#Bobby Craves

[unclewaynemunson]

Okay how about a stranger things / queer eye crossover?

Obviously Eddie is their hero because he has been through literal hell and back and doesn’t exactly have his life together. He watched a friend be brutally murdered in front of him in his living room, he's been wrongfully accused of being a satanic serial killer, he nearly died in the process of protecting his friends, and his home got completely uninhabitable. He needs help. A lot of it. And the fab5 are SO ready to give it to him.

Bobby builds him and Wayne a supercool new trailer from scratch. He gets both of them their own bedroom that perfectly fits their vibes and makes the living room completely different from the one they used to have to wipe away the bad memories and make it into a safe space where they can hang out together and invite friends over. Wayne isn’t allowed to see how it progresses through the week, but no one can keep him away. He wants to help Bobby with the project and doesn’t take no for an answer. They end up becoming best buddies in the process. Bobby, also having ran away from home as a teenager, can relate to Eddie quite well, so he gets very emotional when he sees that Eddie has this relative who has always looked out for him and had his back.

Tan is very excited about expanding Eddie's wardrobe from washed-out band shirts to higher quality blacks. He genuinely loves Eddie's edgy style and loves giving him the means to elevate his wardrobe. Eddie is also down to try some new things so Tan gets him in heels and a badass black skirt with fishnets at some point, which he ROCKS. He also takes Eddie to a fashion designer so that they can design a new Hellfire shirt and Corroded Coffin merch together while doing some bonding.

Jonathan is HORRIFIED when he finds out that Eddie's only grooming product is a 13-in-1 shampoo/soap/face wash/shaving cream/toothpaste/body milk/motor oil kinda thing. That doesn’t stop him from swooning over Eddie's locks non-stop. He never even suggests cutting Eddie’s hair: he fixes up his bangs a little bit and gives him some good oils for curly hair that give him a major glow-up. (He also tries to talk him into a proper skincare routine but everybody knows it’s not gonna last more than approximately 1.4 days)

Antoni literally cries when he sees the Munsