his hand.
"For your knee," and maybe Bob should have wrapped it in one of the hotel towels before he handed it off to Rhett. Can already hear him quietly muttering about how they're wasting perfectly good food. "It's...the coldest thing I could find."
Neither is the day after that because Rhett may be walking, but he's not looking any better at all. Mutters that he's fine as he toes out of his pajama pants, about to take on the momentous task of taking a shower. Didn't take one yesterday, and now he's in desperate need of one.
"Rhett..." you say, your voice still groggy with sleep, "I...something is very wrong here."
Rhett's head lifts, curls bouncing low on the nape of his sweaty neck. "What do you mean?"
Your face twists as you bend down to get a better look. Eyebrows furrowing at the very sight of that vicious mottling of black and blue. "Your knee is twice the size of the other one."
It'll take four hours to find out that his kneecap is fractured.
And it'll take eight long, long weeks of rest and therapy for it to heal. Easy for some. Horrible for a cowboy who doesn't know how to spend more than a weekend in the house, too used to working outside and having a laundry list of things to do. Even worse, when that cowboy can't stand using crutches because Royal's raised him to think that accepting help is a sign of weakness.
There's an afternoon when Bob stumbles into the hotel room, fresh off an afternoon jog, to find Rhett stuck on the floor. Fell while walking without his crutches and couldn't get himself back up.
"Why didn't you call me?" Bob finds himself blurting, doesn't remember what happened to the bags he was carrying. All he knows is he's rushing across thin, cheap carpet, fearing the worst.
Rhett's got his head leaned against the side of the chair, laid back like he's long since accepted his fate. How long has he been down here? "Wasn't that big a deal," those broad shoulders rise and fall. "It ain't like I fell down the stairs."
"And you're sure this has nothing to do with your whole 'cowboys don't need help' shtick?" Bobby would be lying if he said he wasn't contemplating making Rhett try to get up on his own just to prove a point. But he's already halfway under Rhett's arm, acting as a crutch, all but dragging him to his feet.
"Ahh, come on," there's that weak chuckle of his, the one that comes out when he knows he's fighting a losing battle, "I could've gotten up if I wanted to."
That does nothing to stop Bob from wondering about what kind of charges he would receive if he were to tap Royal with the bumper of his truck. Going at about fifty miles an hour, of course.
All the while, those little rings sit tucked into the corners of his wallet. Collecting dust in the back of his mind for weeks. He damn near forgets that they're in between his five and ten-dollar bills. Almost hands you his wallet one afternoon. Even accidentally pulls them out while he's fishing for some quarters to give Amy to use on the toy vending machine.
"Is that one for Uncle Rhett?" She chirps, voice sparkling with all the wonder in the world.
It's too late for him to hide it. She's already taking the quarters out of his palm, eyes big as saucers, unable to look away from the tiny, round piece of metal. "Would you believe me if I told you it isn't?"
Her gum snaps. "Nope."
Bob is the last person that Cecelia expected to teach Amy how to lie. Sworn to secrecy with an ice cream cone and a lava lamp.
He doesn't think about those rings for the next six months.
Between the chaos of getting moved into the new house and the sudden new adjustment of having you and Rhett living with him, it falls from his thoughts. Too busy driving to Wabang with a trailer to help Rhett bring his beloved horse with him. Spends a good week trying to help you overcome your sudden spike of homesickness.
And then there's the incident with the pipe bursting in the downstairs bathroom and a six-month deployment that couldn't come at a worse time. He stumbles in just in time for Thanksgiving, and it feels like he's still finishing his turkey dinner when Rhett starts meekly asking to buy a Christmas tree. Then comes the rush of gathering gifts and putting up decor, and in the blink of an eye, its New Year's, and now that decor needs to come back down. Then the vacation planning starts.
All of a sudden, it's been a year and a half, and he's in Wabang again. Sitting on the back porch, fresh out of a shower, every muscle in his body aching, overworked from unfamiliar work on an even more unfamiliar pasture. Two hundred pushups for Maverick was a piece of cake compared to this hell.
"You haven't asked yet," Amy's voice cuts through the nighttime air like a knife.
He jolts, head snapping to look over his shoulder. "I'm sorry?"
She's standing by the door, a little bit taller than he remembers. Is that a scowl he spies on her sunburnt face? "You never proposed."
"We've been busy—"
"You forgot." She deadpans, lips pressed into a tight line. That must run in the family because Bob's seen that exact expression in Rhett more times than he can count.
"I..." his eyelashes flutter, turning back to gaze off the porch into the empty darkness of Wyoming. "Something like that."
Her house shoes patter across the old wooden floor as she comes to stand next to him. For a moment, Bob's found himself wondering if she's still young enough to accept ice cream and a toy in exchange for her silence or if she's moved on to harder forms of bribery. "Are you still going to?"
"Whenever the time is right, I will," he hums. There's still a perfectly good vacation ahead of him, plenty of opportunity to find that picture-perfect moment to pop the question.
As quickly as she came, Amy's feet patter back toward the door. "Well, you'd better make it fast," the screen door squeals as she opens it, "Uncle Rhett was on his phone looking at rings during breakfast."
And then she's gone. Disappearing into the house once more. Leaving him to soak in his thoughts, staring up at the vast night sky. So big that it seems moments away from swallowing him and the house up into the void. Stars twinkling like a tube of glitter spilled onto a black velvet blanket. So spectacular that his phone camera can never do it justice.
The perfect kind of night. Even the ache in his neck cannot ruin such a thing.
His feet move on their own accord, carrying him into the house and up the stairs. Where did he leave his wallet last, anyway? He's pretty sure it was in the back pocket of his jeans yesterday, but he doesn't know if he remembered to take it back out or not.
The floor squeals beneath his bare feet as he saunters past the shower and into Rhett's old bedroom. With its old, cowboy-esque decor and a brand new queen-size bed that definitely wasn't there when he helped Rhett move out. With its too-new bed frame, the matte black metal not quite matching the old wood scattered throughout the rest of the room.
Oh. There you are.
Curled up on the bed, back to the door, your cell phone yet to turn off, recently used. But you don't lift your head to greet him like you typically do; if anything, you hardly seem to realize he's in the room.
What's wrong?
You don't react when he sits on the edge of the bed, eyes still closed. Completely and utterly still, even as he moves to lay behind you. His arms slipping around your waist, nose nuzzling into the back of your neck, unsure of if you're awake or blatantly ignoring him.
Your shoulders stiffen.
"'s just me, sweetie," Bob murmurs, pulling you closer to him until your back is flush with his chest. You're not pushing him away, so mayhaps it isn't him who's upset you. "Do you want to talk about it?"
And in the blink of an eye, those little rings are on the back burner because you're his priority, and proposals can wait for when you're feeling better. Weighing heavily in his pocket as he follows you and Rhett to Walmart in search of snacks and an air mattress that'll fit into the back of Rhett's old GMC. All to lay back and watch the stars.
Wabang is one of those lucky little towns with little to no light pollution, and it shows.
But he's already spent part of the night gazing up at those glittering, faraway balls of gas. As breathtaking as it all is, there's no better picture than what lies next to him. Rhett's long since fallen asleep, his head leaning against Bob's thigh, dark hair cast across his pretty face. And there you lay, curled into Rhett's side, eyelashes fluttering, mouth slack, completely and utterly relaxed. The prettiest tangle of sleepy limbs he's ever seen.
Bob's not sure he'll ever understand how he's got both of you in his life.
Slow as not to wake either of you, he reaches into his jean pocket, unintentionally bumping his knuckles into the side of Rhett's head in the process. The cowboy doesn't so much as stir. No surprise there.
Rhett could sleep through the end of the world.
There they are.
Two little rings tucked into the corners of his wallet. They've left dents in the bills stored there, and could probably use a good clean, considering how improperly he's stored them. Not necessarily forgotten, but a thought burning in the back of his head during his every waking hour.
He could ask right now. It's perfect out here.
But waking you is the last thing he wants to do, so, again, he tucks those rings into his wallet and lets them slip his mind once more.
The Grand Tetons are the next stop on your trip, or the Grand Talons, as Bob's been calling them. A simple pronunciation mistake that he'd made during the early stages of planning that has become something he intentionally plays upon. If only to see Rhett roll his eyes and to hear you giggle.
The cabin is smaller than it looked in the pictures, but the unusually wide bed makes up for all of that. Settled into the far corner of the forest, with a private porch and an up-close view of the Tetons.
In the back of Rhett's mind, he's found himself wondering about how he never considered the sheer size of these mountain ranges. They've been looming in the background for as far as he can remember, visible from miles and miles away. Witness to his every waking moment spent in Wabang.
They don't look so small when he's standing right in front of them.
"Hey cowboy," your voice rings across the trail, a little further down than he is, "you coming?"
"'m right behind ya," there's an ache in his left knee as he starts to move again, difficult to ignore as he takes step after agonizing step. Almost to the end of this trail. Almost there.
Just another fifteen minutes. He can do that.
His pocket buzzes. Phone alight with another text message from Perry.
U seriously cant spare a few fucking days 2 help us?
Texting one-handed has never been his forte. A barely there skill that's worsened by the stones that slip out from his unsure feet, treading over an unfamiliar, winding path. Fortunately, he's got a short response.
Nope.
Can't wait to hear the lecture from Ma whenever she calls next. It's hard telling exactly what she'll say, but he already knows that it will be something along the lines of, "But your brother has been through so much!"
Burning warmth blossoms in his knee, loose petals of stabbing pain drifting through his nerves.
"Shit," grinding to a halt. Pawing at the side of it. Too sensitive to squeeze but unsure of what else to do.
A big hand glides up his sweaty back, smoothing over his shoulders. "Is your knee buggin' you again?" Bobby asks, his voice quieter than the breeze that rustles through the trees.
The pain is only there for a moment. Fading away into a distant, nagging sensation of invisible pins and needles poking at his flesh. "Will you believe me if I say no?"
"No." Blunt. Straight to the point.
A 'maybe' would have been nice.
Your shoes appear in front of him, still remarkably clean compared to his. "Maybe we shouldn't take that hike tomorrow morning," your fingertips tickle as they reach to brush a strand of hair behind his ear.
"'m alright," his phone buzzes as he straights up, vibrating incessantly with a phone call that he doesn't plan to answer. Hesitant feet beginning to move once more. One. Two. Three baby steps. "Jus' a little slow, 's all."
The moment the call is sent to voicemail, his phone alights again. And again. And again. Stubbornly buzzing away in his pocket. Demanding to be heard. Call after call, continuing long after he's made it to the end of the trail.
"Is your phone going off?" You ask, looking over your shoulder.
"Spam call," and that's that on that.
But unlike his phone, his knee doesn't fall quiet within the hour. Nerves quietly screaming their grievances with every goddamn step. Bugging him all throughout his shower. Doesn't bother to stop stinging when he sits down and gets off of it.
He'd have a better experience walking barefoot over lava.
Fortunately, he's found himself a hell of a distraction. A half-naked Bobby wandering back and forth across the cabin bedroom. Fresh out of a shower, beads of water rolling across his pale, freckled back as he searches for a very specific blanket he bought the other day. Towel hanging low around his waist, loosening each time he bends down to root through his suitcase.
"We can hold off on the picnic if it's too much stress," you offer; your eyes may be closed, but it seems you can detect Bobby's every move. "It doesn't have to be tonight."
"No, no, no, I've got it," Bob blurts, squinting. So focused that he hasn't thought to put his glasses on. "I've been planning...tonight was supposed to be special..." Falling back into those old mutterings of his, scrambling to look beneath the bed for the umpteenth time.
Rhett's fighting the urge to reach over and yank that towel off.
All of a sudden, that wet mop of light brown hair pokes up from the edge of the bed. Blue eyes wide. "I may have left it in the truck."
Rhett's sitting up at that, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Already regretting his decision the moment he stands. "I'll go check." Purposefully leaving out the fact that he forgot to bring in the jars of homemade jam that you bought earlier.
Is jam hot car proof?
He's about to find out.
There's no point in tugging on his boots; tugging on his socks would take too damn long. Heading out onto the porch barefoot is the easiest option, calloused feet thumping heavily across the old wood, uncaring of where they land. So worn and used to going without shoes that even the gravel doesn't bug him. Those sharp edges of rock are nothing compared to the stabbing sensation in his knee.
In the corner of his eye, there's movement.
A familiar ranch truck speeding up the driveway. Tires kicking up dirt and rock in their wake.
"Shit." Pulling open the door to the backseat, he reaches in to grab the stray jars of jam perched on top of the picnic blanket Bob's been hunting for. Classic red and white plaid.
What in the world is this picnic so special for, anyway?
"Hey," of all the voices he could be hearing right now, why does it have to be Perry's? That truck door slams. Boots marching across the driveway. "Hey." A little louder now.
Ignore him, and he'll go away. Ignore him, and he'll go away. Ignore him, and he'll go away.
A heavy palm strikes the side of the truck. "Rhett."
"Are you—" tossing the glass jar back onto the seat, voice tight, "what are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" Perry's shoving him with both hands. Knocking him into the side of the open door. "You've been ignorin' me all fuckin' afternoon!"
Rhett can already feel the way his jaw clenches. Teeth grit together. "'m not givin' up my vacation t'help the fuckin' ranch, Perry."
"You can't sacrifice a little vacation?" And Rhett doesn't know how many times he's heard those exact words come out of Perry's mouth this week. Repeated over and over. Like he'll up and change his mind if he's badgered enough. "Come on, Rhett, we need help."
This is ridiculous.
"We already sacrificed a couple days," turning his attention back to the blanket. Tucking it beneath his arm. "Y'all had plenty of time t'get your shit in order."
"What's going on out here?" Bob's stumbled out onto the porch. Has had enough time to dress himself before coming out here. Even from several feet away, Rhett can see how his eyes widen. Lashes fluttering. "Perry?"
That should be the end of the argument.
But it's not.
It never is.
"Can't you see that I'm tryin' to have a fuckin' private conversation with my brother?" Perry's tone rises.
"Don't you start talkin' to him like that," words snapping off of Rhett's tongue. Knuckles white as he grasps this jar of jam a little too tightly.
Up go Perry's eyebrows. The whites of his eyes wide. Rhett can already see the metaphorical steam coming out of his ears. "I'll say whatever the hell I want, Rhett."
One of the jars slips from his grasp. Hits the gravel with an unceremonious clank. Shaking the raspberry-flavored contents, but the glass never breaks. Perry beats him to picking it up. Bending down and snatching it out of his grasp.
But he's not offering to hand it back.
Gravel shifts as Bob steps across it, soft blue eyes flickering between both Abbott brothers. Moving slowly. Like he's approaching two tigers. Poised and ready to strike.
"I don't...I don't mean for this to come off as rude," his empty palms rise, means no harm, "but maybe you should leave."
There Perry goes. Face turning crimson. Jaw clenched so tightly that it begins to shiver. "I sure hope you ain't tellin' me what to do, four eyes." And he's surging forward.
"Perry." Rhett's barking. Reaching out. Shoving him back by his shoulders. "Cut it—"
The world explodes with red.
Then black.
He's stumbling. A pressure screwing into the side of his head. Drilling straight into his skull. Somethings stinging at his eyes. Hot and thick. Coating his palms as he paws at his face. Can't see. Nothing but a wall of darkness that he can't claw past. His hands are fluttering. Scrambling to grab ahold of something. Anything.
Gravel sprays, audibly ricocheting off the side of the truck. Someone's swearing but he can't place the voice. Doesn't sound like Perry. But it doesn't sound like you either.
Something collides with his jaw.
Teeth crashing together. Metallic fluid filling his mouth. Thick. Warm. Ears ringing with the wail of a dull siren.
"Rhett!" That's not the same voice from before.
Hands appear on his face. Gripping his jaw. Forcing him still as something rough rubs against his eyes. Fuck, that stings. Tiny teeth bite into the left side of his head. Tearing at his skin. He's pulling back. Squirming away. But that hand on his jaw has an iron grip that he can't wriggle out of.
A car horn blares.
Light burns at his retinas as they burst open. Flickering weakly, unable to keep them open for longer than a second at a time. Opening and closing involuntarily. Red and wipe cloth dabs at his cheek. Soaking up a bright crimson liquid that he can't place.
"Rhett," you repeat, a little louder now. How long have you been in front of him? "Rhett!"
"What?" He'd say you're being too loud, but his own voice is too much for his ears to handle.
Behind your head, he thinks he can see Perry's truck disappearing down the driveway. Cascaded behind a plume of black smoke billowing out of the tailpipe. What's he in such a hurry for?
"What happened?" He breathes; Bob's several yards away, his gaze trained on those clouds of black. That same shade of red waterfalls from his pale, trembling arms. Dripping from his fingertips. Looks something like lightning flickering across the sky. "Why's he bleedin'?"
Your lips don't move. Not a word leaving your mouth.
"Bobby?" Raising his voice louder, pushing forward.
Your hands are on his shoulders, pushing back, saying something about needing to stay still, but he can't hear it. Doesn't recall falling, but he's crawling to his feet. Legs swaying. Red clouding his left eye. Stinging again. Won't go away, even as he tries to wipe it away. Pouring from a cut that he doesn't remember acquiring.
Bob twists, looking over his shoulder and—
"What happened?" Rhett tries again. Why's the right side of Bobby's jaw cut open? Where did that gash trailing down the side of his neck come from? But nobody's answering. You're silent. Bobby's not talking. Can't hear him. "What happened?" Saying it louder. Words shivering.
"Rhett," it's the only thing you can say. Why is that the only thing you can say?
"What?" Voice cracking. "Why won't—why won't y'say anythin'?"
Your mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Fighting for words. For an explanation of something that you don't truly know yourself. "I don't know."
Gravel crunches as Bob steps closer. Slow. Deliberate. Like he's walking across shards of glass that can cut through his boots at any time. His hands raise. Bloody palms curling around Rhett's equally bloody, sticky cheeks.
"Perry hit you in the head with the jar," he whispers after a moment. Because speaking too loud might break something.
But that doesn't follow. No. No, Rhett would remember if he was hit in the head with a jar. The jar wasn't even that big—
but his face is sticky.
"But...but..." There's a cloud that's settled in the forefront of his mind. Clogging up his thoughts. Separating words so far apart that he can't seem to string them into a sentence. "But...you?"
"I..." Bob's gaze falls off to the side. Fixating on something past Rhett's shoulder. "He got me with a shard of glass, is all."
But he's missing a triangular chunk of flesh along his jaw. Leading down through the gash in his neck, ending just above his collarbone. White shirt ripped and stained with red.
Can glass do that?
He can't seem to look away from it. Following even as you cart him and Bob off to the emergency room, won't take no for an answer.
"You both need stitches," you insist, Bob's truck keys jingling in your hand. Rhett's mouth opens. He knows how to give stitches. Has been doing them on himself for half his damn life. "And you're not giving homemade ones, cowboy."
He'd pout if his face didn't hurt so damn bad.
And so what if he does ultimately need a handful of stitches? Nurses fuss over him, dragging him into a separate room from Bobby because of some dumb protocol. Cleaning his face with a fluid that smells like cheap vodka and burns like a goddamn branding iron. He sits there for a damn century before they turn him loose.
By turning him loose, the nurse is only moving him to a different area, but he can hardly pay attention to her. Because Bobby is sitting in a lone chair, the side of his neck freshly closed up, looking down at something in his palm.
"Mr. Abbott," this poor nurse has been repeating herself for who knows how long, but this is the first time Rhett's heard her. "Please."
Bob's head snaps up, shoving something into his pocket. His lips curling at the sight of this half-stunned cowboy standing in the middle of the hallway like a fool. "Baby, please don't give her a hard time."
"But I—"
Soft hands are tugging on Rhett's bicep. Pulling him along. And he doesn't know where you came from, but you're here now. "Come on," your voice the lightest it's been all afternoon, "we'll come with you."
What was the shiny thing that Bobby was holding?
If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. Even if your every attempt is thwarted moment before you can put your plan into action.
Or...something like that.
The picnic blanket may be blood-stained, and the restaurant Bob was planning to order food from may be closed for the rest of the week, but that's okay. He's crafty. Plans are meant to be deviated from.
And so what if you're still in the shower, and Rhett's half asleep on the bed? Proposals don't take that long. Yeah. This'll work. If he can just find where he put his damn wallet...
"I want your dick in my mouth."
"I'm sorry?" Did he hear that right?
Rhett's eyes are still closed. Brown locks fanned out beneath his head, forming a loose halo. Face as peaceful as it has ever been, like he's perfectly asleep. "I said," those thin lips wrapping around his words, "I want your dick in my mouth."
And maybe Bob's not hearing things because Rhett's eyes flutter open, head tilting to look at him. Expectant. Looks something like a spoiled prince waiting to get what he wants.
"Funny." Shit, what was Bob looking for again? A towel? Socks? Yeah, where are his socks? They were just in his hand a minute ago. Where did he put—
they're on his feet.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Rhett sitting up. Hair falling into his face, concealing the scattering of thin cuts that surround his left temple. From here, they almost look like his only injury.
It would be easier if Rhett threw a verbal fit. Whining and fussing until he gets what he wants. Because at least that would be easy to understand, not quite as heart-stopping as the sight of him silently standing, slowly treading across the floor. Have his shoulders always looked so broad? Biceps straining against the thin, tight confines of his t-shirt.
Bob's T-shirt. Actually. Some dark-gray, beat-up thing from his early days in the Navy.
Tips of noses bump into each other. So close that it's hard to see the chunk of flesh missing from the corner of Rhett's left eye. Wound still so new that it's hard to tell if it will scar or not.
Lips brush. Timidly pressing into a fleeting peck. Like too much contact will break this unspoken silence. Rhett's mouth is bitten and chapped, but it's so, so soft. Molding against Bobby's like silk.
Knees hit the floor. Deep thunk bouncing off the walls.
"Rhett..." Bob's uttering beneath his breath. Fuck, it's hard to think, with Rhett rubbing his cheek up against his thigh, ocean blue gaze peering up through thick lashes. Downright shameless in how his big, burning palm rises to rub at the growing tent in Bob's jeans. "Did you...did you get into somethin' again?"
Rhett looks pretty damn lucid. Thumbing open his button and pulling down the zipper, smiling to himself all the while. Downright pleased with himself.
Something thunks in the shower. Sounds like you've accidentally knocked over a bottle of body wash again. How long have you been in there, anyway?
Thick fingers twist through the front of his boxers, wrapping around his half-hard length without ceremony. Pulling him out into the cool cabin air, lightly thumbing at his tip. Dry. Never has been the type to drip all that much.
But that's alright because that short, pink tongue of Rhett's is poking out. Eager to let Bob's plush head rest against it like a damn welcome mat. Burning hot breath fanning out against him.
Rhett's hand loosely strokes him. Can't do much more without some form of lubricant. "You're still soft," he complains as if anyone can possibly go from soft to hard within the blink of a damn eye.
"'Cause you sprung on me in under a minute, sugar," Bob's fingers run through those dark strands, diligently avoiding the three-inch-long wound hidden beneath. "Gonna have to give me a minute."
It goes in one ear and out the other.
And it's hard to keep talking because Rhett's opening his mouth, wrapping those thin lips around his tip. So pleased with himself that he hums, the sound vibrating all the way up Bob's spine. It hasn't been more than two weeks since he last felt Rhett sink down his cock, taking him in bit by bit, but his thighs quiver like it's the first time all over again.
"Don't..." his chest is already heaving. Seeking a breath he can't find. "Don't push yourself."
That pretty little mouth smiles. Rhett's watery eyes closing as he finds his favorite rhythm. Tongue stroking the underside, cheeks hollowed. So delighted to have his way that he doesn't complain when Bob collects his hair into a loose ponytail, gripping it tight. But having his mouth busy doesn't mean that he's not done.
Hands wander. One loosely stroking the few inches he can't get to yet, the other falling between his own legs. Pressing the heel of his palm into his groin. Hips kicking up into his own touch.
Bob might faint.
Head seconds away from spinning off of his shoulders. Vision blurring, even with his glasses perched high on his nose. "Fuck, just like that."
That gets Rhett sinking a little deeper. Silky, hot throat rubbing against that sensitive tip, no longer needs to use his hand to stroke the little bit that he can't suck into his mouth. Instead reaching past layers of clothing to massage his balls. Knows just how to fucking do it. Touch firm but giving. Shit, shit, shit.
"'m gonna cum." Too quick. Too quick. Too quick. "Rhett. Rhett, wait—"
Hinges squeal. Bathroom door opening.
There you are. Stepping out in nothing but a towel, reaching for the neatly folded clothes that you forgot to bring in with you. Skin still damp, little beads of water rolling down your arms. It's dark, but the bobbing of Rhett's head grabs your attention, sleepy eyes darting.
You're lips break into a smile. "I leave you two for fifteen minutes, and this is what you get into."
Rhett sucks hard and pulls off with a loud, wet 'pop.' Spit-slicked lips shining in the poor lighting. Silent as he peers over his shoulder.
A part of you wishes that you'd stayed quiet and enjoyed the show because there's something about watching Bob's head roll back and forth against the wall that has a heat pooling between your legs. Heat that you're too tired to be tending to.
Rhett looks like he's about to eat you alive.
"Don't you look at me like that," your voice rising, "Rhett...!"
You must fall asleep standing up because the next time you open your eyes, you're across the room. Chest against the mattress, cheek resting against your lazily folded arms. Bob's shaky palms smooth down your shoulders, angrily flushed cock resting against his thigh. Too heavy to stand on its own.
The slick head of Rhett's cock slides between your thighs, dripping head nudging into your sensitive clit. Slow thrusts that push against your entrance before drifting past. Don't know where Rhett found the lube or where your towel went, but you can't bring yourself to voice any complaints. Tongue too tired to lift itself.
But your hips are squirming on their own accord. Pushing back against him with all the energy you have left.
"Didn't" your thoughts are spinning in a whirlpool, reaching up to rake your nails up Bob's meaty thigh, "didn't you have...something planned?"
His cock twitches before you can even get to it. "I did...at some point."
Rhett chuckles. The first noise you've heard him make. "Oops." Still so preoccupied with the way his cock slips between your folds, each stroke teasing the idea of pushing into you but never following through. Pressure blooming, only to fade away.
Until you push back against him. Blunt head slipping inside without warning.
A gasp pierces the air.
Did you make that noise? Did Rhett? Or was it Bob?
Calloused hands wrap around your hips, holding you still as he gingerly fucks into you. Just the tip. Lazy ins and outs that sink a little further in each time. Pushing air from your lungs on every push. Rubbing just shy of your g-spot, neglected and untouched. So unlike his usual routine that you don't know what's coming next. Your thighs tremble, feeling him push a little further, earnest now.
"Come on, darlin'," there's that deep drawl you've been missing, "give me your pussy."
Bob's palm slides down your back, smoothing down to your ass. Don't realize you've been clenching until your muscles are relaxing, letting Rhett properly push into you. Inch by slow, careful inch, splitting you open. Your lips part, openly panting into the bed sheets. It's been so long since you felt his hips come flush against yours, heavy balls resting against you. Stretching you so wide that your pussy aches.
"There y'go," Rhett's fingertips swirl against your shivering thighs, "so good for me."
Your hand rises, wrapping loosely around Bob's forgotten cock. He jolts.
"Careful, careful," he rushes, "sensitive."
Behind you, Rhett's not moving. Holding himself there, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside of you. But God, you don't think you're ever gonna get used to this. Even if you do have the sweet sound of Bobby's labored breaths to distract you. Panting to the high heavens, all from the slow stroke of your fist along his length.
On their own, Rhett's hips writhe. Moving backward by an inch, pushing back in just as slowly. Once. Twice. Testing. "'s this okay?"
Your head nods. "Uhuh."
Hands tighten around your hips, holding you still as he draws out of you halfway. Doesn't let you squirm away when he abruptly pushes back in, balls smacking against your cunt. Dragging against the sensitive nerves along your walls, hitting them without effort. Bounces your hand around Bobby's dick.
"That's it," Rhett's grunting, repeating it. Doesn't let you meet him halfway. Forced to stay still and take what he has to give you. "Jerk 'em off while I ruin this pretty pussy of yours, baby."
You're trying to talk, babble whatever nonsense rests on your tongue, but you can't speak. Nothing but whimpers punched out of your throat, sounds dancing with the lewd wetness squelching between your thighs. Hand struggling to stroke Robby, grip fluttering, jerky. Too light to get him off, but it pulls a gasp out of him anyway.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, did Rhett just twitch in you?
Your cheek presses into the mattress, free hand clawing at the sheets. Rhett's finding his pace, bouncing you up against the bed with a heavy thrust that he puts his weight into. Dizzying sound of skin meeting skin, bouncing off the walls.
The hands on your hips are the only things keeping you standing, knees wobbly, knocking into each other. Rhett's fat cock head dragging against your walls. Right up against that little bundle of nerves, over and over and over. Gives you no chance to recover before he's massaging against it again.
"Jesus," Bobby's hand is swiping over your lips, wiping away a string of drool, "look at you."
Someone's doused you in gasoline and lit a match. Sweaty skin burning, back arching as you try to rise and meet each heavy thrust into your dripping pussy. Keening high in your throat, fluttering around Rhett's cock. Arm jerking without rhythm, stroking Bob as best as you can.
"Hold on, baby," His hand covers yours entirely, loosely guiding it up and down. Helping rather than batting you away completely. A shaky breath bursting past his lips.
Rhett's letting go of your hips, firm, sweaty chest settling against your back. Cheek resting against your shoulder as one of his palms brace his weight next to your head, thick bicep flexing.
Now you can hear him. Soft, pitchy noises falling out of his mouth, the sounds kissing your ears. Nowhere near as loud as the whine that soars out of Bobby's throat, his hips jerking up into your hand.
"No, no," Rhett coos into your ear, just loud enough for Bob to hear him. "Don't let him cum."
But he doesn't stop you. Instead reaching down between your legs, calloused fingertips pressing to your clit. Forgotten up until now. Throbbing, heat pooling as those fingers begin to swirl in tune with his thrusts.
Your hand falls off Bob's cock. Clutching at the sheets.
"Hang on, doll," Rhett gasps, like you have a choice in the matter.
Your legs spasming beneath you as he rams into that soft spot inside your pussy over and over and over. Rubbing over your clit. So much happening at once that you can't focus on a damn thing. Skin ablaze. Prickling. Embers of something more heating to life in your lower belly.
"'m gonna cum," he warns, "come on baby, come with me—fuck."
His hips stall. Slamming into yours. Cock twitching, heat filling you as his orgasm rolls through his sweaty body. Filling you up until you're certain that you can feel it beginning to leak out of you already. His fingers are still working your clit. Tremoring, feather-light one moment and pressing roughly the next. Spiraling and spiraling and spiraling.
"Sen—" he's whimpering into your ear, "sensitive."
Your eyes may be closed, but you can feel them go unfocused. Body going taut. Stone still as you clamp down around him, head spinning like a top. Muscles beginning to shiver. Babbling someone's name, but you don't know who's.
Just past your head, Rhett reaches over, wrapping his hand around Bob's flushed length. Stroking roughly like he's only got a few seconds to spare. Working up and down, a damn blur that your sleepy eyes can hardly keep up with.
All of a sudden, Bob's hips snap upward. Cumming with a silent cry. Ropes of white painting Rhett's slowing hand, some spiking up to hit Bob's own chest. Staining his t-shirt.
You think you might fall asleep right here and now.
"Christ," Bob shudders from head to toe, batting Rhett's teasing hand away from his spent length.
With nothing to occupy himself with, Rhett rests against your backside. Weight teetering against yours, threatening to send both of you crumbling to the floor at any moment. "'re we still..." his labored breath tickles your neck, "we still doin' somethin' t'night?"
And that is a resounding fucking, no.
You don't think you could move, even if you wanted to. Legs anchored to the ground by invisible weights, numb. Can hardly feel Rhett pulling his softening cock out of you, cum already beginning to run down the inside of your leg.
Gingerly, he guides you forward, urging you to settle up on the bed. Your back aching as you finally, finally change positions, head settling into Bob's warm, open lap. His jeans may be rough against your cheek, but his thigh is the perfect pillow.
"We need to clean up before we go gettin' comfortable," Bob says through a yawn, "and I need to find my wallet."
Rhett's clearly heard what Bob said, but he's curling up next you anyway. Sweaty forehead pressing against your shoulder. "You've been looking for your wallet a lot lately."
"Because my money is in it, dummy."
"Are you sure you don't want a blueberry jam biscuit?" You singsong, holding your half of the treat out for him to take.
"Absolutely fuckin' not." It looks good, but Rhett can smell the raspberry flavoring just by looking at it.
He's never going to fully scrub this damn scent out of his hair.
But Robert Floyd is a menace to society whose love for food cannot be deterred. Wiggling fingers reaching out. He doesn't speak, but you can hear his silent, "I'll eat it!" loud and clear.
Your arm strains as you reach to place the biscuit into Bob's eager palm. Crumbs falling onto the bed of the truck as he bites into it. So pleased that his eyes close.
"I don't care what you say," Bob's speaking with his mouthful; you haven't a doubt in your mind that he's doing his utmost best to drive your cowboy up the wall. "It still tastes as good as before."
"Try havin' it stuck in your hair," Rhett scowls. Dramatically tilting his hat to block Bobby out of his sight. Hiding away the mottling of thin pink scars that have begun to settle into his face. Some may fade with time, but you're not so sure about the chunk of flesh missing from the corner of his eye.
Your legs swing. Dangling off the edge of the truck bed, lifted even further by the trailer that Rhett's truck is parked on. Probably not the best place for a picnic. Certainly not what you had envisioned when Bob originally suggested it, but it works.
Rhett's hand darts out, stealing a singular strawberry from Bob's plate. "This place sure doesn't look the same when it's empty."
A part of you thinks to argue that the same can be said for any area, but you get what he means. The only time you've ever seen these festival grounds has been when they're packed with booths, tents, and people. Have been here so many times now, but even so, you don't think you can identify the spot where you met them. Where Rhett accidentally ran into you, and Bob hunted you down to return the wallet you'd lost.
"Maybe it'll look more familiar if we walk through it," you suggest, as if you're wearing the right shoes for such a thing. But they seem to think that's a great idea. Shoes hitting the ground without a word.
There's a soreness in your legs as you follow suit. Cramped from two days' worth of driving and being packed into Bob's truck. Even for a modern, comfortable vehicle, it's clearly not designed for trips longer than a few hours.
Next time, a rental car is being added to the trip budget.
Bob lags behind you all the way, his hands shoved into his pockets as he ambles along. Gazing off at the treeline, pale face glowing with the golden sunset. Up in his own head again, like he has been all afternoon. Exhausted from driving, you suppose.
There's a small paved area in the center of the field, and you don't recall exactly where, but you know that you sat down for a drink with Rhett around here. Left your wallet sitting on the bench, head filled with thoughts of a wild-eyed cowboy and nothing else.
"If I run into you again, will you get another drink with me?" Rhett chirps, bumping his shoulder against yours.
"Unfortunately, that was a one-time deal," the answer is yes, but you'd rather not be knocked over again. It's hard to forget the way your bones rattled when you hit the ground. Funny how that all worked out in the end.
Your memory of that day so vivid that you don't notice what Bob is doing. So distracted by recollections of Bob and Rhett laughing as they found their odd similarities that you don't see the way Robert Floyd is settling down onto one knee. Fishing through his pocket, producing two little rings. Glinting in the light, his hands shaking like leaves in the autumn breeze. His tongue heavy as he searches for the words he's been rehearsing for so, so long.
Like leaves, the rings fall.
Chiming as they bounce off the pavement, rolling away like it's what they've been waiting to do all of this time. One shoots off between Rhett's legs, bouncing off of his shoe. The other rolls even further, not stopping until gravity takes hold, falling onto its side.
You don't know what you're looking at.
Did a ring just roll up and set itself down in front of you?
Rhett bends down, picking up the ring resting between his feet. Rolls it between his fingers, shiny and new, looks the perfect size to fit around his finger. And as you reach to scoop up the one that's fallen before your feet, you catch glimpse of something.
Bob.
Down on one knee. Reddened face hidden behind one of his trembling hands, reluctantly looking back at the two of you. "I promise I...I had something I was gonna say first, but—but I uh..."
Next to you, Rhett sucks in a breath.
You can feel yourself doing much of the same. Twisting the little ring over your finger.
It fits like a glove.
"Will..." Bob's hand falls from his face, revealing an equally shivering jaw, "Will you marry me?"
Time just about stops. Breeze no longer rustling through the trees. Orange and red sun pausing, peeking over the horizon.
Is it you who utters a soft "yes," or is it a whispering of the wind?
But Rhett is silent, still rolling that ring between his thumb and forefinger. Doesn't react as Bob approaches, too fixated on what he holds, to look up and acknowledge what's going on around him. His eyes flicker up. Glittering gaze settling on you, then moving over to Bobby.
He smiles.
And that's enough.
"Yeah?" Bobby's laugh soars through the evening air, and the world begins to turn again. "You not gonna give me an answer, cowboy?"
Rhett can't speak. Struggling to get past a single syllable, as you reach out and nudge the ring down his finger. You've never seen him wear a ring before now. Yet, you can't remember what his hand looked like without one.
Foreheads knock together as Bob pulls you both in. Squeezing tight, uncaring of how awkwardly the three of you knock into one another. A pile of limbs and racing hearts that mesh together like puzzle pieces. A little tattered on the ends, some missing bigger pieces than others, but fitting together anyway.
Rhett's nudging his scarred cheek against yours, rubbing three days worth of unshaven scruff against your soft skin, "'s this why y'keep tryin' to take us on picnics?"
Bob groans. This loud, guttural noise that devolves into a breathless chuckle, "Oh, you have no idea."
#rhett abbott#bob floyd#robert floyd#robert bob floyd#robert floyd x reader#rhett abbott x reader#bob floyd x reader x rhett abbot#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#rhett abbott x you#outer range#outer range fic#tw: perry abbott#oneshot#x reader#tw: food#tw: injury
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Cowboy Let Me Take You Away | Rhett Abott x Reader
word count: 1874
warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, 18+, Fluff
notes: Hi Y’all! I think it was about time I finally wrote a little something something for my Rhett girls. In this universe Rhett and Bob are twins so think maybe Bob Abott or Rhett Floyd 👀? Anyways I hope you all enjoy and please don’t forget to like/reblog (thank you for your previous ones 🫶🏼). I might do Rhett Fridays from here on out so be on the lookout!
Rhett and you had been introduced by his twin brother Bob at a work Christmas party and had been talking ever since, still you weren’t sure what exactly you two were. Yet here you were landing in Wyoming to see him. You spot the baggage claim sign easily as you disembark and head down to the first floor to get your bag. To say that you’re feeling nervous was an understatement. This moment had been months in the making and it was finally here.
Sure Rhett always texted you good morning, sent you letters, gifts on your birthday, and wasn’t seeing other girls but neither of you had taken the step to make things official. You never planned on falling for Bob’s brother right before a 6 month deployment and surely you didn’t expect him to wait on you but things seemed to be working in your favor. Your hands shake as you pull your bag from the carousel and head towards the front door to meet Rhett and even though you’ve imagined this moment a million times over the past few months, nothing could prepare you for how you felt now. He was standing with a bouquet of flowers on one hand and smiled as soon as he saw you.
Your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest as you let go of your bag and jump into his open arms. His head resting on yours as you bury your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of pines and leather that you’d missed so much. Loving never came easy for you but here in Rhett’s embrace, you couldn’t help but want to scream those 3 words. While pulling away, you think of kissing him but are interrupted by him handing you the flowers. Daisies, your favorite.
“I um, got these for ya.” He says with that crooked smile you love so much. His ears have a tinge of pink as you give him a peck on the cheek and thank him. You both sneak glances at each other on the ride home while making small talk and he finally grabs your hand after you set it on the console. When he drives into the town you’ve heard so much about over the past couple of months you feel the need to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming.
You take a deep breath as you follow him up the steps to his small apartment. The walls are wooden, various rodeo posters are hanging on the wall, and on the nightstand you spot a picture of you both that Bob took the night you met. The same picture that was your phone lockscreen now. He sets your bag by the bed and you finally meet his beautiful blue eyes but you can’t seem to say a damn word as he takes a step closer to you and his hand grabs the back of your neck.
“Been wantin’ to do this for a while,” he whispers, finally closing the distance between you. Your fingers play with his hair as he kisses you softly and you can’t help the moan that escapes you when he tugs at your hair. Months of daydreaming and crappy phone sex all leading to this. His calloused hands make their way to the back of your thighs and you press closer to him as he lifts you up into his arms and pins you up against the wall.
Your fingers crumple his shirt as he kisses you roughly and passionately now. To feel him hard against you had you nearly begging him to rip your clothes off. He moves on from your lips and down to your neck, leaving sloppy kisses on it. “God, you taste so sweet darlin’. Where’ve you been my whole life?” He mutters against your ear making shivers run through your body.
Your fingers undo the buttons on his shirt and he presses you even harder against the wall as he rips it off, the last few buttons scattering on the floor. Rhett pulls off your shirt and his hands are instantly pulling down the cups of your bra. You blush at his stare but can’t even think about it too much because his mouth is quickly sucking on your swollen bud. “Fuck Rhett, I need you,” you moan as he nibbles on your nipple. He leaves your nipple and captures you back into a heated kiss while making his way to the bed, carefully setting you on to it and climbing on top of you.
But as your hands make your way to undo his belt, you’re interrupted by a knock on the door. “Who the fuck?” he grunts against your neck and you chuckle at his exasperation. “Here baby,” he says as he passes you your shirt and pulls his back on, not bothering to try and button it up.
“Bob? I thought you weren’t in ‘til ‘morrow?” Rhett asked Bob who was the one that’d been knocking. You mentally cursed yourself for forgetting to tell Rhett that Bob was supposed to come today and you’d mixed up the dates. “Y/N didn’t tell ya? She got the days mixed up.” He replied, making his way inside and waving at you. “Oh shit, I’m interrupting something, aren’t I?” Bob knew the messy hair and swollen lips were indicative of your previous activities with Rhett and wanted to kick himself for not texting before coming. “No shit.” If looks could kill, Bob would certainly be dead thanks to Rhett’s stare.
“Okay okay, my bad, I’ll see y’all at moms for dinner.” Bob said, raising his hands in defense and scurrying out the door before anything else was said. “Now, where were we?” Said Rhett, making his way back to you but was interrupted by the door once again.
“What now?” he asked Bob, annoyed at the continuous interruptions. “Sorry, my truck won’t start. Can I borrow yours? I’ll come fetch y’all later.” Bob said hurriedly, his hands were in his pockets and his eyes looked at the floor like it might just swallow him. “Here.” Rhett said, handing him the keys and shutting the door before Bob could interrupt anything else.
“Come here, baby” You said, sitting up on the bed and pulling him down to you as he reached the bed. He was quickly back on top of you, discarding yours and his shirts. Rhett moved his hand behind you, undoing your bra with ease and throwing it to the floor and in turn you pull off his undershirt, trailing your hands through his chiseled abs. At the action, he pressed his hard cock against your clothed cunt and you rolled your hips forward, moaning at the friction.
Rhett’s lips crash again onto yours and you lift your ass as he pulls off your jeans trying not to break the kiss. “My favorite color,” he muttered as his eyes flicked down to the lacy red thong you’d picked out earlier in the week. “Just for you,” you mumbled into his neck, as he tore the piece of underwear off you and stuffed it into his jeans pocket.
His hips rolled against your bare cunt, making you arch your back while he grinned. You tried reaching for his belt but he was quick to swat you off. “Not yet,” he said, trailing kisses down your chest and only stopping once he reached your thighs. His blue eyes burning into yours as he kissed the inside of your thigh then used his fingers to spread your folds open. He didn’t break eye contact as he began to suck on your clit and your hands instinctively reached down to tug on his hair.
You whine as he pushes his index finger in and out of your cunt. “So wet for me,” he whispers against you, and you try to respond but the words die on your lips as he pushes another finger inside you. Your legs squeeze against his head and Rhett lets out groan against you, sending shivers down your spine. Pleasure washing over you as he increases his speed and soon you’re gripping his sheets, moaning loudly as you reach your high. “That’s it, cum for me honey,” he commands as his fingers work you through your high and you’re pushing him away shakily.
He moves back up and pulls you in for a kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. This time he lets you pull off his belt along with jeans and underwear. The feeling of his cock against your cunt makes you arch your back and Rhett takes the opportunity to press open mouthed kisses on your neck. You feel him line up against your entrance and slowly he sinks his cock into you until he bottoms out.
“Goddamn, you’re so tight honey,” He moans as he begins to push in and out of you, slowly letting you adjust to his length. Your place your hands on his shoulders and he lifts your leg slightly, allowing him to sink deeper into you. “Fuck Rhett,” you moan as he picks up the pace and the head of his cock continuously hits your g-spot. “Feel good?” He asked in between breaths but you couldn’t even reply because he thrusted harder into you.
He could feel you clenching around him as you scratched his back. His fingers played with your clit and you both moaned in unison as his thrusts started to become sloppier. His other hand gripping your waist tightly. “That’s it darlin’” He cooed as you arched your back and your legs began to shake. “That’s it,” he continued, fucking you through your orgasm. His grip on you tightened and you could feel his cock twitch as he spilled inside you.
Rhett leaned in and placed a kiss on your cheek, both of you breathing heavily. “Was it better than you imagined?” you asked, your eyes still closed. “Ask me again, after I fuck you tonight.” He responded, pulling out of you slowly, you could feel his cum pouring out of you and onto the sheets. “Be right back,” He said as he disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a damp towel. He was careful as he cleaned you up then helped you into one of his shirts, finishing by pressing a kiss against your temple.
You watched him slide on his underwear and felt your heart squeeze as you realized how much you didn’t want this week to end. The offer he made you of moving with you to California until your contract was over, now had an easy answer. “I’m so glad Bob dragged me to that Christmas party,” you told him, laying your head on his chest as he rubbed circles on your back. “Yeah?” He kissed your head, pulling you closer. “Mhm, and um, yes.” You replied, smiling against him.
“Yes what?” He asked, pulling back to look down at you. “I want you to come with me to California.” “Wait, really?” His eyes lit up at your statement and he pulled you in for a hug as you nodded. “I’m so glad you let Bob’s aggravating ass drag you to that Christmas party, baby.” You smiled, for once letting love be easy.
#top gun fandom#top gun maverick#bob floyd#rhett abbott#rhett abbot x reader#rhett abbot smut#outer range
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I’M ONLY ME WHEN I’M WITH YOU
Summary: in which Daisy Miller gets accepted to college…and turns the offer down, much to the confusion of her boyfriend, Rhett Abbott
Pairing: Rhett Abbott x OC (Daisy Miller) ; Outer Range
Warnings: language, suggestive content at the end (both are 18)
Author’s note: This is my first time writing for Rhett so apologies if it’s out of character but I just him so much in Outer Range and I had to write for him. Comments are much appreciated!!
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Friday night beneath the stars
In a field behind your yard
You and I are painting pictures in the sky
Sometimes we don't say a thing
Just listen to the crickets sing
Everything I need is right here by my side
It had become a normal occurrence as the Wyoming weather warmed up. Rhett and Daisy lying in the fields of the Abbotts’ Ranch, staring at the sky, pretending as if they were the only two people in the universe.
She was nestled into his side, head resting on his chest. It was perfect. Peaceful. But the turmoil coursing through Daisy’s mind wouldn’t let her enjoy it. She had to tell him.
“Rhett?”
“Hmm?”
“I got accepted.”
With a furrowed brow, Rhett turned to the girl. “What?”
“I got accepted. To that school in California.”
Rhett’s eyes lit up in recognition and he cupped her cheek in his hand. “Baby, I am so proud—“
“I turned it down,” Daisy interrupted in a small voice, watching as her boyfriend’s face fell.
“What?”
And I know everything about you
I don't wanna live without you
“I turned it down,” Daisy repeated, more strength behind her words.
“What do you mean you turned it down? That was your dream! To get out of this damn town and go to college!” Rhett argued, sitting up.
“Yeah. It was. It’s not anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
Daisy sighed, intertwining her fingers with Rhett’s. “I don’t wanna live without you. I can’t live without you.”
“Me,” Rhett mumbled. “You’re not leaving because of me.”
I'm only up when you're not down
Don't wanna fly if you're still on the ground
It's like no matter what I do
Well, you drive me crazy half the time
The other half I'm only trying
To let you know that what I feel is true
And I'm only me when I'm with you
“Not just because of that—” Daisy began, only to be cut off by Rhett standing up and stepping away from her.
“No, no, you gotta call the college. Tell ‘em you changed your mind and you’re going!”
“Rhett,” she spoke again.
“No! I’m not gonna hold you back!”
“And I’m not gonna leave you behind!”
Just a small-town boy and girl
Living in the crazy world
Trying to figure out what is and isn't true
And I don't try to hide my tears
My secrets or my deepest fears
Through it all nobody gets me like you do
The Abbott boy’s chest heaved as he stared at the girl in front of him.
“We’ve known each other since we were five, Rhett. You’re the only one I trust with my hopes, my dreams, my fears, my heart,” she said.
Rhett just stood there. No movement. No reaction. Nothing.
And you know everything about me
You say that you can't live without me
“And no matter how much you try to deny it, you can’t live without me.”
“Yes, I—“
“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Daisy hissed, hands on her hips.
I'm only up when you're not down
Don't wanna fly if you're still on the ground
It's like no matter what I do
Well, you drive me crazy half the time
The other half I'm only trying
To let you know that what I feel is true
And I'm only me when I'm with you
“I’m not!”
“Yes, you are! Without me, who’s gonna make sure you eat breakfast before breaking your back on this goddamn ranch? Who’s gonna patch you up after a bull ride? Who’s gonna take care of you when you don’t take care of yourself?” Daisy ranted, tears begging to slide down her cheeks. “Goddamnit, Rhett Abbott, you drive me absolutely fucking crazy!”
“Daisy—“
“I love you, Rhett! I want a future with you! What do I have to do to convince you of that?!”
He sighed, pulling her into his arms. “I just can’t stand to be the reason you don’t get everything you want.”
“You are everything I want, Rhett.”
When I'm with anybody else
It's so hard to be myself
And only you can tell
“Plus, I’ll still go to college. I can take online classes with the state college.”
“What about getting out of this hell-hole?”
“Well,” Daisy sniffles, “we are gonna save up some money. You’re gonna put a ring on my finger like you promised when we were ten. And we’re gonna drive until our heart’s content. And we’re gonna get out of Wabang. Just you and me.”
I'm only up when you're not down
Don't wanna fly if you're still on the ground
It's like no matter what I do
Well, you drive me crazy half the time
The other half I'm only trying
To let you know that what I feel is true
And I'm only me
Who I wanna be
Well, I’m only me when I'm with you
“I hope you know I’m serious about that ring,” Rhett mumbled, gently rubbing his thumb against her cheek.
“I know,” Daisy laughed, resting her hands against his chest. “We’ve been engaged to be engaged for years, Abbott.”
“Is that what you wanna be? An Abbott?”
“Nah. I wanna be yours,” Daisy countered with a smirk.
“Oh, yeah?” Rhett asked, failing miserably at keeping his shit-eating grin off his face.
“Yeah. So make me yours, cowboy,” Daisy teased, snatching the brown hat off of Rhett’s head and placing it on top of hers.
Rhett chuckled and nudged the brim of the hat up so he could see her face. “Cowboy law, darlin’. You know what you’re getting yourself into?”
Instead of answering, Daisy just grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him into a kiss.
#rhett abbott#rhett abbot x reader#rhett abbott outer range#outer range#rhett abbott x oc#rhett abbott x you#rhett abbott x y/n#lewis pullman#bob floyd#robert bob floyd
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I LOVE THIS VIDEO! IT LIVES IN MY HEAD RENT FREE!
ISTG THERE WAS THIS ONE-SHOT I READ ON WATTPAD BEFORE IT GOT TAKEN DOWN! It was a fluff to smut where Bob gets home to his wife on an incredibly hot day and poor baby got hit with steam during maintenance check and his wife gives him a cooldown with the peppermint wipes. I hope someone wrote it! IF IT WAS YOU WHO WROTE IT, PLEASE COMMENT!
#lewis pullman#robert bob floyd#bob floyd#rhett abbott#bob floyd imagine#bob fucks#bobfloyd#bob floyd fluff#bob floyd x female reader#rhett abbot x reader#bob floyd x reader
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Callsign-Hexen Masterlist!
❤️= Fluff | ❤️🔥= Smut | 💔= Angst
Am I taking requests? yes/no
Rhett Abbott (Outer Range) 🐎
Barn Lights and Haylofts 💔(?)
Summary: After being away on a trip out of state, you find yourself going to the Abbott ranch to visit on your way home. Little did you know that you were about to walk into something would make you wish you just drove off...
Western Skies ❤️❤️🔥
Summary: after having dinner with the rest of the Abbott family, you and Rhett enjoy some time together in the field
Beer and Sand ❤️💔❤️🔥
Rhett will always put his blood, sweat, and tears into something he's passionate about. This time, it was literal...
Through the Blood and the Glass ❤️💔
Rhett tries his best to keep his anger in check, for your sake. But the Abbott men tend to hold it in until they explode. It all comes to a front when Perry comes to the family with news...
Ben Mears (Salem's Lot)✍🏻
To be written...
Robert "Bob" Floyd (Top Gun: Maverick) ✈️
To be written...
Miles Miller (Bad Times at the El Royal) 🏨
To be written...
Harrison Knott (Press Play) 🏄🏻♂️
To be written...
What I will NOT write: rape (CNC is acceptable as there will be consent given prior to the act taking place), abuse, any crime against children, anal. If you have any specific things in mind that could be potential warnings, please message me and I will let you know if I am comfortable writing it or not!
last updated: October 7, 2023
#lewis pullman#rhett abbott#outer range#rhett abbot x reader#ben mears#robert bob floyd#lewis pullman x reader#harrison knott#harrison knott x reader#press play#salem's lot#ben mears x reader#robert bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x reader#top gun maverick#bad times at the el royale#miles miller#miles miller x reader
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so (as always) i've been listening to christmas music, but i really love this one song from Gwen Stephani and Blake Shelton called You Make Me Feel Like Christmas (it's old I know)
i feel like it would be so f-ing cute if either Rhett or Bob recreated the lyrics with us as a fun christmas fanfic
#rhett abbott#rhett abbot x reader#outer range#top gun maverick#top gun#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd#robert floyd#robert floyd x reader#lewis pullman
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The first thing you and Bob learn about Rhett is that he's a fancy dress and a fairy Godmother away from being a damn Disney Princess.
And the night that you met him and Bob was your first warning sign.
The three of you were curled into the back of his truck, sipping on drinks and fighting through a bout of uncomfortable silence, when all of a sudden, a bird landed on Rhett's boot. A little house finch, eyeing up the handful of sunflower seeds in his hand.
And out went Rhett's big hand, dirty palm full of more seeds than that little finch could possibly need. "D'ya think I can convince 'em to come home with me?"
Your head cocked to the side as you watched the bird hop right into his hand. Fearless. "That might cost you a lot of seeds."
"Are birds your favorite animal?" Bob had hummed. Some deep rumbling of words that had no right to sound as wonderful as they did.
"Nah," Rhett's head shook a little too fast, sending the bird fleeing to the safety of the roof of his truck. "don't think I got a favorite, actually."
For the longest time, you couldn't wrap your mind around why that was.
He's late to your second date because he's chased a stray kitten up a tree. Walks in the front door with his hair sticking out in every direction; doesn't realize that he's lost his hat because he's too busy apologizing for being so late. Midway through your meal, a little orange head pops out the neck of his shirt, defiantly yelling for a bite of Bob's raisin bread.
And that is how you meet Raisin.
Short for Raisin' Hell.
Raisin' Hell gets up on the kitchen counter two nights later and knocks several of Cecelia's beloved fine china onto the floor.
You'll never forget how Cecelia's voice traveled through the phone. "If y'dont get rid of that damn cat, then I will!"
Fortunately, Bob's friend Natasha is so enthralled with the story that she makes a pitstop in Wyoming to pick up the little ball of fluff. Justifying the adoption with a, "What can I say? The kitten has good taste!"
Coincidentally, a week later, Bob mentions his buddy Jake sneezing and complaining of a cat allegery.
Then, one day, Rhett drops off the face of the Earth shortly after telling you that he's heading to a livestock auction. You and Bob already know that he's out to fetch a pair of donkeys because they've recently developed a hell of a coyote problem. Yet, you're already making bets on what extra animal is going to come with the donkeys.
He wakes you both up the next morning, begging you to join the video call the second you get the chance.
"Look!" Giddy, as he triumphantly points to the little figure in the pasture, "I found a mini version of my horse!"
And it's a little black Shetland pony, a senior who has been retired to the pasture life. Affectionately named Fred by the previous owner. He came as a package deal with two donkeys, Zig and Zag. Royal is livid about the extra mouth to feed, but Amy is already attached.
Fred lives a good two years out in the pasture before old age takes him on a cozy autumn afternoon. He's buried out by an Oak tree in the South pasture, and a lock of his mane forever rests in Rhett's old wooden chest. Right next to the urn of a childhood dog named Rascal and the manes of his first two horses, Winnie and Coal.
Rhett's buddy Archie wakes you with a text one summer night, demanding that you get a handle on your cowboy. And you don't know why until Bob calls later that morning, asking if you've heard about the turkey.
How Rhett got shitfaced and acquired a whole, live turkey is anyone's guess.
Teddy the Turkey doesn't ever really leave the ranch. Maybe out of fear of Thanksgiving, being wrangled by another drunk cowboy, or just plain acceptance of his situation. Hell, it could be all of the above.
It must be a drunk thing because Cecelia tells you that he's come home with all sorts of things, from a family of bunnies to countless opossums. Every dog on the ranch has made its way there due to Rhett.
Then comes the move, and for the longest time, you expect for Rhett to come in with an armload of puppies and kittens. If he's even so much as a minute late, you're suspicious until he rolls in the front door, certain that some little critter is going to be in tow.
But he doesn't bring home a damn thing.
One afternoon, your phone lights up with a black-and-white photo. An ultrasound of...something.
Bob's name flashes across the screen next. Who's ultrasound pictures did you steal?
Then comes Rhett one more time. Someone's gelding wasn't a fucking gelding.
Rhett's mare being pregnant was not on anyone's bucket list for the year. But he loves that horse to absolute pieces, and it comes as no surprise that he's already looking forward to having a second pair of legs running around.
Archie offers to buy the little foal off of him.
Rhett almost eats him alive.
You suppose you shouldn't be surprised about that, either.
The vet says that Isabela can be ridden for a few more months, but Rhett's so concerned about accidentally hurting her and her baby that rides stop the same day. For the foreseeable future, Isabela's adventures are limited to long walks through the trails on the ranch he works on.
But having his only horse out of commission means that Rhett's cowboy career just got a little tougher.
Enter Sparrow, a bay quarter horse whom Rhett leases from a friend.
At least he leases Sparrow for the first month and then decides that Sparrow is the new member of the family. Which works out better than planned because on the months that he's off from a deployment, Bob loves to spend Sunday afternoons taking Sparrow out on trail rides.
Maeve is born a little under nine and a half months later. A black filly with a white blaze running down her forehead and an attitude bigger than she is. From the moment she's up on her feet, she's trying to buck and kick Bob, furious that he's trying to scratch her little hip. It'll be a few years before she can be ridden, but you already know that Rhett will have his hands full.
Maeve gets everything. Blankets, custom halters, handmade treats, morning and afternoon pets, hell, Rhett even figures out Instagram for her. You name it, she gets it. And not only is she the diva of the town, but when she gets older, she's one of the best horses in the area.
Never quite loses the attitude, though.
The first spring after Bob officially leaves the Navy, he decides to get chickens. Builds the coop himself and all. It's been on his bucket list for the better half of a decade now, and he's finally got the time to take care of them. He buys four Buff Orpingtons, but the girl at the feed store must have gotten confused because he comes home to find that he has three Orpingtons and a Silkie.
He goes back to get an extra Silkie so that the little dude doesn't feel like an outcast.
Rhett hates them.
"All those fuckers do is peck the shit outta me!"
"Because they're chickens, Rhett! They're gonna peck things!"
You fully expect him to come around and warm up to them eventually, but it never happens. A year passes, and Rhett's still side-eyeing the collection of poultry on the side of the house. Entering the coop only when you politely ask him to fetch you a few eggs, and even then, he furrows his eyebrows and grumbles beneath his breath.
Then there's one afternoon when Bob comes home from a meeting to a suspicious bowl on the counter.
A chirping bowl.
A bowl of newly hatched button quail.
"Yeah, I stuck 'em in there 'till I could find a place to put 'em," Rhett says when he meanders back into the kitchen, slightly larger box in hand.
You're the next to stumble into this situation, sleepy-eyed and rubbing at your cheek, halfway down the stairs. Aren't quite sure what is going on; all you know is that you've walked into a standoff, and something is wandering around by the sofa.
Something yellow.
A...tiny chicken?
Even as you scoop it up, it doesn't seem real. So incredibly small that it's closer to a toy than a living, breathing animal.
"What's this?" You yawn, holding your hand out, tiny bird on full display.
Little do you know, in your halfawake state, that some new members have joined your busy little family. Even if those family members were found at a gas station for twenty-five cents per dozen.
The coffee maker has just finished bubbling when it hits you.
Rhett doesn't have a favorite animal because every animal is his favorite animal, and he wants to take them all home with him.
Except for chickens.
#bob floyd x reader x rhett abbot#bob floyd#rhett abbott#delgato's warmups#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x you#rhett abbott x reader#rhett abbott x you#robert bob floyd#robert floyd
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Currently on vacation
All I need at this moment is the beach, my copy of Salem’s Lot, some alcohol, and the filthiest Lewis Pullman character fics I can get my smut-deprived hands on 😤
#lewis pullman#rhett abbot x reader#robert bob floyd#miles miller#rhett abbott#i have been through a forced tumblr detox and I’m feeling withdrawals#i need this man so bad#send help
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All Series/Works Masterlist:
I'm going to compile my series masterlists & any standalone pieces that I write in this post (at least for now). The look of the list will change as I write more. Happy reading!
Please assume that ALL works are 18+
All reader pairings are written as female readers unless otherwise stated in the description
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(Series) To The Bitter End: Doc Holliday x Earp!reader (completed)
15 Chapters (word count - approx. 47k)
Story Summary: The youngest Earp sibling joins her older brothers in Tombstone with the hope that the new climate will ease her consumption/tuberculosis symptoms and reconnect her family. But as she settles into this new life, will she find something worth living for? Someone who can tame the loneliness?
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(Series) By Your Side: Rhett Abbott x reader (completed)
23 Chapters (word count - 115k)
Story Description: Returning to Wabang was never something that Y/N had planned on, but with the loss of her father leaving her the sole owner of her family’s farm she must go back. Time spent at home forces Y/N to face the people she left behind. Will Y/N be able to navigate the murky waters of her past and present as the lines between them blur?
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(One-shot) One More Ride: Rhett Abbot x Reader
(18+ MDNI) Rhett & Y/N spend their last night in Wabang together. Pushing away the weight of the world by falling into one another's arms.
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(One-shot) When does it stop?: Jake Seresin x original character (reference to Bradley Bradshaw x original character)
Word Count - 397
Based on the thought of what would have happened if Bradley had been married before the Uranium mission, and Jake had been unable to save him and Maverick.
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(One-shot) Coming Home: Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x Reader
Word Count - approx. 5k
Story Summary: Mickey and Y/N are visiting Y/N’s hometown while away on leave. Shockingly, the pair find themselves invited to her childhood friend’s Halloween gathering. This might sound like a dream, but it’s been four years since Y/N’s had any real contact with her friend, but with a little encouragement she decided to face her fears and go. While Y/N expects awkwardness to ensue, she certainly never expected to catch a raging case of baby fever.
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(One-shot) Summer Haze: Robert 'bob' Floyd x Reader
Word Count: approx. 3k
Story Summary: After years of dancing around their feelings for one another, Y/N and Bob find their way back to one another at a community potluck.
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(Mini-series - Completed)
Together: Jake 'Hangman" Seresin x Reader
Together Part 2: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader
Together Part 3: Jake 'hangman' Seresin x Reader
Word Count: approx. 6k
Story Summary: Y/N and Jake have been friends since their time at the Naval Academy. The two of them acting as each others’ refuge during every up and down. But when a death in the family rocks Y/N’s foundation the two are forced to acknowledge the reality that their feelings for one another go far beyond just a friendship.
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(Series) Moving Foward Masterlist
Y/N Kazansky is many things. A loyal daughter, a world-class fighter pilot, and a fierce protector of those she holds most dear. But beyond the shiny exterior is a wounded woman looking to find her way back to the life she'd known and loved. When a mission brings her back to Top Gun, she is forced to confront the sins of her past while focusing on the uncertain future falling into place in front of her.
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(Series) (In the Bleak Midwinter)
Left with the dying wish of her husband, Y/N finds herself in Birmingham in search of one Thomas Shelby. Old wounds for both will be brought to light as the pair finds a way to heal from the hurt of the past together.
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(One-shot) Every Part of You - Aziraphale x Reader
(One-shot) Ineffable Agony - Aziraphale x Reader x Crowley (gender neutral reader)
#doc holliday x reader#doc holliday#val kilmer#tombstone 1993#doc holiday smut#rhett abbott x reader#rhett abbott#lewis pullman#outer range#rhett abbott x female reader#rhett abbott x you#rhett abbott smut#jake seresin#bradley bradshaw#mickey fanboy garcia x reader#jake seresin x original character#bradley bradshaw x original character#robert floyd x reader#robert bob floyd x reader#jake seresin x reader#hangman x reader#jake hangman seresin x reader#bradley rooster x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw x reader#thomas shelby x reader#aziraphale x reader x crowley
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*STARDUST REBLOG CHALLENGE OCTOBER WEEK 2 MASTERLIST*
[FOR ALL FICS, CHECK THE STARDUST REBLOG CHALLENGE TAG]
*reminder to please heed the author’s warnings on individual fics!*
~ reposting september and october by week because the links were only working on mobile ~
TGM: JAKE HANGMAN SERESIN FICS
make him wait p. 1, p. 2, & p. 3 from @powerfulruler
if i was a worm from @imjess-themess
slow burn p. 7, p. 8 & epilogue from @/ereardon
de-instigating the instigator from @/jupitercomet
secret family recipe from @justalonelyslytherin
snacky snacks from @writercole
imagine me and you p. 4 & p. 5 from @thebirdandthebee
oh, lover boy! from @unmistakablyunknown
girl crush from @lgg5989
perfect accident p. 2 from @/roosterscock
grounded p. 3 from @enchanting-eloquence
home is where the heart is p. 9 from @/imjess-themess
if he wanted to he would from @footprintsinthesxnd
out of the blue, clear sky p. 3 & p. 4 from @theharddeck
the first time (from the best benefits series) from @/writercole
intoxicated from @hederasgarden
everything hurts and i’m dying from @/topguncortez
proof of life from @/topguncortez
praise kink from @callsign-phoenix
stood up. picked up. from @lostdreamr-blog1
a ghost playing hangman p. 9 from @/lostdreamr-blog1
girls on film from @oncasette
party of two p. 3 from @wombtotombx
fair game from @/sunlightmurdock
stranded with your mortal enemy and other exaggerations (from the cruel summer series) from @/jupitercomet
“is that my shirt?” from @/callsignvalley
begging ft. professor jake from @/topguncortez
halloween costume (from the icarus and the moon universe that you need to read!) from @/jupitercomet
parking spots and matcha lattes from @withahappyrefrain
gaston blurb (from the flyboy universe that you need to read!) from @kryptonitejelly
TGM: BRADLEY ROOSTER BRADSHAW FICS
rooster waking you up from a nap from @topguncortez
ddlg w/ rooster from @/topguncortez
en dessous de la lune qui chante (from je te laisserai des mots, a beautiful amazing perfect series, plz read it!!) from @jupitercomet
is it working for you? p. 15, p. 16 & p. 17 from @roosterforme
a nice, big rooster from @/roosterforme
you taste just like sundays (dripping off my tongue) from @callsignvalley
trouble in paradise p. 17 from @sunlightmurdock
‘cause no one breaks my heart like you sneak peak from @heartsofminds
cause if i say i miss you, i know that you won't (from the storm warning series) from @hufflepuffprincesse
safe with you from @marvelandotherfandomimagines
one for the history books p. 12 from @pisupsala
ceasefire p. 3 from @/sunlightmurdock
the scent of lavender (from the afterglow series) from @/jupitercomet
the relationship experience p. 2 from @notroosterbradshaw
a ghost from the past p. 1 & p. 2 from @/a-reader-and-a-writer
vampires from @siempre-bucky
the way you shake and shiver from @/topguncortez
praise kink from @/wildbornsiren
the very noisy night from @/topguncortez
my future in you p. 7 from @/sunlightmurdock
the secrets we keep p. 3 from @/roosterscock
flightless bird p. 4 from @thatlovinfeelin
TGM: ROBERT BOB FLOYD FICS
one night from @ereardon
frottage from @wildbornsiren
what could go wrong? from @/topguncortez
the accident p. 1 from @a-reader-and-a-writer
tomorrow’s tomorrow from @bippot
neighbors to lovers & love thy neighbor from @hangmanapologist
don’t turn away from @green-socks
TGM: MISC FICS
you don’t know how to keep your business clean from @coyotesamachado (jake hangman seresin x reader x natasha phoenix trace)
patch me up from @/marvelandotherfandomimagines (natasha phoenix trace)
orgasm denial from @/wildbornsiren (jake hangman seresin x natasha phoenix trace)
ivy prologue from @perpetuelledaydreaming (love triangle w/ bradley rooster bradshaw and jake hangman seresin)
something in between p. 3 from @archivallyfound09 (love triangle w/ bradley rooster bradshaw & jake hangman seresin)
overstimulation from @/wildbornsiren (reuben payback fitch)
NHL FICS
to sail beyond the sunset p. 1 from @spine-buster (s.crosby)
OUTER RANGE/RHETT ABBOT FICS
the littlest cowgirl and the mean old bull from @mayhem24-7forever
all grown up from @/sunlightmurdock
odds are stacked from @/sunlightmurdock
buckle bunny of sorts from @urtheoneiwant
the wind from @twinklelilstarkey
in stillness from @chemicalalice
if you can’t stand the heat from @/a-reader-and-a-writer
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Peacemaker - Adrian Chase
All Adrian works - here
Peacemaker taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt, @adriansboyfriend
The Crew - Jake Martin
All Jake works - here
Jeffrey Steinberg - Hidden Signal: Evergreen
A Dog On A Leash ~ Thanks to his attempt at total domination over the population of Evergreen spectacularly failed, Jeffrey was forced to be confined in his room. The only interaction he gets is annoying David whenever he brings his meals in. That is until another face appears. A familiar face. A face of someone he presumed had perished in the apocalypse.
Stranger Things - Eddie Munson
All Eddie works - here
Cormoran Strike - Billy Knight
Step By Step ~ Billy's on the mend. It's a process with a lot of ups and downs, but his friend is more than willing to help him out. Whether it's comforting him after therapy or picking out new clothes, the pair are always together and trying their best to build up his psyche and teach him what it feels like to be loved.
└─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────┘
Timewasters - Ralph Penbury
A Change Of Pace: Ralph knows he's quick to fall in love, and that's bitten him on the ass every single time it has happened. Not this time, no. To ensure he doesn't scare his new infatuation away, he must take the advice of his servant, Michael, and take it slow.
���─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────┘
Top Gun: Maverick - Robert "Bob" Floyd
All Bob works - here.
Top Gun taglist: @kpopgirlbtssvt, @adriansboyfriend
Outer Range - Rhett Abbott
1) Human Radiator ~ It's chilly in Wabang so Rhett is immediately at the beck and call of his girlfriend because she's cold and needs a little cowboy loving to make her feel better.
2) Happy Pig ~ The Abbott's have been working Rhett to the bone for far too long and he's allowed one day off to finally catch up on some quality time with his girlfriend. She, under no circumstances, allows him to get out of bed.
└─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────┘
Bad Times At The El Royale - Miles Miller
Corrupted ~ Although he doesn't know her movies, Miles becomes enraptured by one of his guest and fails to restrain himself to show her the kind of love he believes she deserves. Yet, their fling must be kept under the radar because her stage mother is rather possesive.
└─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────┘
Criminal Minds - Dr Spencer Reid
All Spencer works - here.
Criminal Minds taglist:
└─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────┘
Five Nights At Freddy's - Mike Schmidt
A Crooked 32 ~ Mike and Abby move into a new apartment with a new neighbour, but Mike's old mundane responsibilities persist. That's okay, his neighbour and her dog are prepared to entertain Abby for as long as he needs.
└─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────┘
More can be found on my ao3 (also named Bippot)
#adrian chase#vigilante x reader#adrian chase x female reader#jake martin x reader#jake martin#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson & reader#bob floyd x female reader#bob floyd x reader#robert bob floyd#bob floyd#bob fucks#the crew#vigilante#eddie stranger things#top gun maverick#rhett abbot x reader#rhett abbott#outer range#billy knight#spencer reid#criminal minds#ralph penbury#ralph timewasters#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#five nights at freddy's#mike schimdt x reader
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Not Rhett | Rhett x Bob x Reader
Word Count: 4,100
Cross Posted On AO3
Warnings & Notes: Brief mentions of food and alcohol, a nifty case of mistaken identity, and just a general elaboration of how the reader met Rhett and Bob. It's also a warmup that got out of hand.
This is written to function as a stand-alone fic and as a prologue to Rhett_16 is typing... In other words, you don't need to read one to read the other!
The fliers weren't kidding.
This is the biggest Autumn Festival you've ever seen.
A circus of sales booths and food trucks stretches for as far as the eye can see, curling to wrap around the rodeo grounds and beyond. Reaching right up to the border of the pumpkin patch, visible from the hay rides that cart visitors in and out of the tightly packed parking lots. Pumpkins, gourds, hay bales, corn, scarecrows, everywhere you look, you find them. You think you've seen two dozen booths dedicated to mums, and you haven't even been through half of this place.
Just like you haven't seen your friends ever since you split up. They wanted to stand in that long, winding apple cider line, and you really, truly, cannot handle waiting in an hour-long line for something that will take five minutes to drink.
The world tilts sideways. Ground rising to smack you in the ass.
"Shit, I'm sorry!"
You don't recall closing your eyes, but as you pry them open, you almost wish you hadn't. Dear Lord, why is there a cowboy crouched in front of you?
It's not until you notice your things scattered about the ground that you realize what's happened. The contents of your shopping bags are strewn about the dirt path, wallet lying neglected by your feet. This strange man is scooping them up as quickly as he can, but some people have no issue stepping on them as they walk past.
"I—uh..." his head drops to look at the ground, but just as quickly, snaps back up, allowing you a chance to catch sight of the deep blue eyes hidden away by that cowboy hat, "c'n I get you an apology drink?"
You've never heard of an apology drink before, but something about the slight twang to his words has you muttering a soft yes. Even accepting his big, calloused hand to help you get up, despite the voice in the back of your head that warns against it.
Two o'clock on a Monday afternoon is way too early to be following some strange cowboy to a tent bar for a drink, but here you are. Sitting on the far end of a fold-out plastic table, sipping on your drink of choice while this new acquaintance of yours settles down across from you. His legs are a bit too long to comfortably fit, knocking his knee against the cheap, white plastic and wincing as the entire table trembles.
"I don't think I ever caught your name," you find yourself saying once you're sure the table isn't on the verge of collapse.
"'m Rhett."
To no surprise at all, Rhett's one of the many bull riders on the lineup for tonight's rodeo. The flier you were handed when you first got here even has his name on the long, winding list of tonight's riders. As he explains it, the rodeo is for charity. Aside from a nifty belt buckle, you get nothing out of entering, but it's an amazing opportunity if you want to get your name out there.
"I guess I'll be cheering you on from the stands tonight," you'll leave out the part that you weren't originally planning to stay for it at all, but he's made this event sound like so much fun that now you have to give it a shot.
The last thing you expect is for him to smile like a little kid on Christmas morning, eyes sparkling brighter than the smile that emerges from his once stoic face, "yeah?"
"Yeah," Your fingers drum against the material of your wallet, tiny sounds drowned out by the mayhem that is this oversized festival, "so long as your girlfriend isn't upset by it."
"Well, I ain't had one of those in a long time," hard to believe, considering he walks around looking like that on a daily basis, "so I reckon you should be safe on that front."
And just as the conversation starts getting good, you're interrupted by a man who introduces himself as Rhett's older brother. You don't hear his name; all you know is that he's got the worst timing of all time. You'd been so, so invested in Rhett's whirlwind of a story about how he got a DUI because he absolutely had to prove that he could start his truck with a screwdriver. He was mere seconds away from his grand reveal of how he got caught in that abandoned parking lot in the first place.
"Perry, give me like two more minutes, alright?" But Rhett's plea falls on deaf ears because that sad husk of a man isn't budging on his stance.
Perry's not much of a man. Looks like he hasn't slept in weeks, and his arms seem to be permanently folded in front of his chest. "If you don't get over there early, you won't make it in at all, and this whole trip will be for nothing."
He must be a lot of fun to be around.
Regardless, you suppose you should be heading out, too; your friends should have made it out of that line by now. "I suppose I'll see you at the rodeo, cowboy."
The corners of Rhett's eyes crinkle as he smiles, "I'll be lookin' for ya."
Do you remain seated just long enough to admire those broad shoulders straining against the thin material of his flannel?
Yes.
Yes, you do.
That line is still a quarter-mile long, but you don't need more than a second glance to know that your friends are no longer in it. Long gone from the entire area, too, because even as you twist and turn, you can't find hide or hair of them. They're not in any of the places you expected them to be, not the food trucks or the barn stocked full of old ladies and their craft booths.
You're passing the corn maze when your ears catch the whisper of a meek "excuse me" as feet skitter across the dirt path. It may have been a fifteen-minute meeting at most, but you already recognize that voice.
"Rhett?"
...without his cowboy hat.
And his hair is a hell of a lot shorter than it was a little bit ago. But that face is the same, and yet...
It's not?
"I'm—I'm sorry, I'm not Rhett," there isn't a damn way this man isn't Rhett. He looks and sounds the exact fucking same, only Rhett certainly didn't have a pair of wire frames perched on his nose. The guy looks down at his hands and holds one out to you, "You left this on the bench."
Your wallet.
"Oh." God, were you really that distracted by Rhett's backside that you forgot to grab your wallet? As you take it from this, Not Rhett guy, it seems to be in perfect shape, only a little warm from how long he's been holding it. "Thank you?"
His hand rises to scratch the side of his neck, "you're welcome." But his eyes had might as well be on the ground because they don't lift to look at you.
"Are you sure you're not Rhett?" Your mouth is moving on its own; this absolutely has to be the same guy. "Because I swear I just...spoke to you a few minutes ago."
Not Rhett shifts his weight, those eyes finally darting up. Blue as ice, but nowhere near as bold and free as Rhett's were. "I've never met a Rhett in my life if I'm being real honest with ya."
A voice carries across the festival grounds, familiar, carrying with it the familiar ring of your name. As you look over your shoulder, you find your friends scurrying toward you with their shopping bags and towering cups of steaming apple cider.
When you look back, Not Rhett is walking away, disappearing into a group of people that you don't recognize.
"You look like you've just escaped death itself," one of your friends says once she's within earshot, "what happened?"
"I think I've just met some creep who's pretending to be two different guys."
Through the rest of the evening and early into the night, your eyes are peeled. Every corner you come around, every cowboy hat you catch a glimpse of, you expect to see him. Whoever he is. A man who's changed his appearance just to return your wallet to you and pretends not to know a Rhett at all.
A part of you wants to go back to the hotel early, like you'd planned, but a wayward what-if has you climbing up into the stadium and settling down next to your friends. Because if Rhett was telling the truth about being a bull-rider, then he'll have to make an appearance here.
At least, you hope he was telling the truth.
Bronc riders are up first; there's a dizzyingly small amount of riders, too, especially when compared to the long list of bull riders. If their names were written individually on a scroll, then it would have rolled all the way across the stadium by now. Out of all of those names, there are maybe twenty different Rhetts, and those are just the ones you managed to count.
There's an uproar from the crowd that has you lifting your head, training your attention back on the rider clinging to the back of a horse who never has more than two feet on the ground at a time. A familiar face bounces across the big screen.
So Not Rhett does have a name.
"Robert Floyd," the name feels strange on your tongue, but that is absolutely the same guy who found and returned your wallet.
He places fifth out of twenty-six total riders. Not too shabby, all things considered. But your question from before still stands strong; is Rhett real, or is he just this Bob guy?
The first two Rhetts aren't him. One's bald, the other has shoulder-length blond hair so thick that you can't even see his face.
You've got your nose back down in the handout flier, recounting all the Rhetts appearing on the list, when a sharp elbow finds your side. A buzzer goes off so loud that it washes over the booming voice of the announcer.
But you don't need to hear what he's saying.
Because that's him. Curls resting at the nape of his neck, bouncing with every motion of the raging bull beneath him; you've only barely gotten a glimpse of him before his eight seconds are up, but you need nothing more. As he picks himself up off the ground, he turns to face the roaring stadium, head swiveling as he searches for something.
If it weren't for the big-screen broadcasting it in high definition, you almost wouldn't believe that he smiled the moment he spotted you.
And now the only problem you have; is the regret of not being able to find them when the rodeo is over. In such an oversized swarm of people, it's hard to even stay close to your friends; never mind, find a man who doesn't know you're looking for him in the first place.
"Maybe you'll see him at the bar," one of your friends suggests on your way out to the car park; you can hardly recall there ever being a plan to go to a bar after this, but you find yourself humming in agreement anyway.
What's the worst thing that can happen? You meet a third man who looks the exact fucking same?
The bar your friends are dead-set on visiting...isn't much. Easily mistakable for an abandoned building, it's nothing more than four walls, a tin roof, and a cheap roadside sign with sideways lettering. If it weren't for the swarm of vehicles in the parking lot, you would have thought this place was a trap. But it's real, with music so loud that you can hear it as you walk across the gravel parking lot.
Inside, you find yourself bathed in a vivid red light, so vivid and overpowering that it and the golden lighting behind the counter are the only colors you can see. Your friends practically vanish the moment you look away from them, stopping short to take in your crowded surroundings. By the time you lay eyes on them again, they're already on the other side of the room, getting drinks.
Goodie, another crowd to work your way through.
You've just about had it with dodging between people and squeezing into gaps when they can't be fucked to take the two steps to let you past. Or, worse, the good-for-nothings who think you're looking for a conversation and will absolutely stop to have a chat if they give you a compliment or two.
"Damn," you're praying that isn't directed at you, but as you pass this guy with the non-existent eyebrows, he turns to keep facing you; you're the sun, and he's a planet caught in orbit, "I mean, damn."
Just keep walking, just keep walking, just keep—
Your feet tread backward as he inserts himself between you and your path; a nauseating musk follows him like a scorned ex, makes your nose wrinkle the second you pick up on it.
"Aww, c'mon, I'm paying you a compliment!" The collar of his shirt tightens around his neck as he's yanked backward so hard that his feet come out from under him. Falling into a not-so-sober heap on the polished concrete floor.
Maybe you'd hear what else he has to say if it weren't for a familiar face catching your eye. All muscle and long, dark curls that rest against the nape of his neck; if it weren't for the lights, you're sure you'd be drowning in the deep blue of his eyes by now.
"You have impeccable timing, cowboy," at your words, Rhett's scowl lightens into a smile.
"Saw you walk in," his voice is just deep enough to be audible over the thumping music, and you're drawn to it like a bear to honey. "I'm surprised you showed up at this hole in the wall, of all places."
"Someone recommended it to my friends," you say, stepping past the mess of a man on the floor. "It's hard talking them out of something once they've made up their minds."
You don't know if it's reputation or his size, but the crowd parts like the Red Sea for Rhett; those broad shoulders don't bump into a damn thing as you follow him like a shadow. "Whoever told them that was a fuckin' moron."
"This place can't be that bad," as you step out of the crowd and into the empty space next to the bar counter, the noise level drops. So significant that your own voice feels too loud now.
Rhett's got a seat on the very end of the counter, kept occupied by a lone cowboy hat and a jacket so heavy that it looks like it could make winter feel like summer. It's still warm out, but just seeing it makes you wonder how cold it will get once the moon is high in the sky.
"Take a look around," Rhett lifts his hand, gesturing toward the general area around you, "'s a reason why most people here look fresh out the sewer."
And take a look around, you will, because this place didn't look that bad when you first walked in. Sure, the guy on your left could use a bath, and the gaggle of girls squeezing out from the crowd reek of 2000s fashion trends. Now that you think about it, those bouncers at the door did look a little more menacing than usual...
The guy passing on your left comes to a hard stop. So sudden that his shoes squeal against the floor. Eyes wide, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights.
"What the fuck," Rhett's words are the only confirmation you have that what you're seeing is real. Not a lone delusion you're having.
Robert Floyd's gaze flickers over to you, then back to Rhett. "I see why you asked if I was Rhett, now."
Behind you, Rhett orders a double shot of tequila.
The bar is far too loud for you to hear each other talk; Robert—sorry, Bob speaks far too softly to be heard over the music, and Rhett's voice carries so well that the Myspace girls start eavesdropping. It's cooling off outside, but the back of Rhett's truck is the perfect spot to continue your conversation.
Out here, it's easier to tell the difference between them. Bob's a few shades paler and doesn't share the same scars that mottle Rhett's skin. Though they're both brunettes, but Rhett's darker locks make Bob look closer to blonde.
"D'you at least ride horses on a farm?" Rhett presses, sipping his beer.
But Bob just shakes his head, "We mostly use heavy machinery nowadays." Which may explain how he wound up one of the top Weapons Systems Officers in the Navy; if you grow up using farming equipment all your life, a plane can't be that big of a jump once you learn the controls, right?
They're so strikingly similar, only varying in the fine details. Both come from families with generational land; one was a home birth on an isolated cattle ranch, and the other was born in a hospital and brought home to a well-known family farm. Rhett's a bull rider, Bob had bronc-riding as his backup plan, just in case the Navy didn't work out.
Both wanted to fly the coop the moment they turned eighteen; Bob was handed that opportunity to escape on a silver platter; Rhett was roped up and tied down before he could spread his wings. Bob has had vision problems all his life; Rhett's got perfect clarity. They're so easily mistakable for each other, and yet, so, so different.
And when you talk about the places you call home and your backstory, their attention is downright glued to you. Bob finds all the tiny details that somehow align with their stories, and Rhett's so fixated that he's got a million and one questions.
"I'm sorry, but who the fuck, goes to Mcdonald's and orders four sausage, egg, and cheese biscuits?" Rhett's attempt at coming off as annoyed dissolves into a fit of giggles as Bob tries to elbow him, barely able to squirm away from the attempted assault.
"Big words coming from the guy who just admitted to driving forty-five minutes for a singular bacon egg and cheese biscuit," the only thing stopping Bob from going after him is the lack of a lid on his water bottle. "You didn't even get a hashbrown with it!"
"I forgot they had those, alright?"
Much to your dismay, your friends head out at the same time as Bob's do, and Perry has been blowing up Rhett's cell for over an hour now. If it weren't for Bob's suggestion to exchange numbers, you're sure that you would have lost all contact with them after that night.
But now you've found yourself staying up long past your usual bedtime, giggling at rambunctious text messages and bickering over static-filled phone calls. Rhett can't type to save his life and hardly tries to correct himself, leaving you and Bob to try and decipher what the hell he meant to say. But Bob can't complain because he's got a horrible habit of pocket-dialing the two of you.
'Bob, can you ducking learn to lock your home when you put it in your picket?'
'I will, as soon as you learn to spell.'
'Duck you'
In the first month of knowing each other, they take multiple DNA tests. Sending off each one with the expectation that they share a common ancestor, something to explain their uncanny similarities. Every single one comes back with the same answer; they're not related.
With Rhett's long hours at the ranch and the demand of Bob's Navy career, it's difficult to meet in person. Plans always seem to be falling through, whether it be an emergency requiring Bob to be shipped halfway across the country or a small tornado uplifting the fences keeping the cattle in. Something is always in the way.
There's a spontaneous Friday where you all up and decide to meet because your weekends have opened up, end up spending two nights in a city you don't know the name of. Your next two attempts to meet don't pan out so well, leaving you to rely on Bob's next greatest idea.
"There, you two are," Bob all but beams at the sight of you, cozied up in your bed with your laptop resting on the opposite pillow. Rhett's saying something, too; you can see his mouth moving, but not a sound carries over. You don't realize what the problem is until Bob audibly sighs, "Rhett, your microphone is muted again."
Rhett's mouth moves, and even though you can't hear it, you already know that he's quietly muttered a soft 'what the fuck,' as he reaches for the laptop touchpad. "Whoops."
How long you stay up, all depends on scheduling and luck.
Some nights, you're up until the birds begin to chirp; others, you're only there for fifteen minutes before Rhett's internet connection drops or Bob's interrupted by an important phone call. There are a lot of days where you have to be the first to leave because you've got things to do in the morning.
But sometimes, just sometimes, you find yourself here.
Curled up in bed, laptop propped up next to you, fighting the drowsiness that's long since settled in your eyes. Sleep sings your name in the sweetest melody, her arms open, welcoming you to step into sweet, sweet unconsciousness, but you can't take that final step. Too fixated on the blurry screen to hear her siren song.
Bob rests on the upper half of your screen; those glasses have long since come off, his pale face smushed into the pillow. Every time you think he's finally fallen asleep, those soft blues flutter open as if he's waiting for you and Rhett to doze off first. They haven't said anything about it, but you're pretty sure he and Rhett have a bet on who's going to be the first to give in.
Your night owl of a cowboy isn't doing much better, staring up at you with that half-lidded gaze from the bottom portion of the screen. The only thing keeping him awake is the hand he's got propped beneath his head, but he's starting to slip too. Even now, you can tell, all from the way his free arm is slowly pulling that spare pillow closer and closer to his chest.
"Your neck is gonna be sore again if you keep your head propped up like that."
The corner of Rhett's lip lifts, "shut it, Flyboy." But he's already pulling his hand out from beneath his head, properly settling down into his messy bed.
"That wasn't me," Bob's words are stretched around a yawn, barely decipherable.
Much to your dismay, you're the first to drift off.
Making video chats a regular event may have been a mistake because you start catching yourself staying up even later. Clinging to every second you get with them because they're such busy men that you don't get to have these calls as often as you'd like.
Men who certainly don't make your heart skip a beat when they light your phone up with good morning text messages. Always up before you, always bickering with each other and sharing what they're up to, growing excited the moment your good morning text comes through. Two men who look at you like you're their entire world.
But you can only have one.
And maybe that's how you found yourself here. Staring up at the ceiling as time seems to leave you behind completely. Memories flicker through your head like a picture book, comparing and contrasting, searching for something. Anything to find fault in one of them, to sway your decision. There's no point; you're split down the middle, can't force yourself to love one more than the other.
The world around you has long since fallen asleep, leaving you with no escape from your own thoughts. Trapped in an invisible prison, not a distraction around to help you avoid it. You hate these nights.
Because it’s on quiet nights like these, when the world around you has gone eerily quiet, and your phone is devoid of any new notifications, that you truly feel the effects of your heart becoming tangled up in a never-ending game of tug of war.
Optional continuation: Rhett_16 is typing...
#robert floyd#rhett abbott#bob floyd#robert bob floyd#rhett abbott x reader#bob floyd x reader#top gun robert floyd#top gun bob#top gun maverick#top gun fic#bob floyd fluff#bob top gun#rhett abbott x you#outer range#rhett abbott fluff#bob floyd x you#bob floyd x y/n#rhett abbott x y/n#fluff#bob floyd x reader x rhett abbot#bob floyd x rhett abbott#rhett abbot x reader#rhett abbot x you#rhett abbot x bob floyd#bob floyd x reader x rhett abbott#bob floyd x rhett abbott x reader#rhett abbott x bob floyd x reader#delgato's warmups
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Mornings Like These | Rhett x Bob x Reader
Word Count: 800
Warnings & Notes: None :)
It's laughter that wakes you.
Bouncing off the hallway's walls, bumbling through the partially cracked bedroom door, and dancing around your ear like sugar plum fairies. With it, it carries the unmistakable scent of bacon and freshly brewed coffee, settling heavily on your nose until your eyes flutter open and you sleepily acknowledge its presence.
Sunlight peeks through the part in the curtains, illuminating the dark room with little white stripes. There's a little mug of coffee sitting on the bedside table, no longer steaming, but it's warm in your hands. The mug comes from a matching set of three, something Bob picked up on one of his deployments; handmade and in your favorite color. All you need is one sip to know that it's Rhett who's made your coffee for you; he's the only person in this house that can get the ratios right.
Your sleep-clouded brain tells you to stay in bed for a little while longer, but curiosity killed the cat, and you really want to know what they're laughing so loudly about. The closer your tired feet carry you to the kitchen, the louder it gets, and it sounds like the table scooted across the floor just now.
There they are; Rhett's got one hand on Bob's lithe waist, the other holding his hand as he clumsily twirls the pilot around the kitchen. Bob's cheeks are bright red from laughter, glasses forgotten on the counter as Rhett spins him around, over and over.
Mornings like these are rare. Mornings when Bob has the day off from work, Rhett isn't aiding in an overnight catastrophe at the ranch, and both have the energy to get out of bed early and start breakfast together.
And it makes it all the sweeter when you get to walk in on them doing things like this.
"Baby!" Bob whines between his giggles, "tell your boyfriend to quit making me dance!"
Rhett mumbles something through his shit-eating grin that you can't quite make out, but Bob's reaching for you; you've got just enough time to set your mug down before fingers are dancing up your side and drawing you into the mix.
"Good morning," somehow, Rhett's gotten ahold of your hand, spinning you and Bob in a clumsy, all-too-close circle that has your shoulders smacking together.
It's Bob's hands who find yours next, stealing you out from under Rhett before you've even processed your first spin. Gracefully raises your hand above your head and twirls you around like it's the easiest thing either of you has ever done.
At least, it's graceful until Bob steps too far to the left and smacks his hip on the corner of the kitchen table, jostling it even further from its original placement.
"Ow!" He yelps, jumping away as if burned.
"And you say I'm the bad dancer," despite his teasing, Rhett is leaning down to kiss Bob's temple, then tilts his head to kiss the tip of your nose, "good morning, darlin'."
The coffee pot gurgles with its own good morning tune, summoning both of their attentions back to their former tasks. There's bacon and hashbrowns sizzling quietly on the stovetop, just shy of being cooked through but still a touch raw. Freshly beaten eggs sit in a bowl just off to the side, waiting to be poured onto a clean skillet.
"Why the fuck do you drink it black," Rhett pesters, reaching across the stove to turn off a burner.
The only task he can be trusted with when it comes to the oven. Or any cooking device that can start a fire, for that matter.
Carefully sipping his freshly brewed coffee, Bob peers over the rim of his mug, "because you're causing a creamer shortage."
Rhett scoffs at that, but he has no comeback to offer up. It's still fun to think about just how different their drinks are, compared to what you initially expected them to be. You're still not sure how it is that Bob is the one that drinks his coffee black. Yet your cowboy will not touch the stuff unless it has been thoroughly drowned in creamer and sugar.
The bacon is starting to get too hot, grease popping up out of the pan in tiny, explosive little droplets that threaten to land on any exposed skin.
Rhett holds his hands up in defense, "it wasn't me; all I did was turn off the hashbrowns."
And yet, when you step forward to turn the burner down, Bob bats you away with a towel, "both of you, out of my kitchen," he fusses, but despite the agency in his tone, he still finds the time to lean down and steal a kiss from your lips, "you're walking fire hazards."
Rhett whines, falling into his respective chair at the table and making grabby hands for you to settle into his lap, "man, we only caused a grease fire once."
And that statement alone is enough to make Bob stop what he's doing and turn to the both of you. "Once?"
#top gun bob#robert bob floyd#bob floyd x reader#bob floyd fluff#bob floyd#rhett abbott x you#rhett abbott outer range#rhett abbott x reader#rhett abbott#rhett abbott fluff#rhett abbott x y/n#bob floyd x you#bob floyd x y/n#fluff#delgato's warmups#poly#bob floyd x rhett abbott#rhett abbott x bob floyd#rhett abbott x bob floyd x reader#bob floyd x reader x rhett abbot#idk if these are tags yet#but they are now#this was a test drive of the poly ship
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i’m so sorry if you’re busy 💃🏽✨💐 but blow your mind has me whoreishly wondering, are ever we gonna “see” rhett and robby both wearing cowboy hats? do they ever hit up that state fair again, or any other bigger out-of-town rodeos? does rhett try to dress reader and robby up a little (lend them hats, boots, shirts or ask them to bring something of their own) or does he just let them wear whatever they want? does robby ever steal rhett’s signature brown cowboy hat? does reader? does reader wear it when they ride rhett or robby? does rhett wear it when he rides reader or robby? i feel like robby would secretly be very, very, very into rhett wearing his cowboy hat while riding him...
👀now, these are quite some concepts 💃
I like to think that the festival becomes a yearly tradition. An excuse to spend the weekend cozied up in a hotel room, buying things they don't need and joking about their not-so-perfect origin story. Even if they're all living together, it's just something they do.
There are a handful of rodeos, too; Reader and Robby always seem to make it to those rodeo finals and a few in-between ones too, but Rhett's rodeos taper down after he wins in the Amelia County Rodeo Finals. Partially because of a nasty knee injury he suffers from in the following season, but mostly just because he wants to venture out to where Reader and Robby live more. A little too sick of Wabang, a tad curious about what life is like outside of Wyoming.
Rhett's possessive ass absolutely tries subtly wrangling them into his clothes; he's been known for hiding Bobby's boots and 'accidentally' leaving his flannels in Reader's laundry. He thinks he's sly; hasn't realized that Reader and Bob started catching on within the first week of him doing it. They just let him think he's getting away with it, because it's cute to see him light up when they wear his clothes.
And that absolutely goes for his hat, too.
Robby is a little shier about wearing it, doesn't think he's "worthy" of wearing a cowboy hat when he's not a cowboy. He mostly steals it in private; where he feels most comfortable and like nobody is going to side-eye him for it.
Reader though? Absolutely steals it 💃if Rhett's hat miraculously grows legs and walks away from where he left it, then it's usually on the Reader's head. Acts all dramatic, like he's been robbed of his life savings, but he's melting on the inside and won't actually take the hat back.
"Nope! 🙄It's yours now. I don't want it anymore." Accompanied by a stolen kiss or three.
BUT?
HELLO?
ROBBY IS ABSOLUTELY INTO RHETT WEARING THAT OLD TATTERED HAT WHILE RIDING HIM.
He tries to find ways to knock it off, too. Thrusts up to meet Rhett halfway just to watch it bounce; intentionally knocks his head against the brim when he goes to kiss Rhett, trying to dislodge it. Sometimes, if that doesn't work, he rolls their bodies over so that it has no choice but to fall off and lay beneath Rhett's head.
There's a day when something pisses Robby off (*cough*, buckle bunnies, *cough*), and he wears the hat while he rides Rhett. Rhett says it's the hottest thing he's ever done; Bobby refuses to even speak of it because the memory makes him turn redder than a stop sign.
Half the time, Reader doesn't even start riding them with the hat on. Rhett and Robby are very guilty of reaching over and putting that hat on Reader's head; have some unspoken kink for the damn thing. But it's only for that old, felt brown hat; Rhett's summer hat almost never gets to join in on those escapades.
Sort of unrelated note, but I had this thought while I was writing this; they have absolutely tried roleplaying as cowboys.
Rhett's got his usual hat. Bobby and Reader wear old hats they dug out of Rhett's closet. But it ends in laughter because they keep knocking their hats off. Bobby's hat is too big and keeps falling into his eyes; Readers is too small. Who could have known that it's hard to kiss someone when you're both wearing cowboy hats?
🌻💕
#bob floyd x reader x rhett abbot#rhett abbott#bob floyd#robert floyd#robert bob floyd#i swear im answering the other ask you sent too lmao#ive been saving it for this weekend 💃💃#delgato's asks#💐#rhett abbott headcanons#robert bob floyd headcanons
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darling del 💐 let’s say our trio are all home during the month of october and decide to go to one of those walk-thru haunted house attractions: who suggested it? who’s excited? who’s dreading it? who’s dreading it but pretending to be excited?
👀 A haunted house, you say? 💃🦇
(If you could picture the bat flying around the dancing lady's head, that would be splendid)
I love to believe that Bobby is one of those people who simply don't get scared easily. It's the sort of thing that he's adjusted to over time because one of his sisters went through a huge horror phase, and with only one TV in the house, it was hard to avoid.
But she's rubbed off on him, and though he's desensitized to the genre himself, he loves spooking others. Sneaking up behind Rhett and blowing on the back of his neck to get a rise out of him, jumping out from around the corner and scaring Mickey within an inch of his life.
It happens unintentionally as well because he's a quiet little wallflower who can float in and out of a room without being noticed. He once scared Mav simply by walking into the room and asking him a question. That...nearly got a wrench thrown at his head, but Bob still got a kick out of it.
In the past, Natasha has tied a little bell to him because he kept wandering up behind her without her realizing. Too many times has she turned around and come face to face with a motherfucker who shouldn't have been there. He's spooked his friends so many times that his contact in Jake's phone is Spooky Motherfucker 🦇
So when Bob's on his way home from a deployment, three days earlier than Rhett and Reader are expecting, and sees promotional signs for a haunted house, he gets himself an idea.
Of course, it's only brought up after he deliberately sneaks into the house and jumps on Reader and Rhett while they're cuddling in bed. And in the haze of all the excitement, they all agree to go when it opens next week.
Rhett regrets it immediately.
Because who, in their right mind, goes to a haunted house intentionally? He doesn't get it. Growing up, if you saw something weird on the ranch, you stayed as far away as you could get. You did not actively seek it out. But he's too stubborn to let Bobby and Reader see that he's nervous, so he's pitifully feigning excitement.
He's horrible at it, but he's...he's trying.
Bob, the smug bastard, is the complete opposite. He's stoked. Because in the back of his mind, he knows that the moment the Reader or Rhett gets scared, they're going to cling to him. It's for the same reason he loves turning on a good horror movie. He doesn't even care for the genre these days, but he does care for feeling Rhett scoot a little closer and the Reader hiding their face in his side.
Reader is a mix of emotions, but it's mostly overwritten by curiosity because? Are they finally going to see Bobby get scared? Or is he going to be stone-stiff the whole damn time? Is the house actually scary, or is it meant more for children?
The answer comes when the three clamber out of the car and hear a distant chainsaw.
Rhett very nearly gets back in the car.
Right off the bat, Bob's perfectly fine. Unbothered when someone grabs him in the dark, doesn't jump when a scarecrow pops out from around a corner.
Rhett's sent into a swearing fit when a woman in a bloody wedding dress runs her nails up his arm, and the Reader thinks it's the funniest fucking thing. He winds up having to hold Bob and Reader's hands, not because he's scared, but because he's realized that when someone scares him, his first instinct is to swing... So, to avoid any potential lawsuits, his hands are occupied.
The Reader gives the best reactions out of the three, and Rhett will not let them forget how hard they jumped when a clown jumped out of the bushes. And even though the Reader was just laughing about Rhett swearing like a damn sailor, they're doing it too by the time it's over.
But who would have ever expected for a haunted house to be so damn stuffy? Bob's cheeks are flushed beet red, and all three of them are sweating by the time they stumble down the exit trail.
All of a sudden, someone pops out of the woods while Bob's back is turned and jumps on him.
And he yelps.
He's never hearing the end of it.
But he can't be too upset about it because Rhett and Reader buy him a box of chocolate-covered strawberries, made to look like ghosts, from the gift shop.
And then Rhett finds the caramel apples. The Reader disappears, only to return with a vampire cat plush, and all of a sudden, they've all got a stuffed animal because the cat is going to be lonely otherwise. Rhett has a Frankenstein horse tucked under his arm, and Bob has...somehow found himself with a candy corn plush.
Who would have ever thought that they made those?
Would Bob do it again next year? Absolutely.
Rhett? Absolutely fucking not.
The reader winds up as the tiebreaker.
So will y'all be going again? Or is staying in for a movie night a better option? 🎃
#rhett abbott#bob floyd#robert bob floyd#bob floyd x reader x rhett abbot#💐#rhett abbott headcanons#robert bob floyd headcanons#tw: food#milesmillergf#delgato's asks
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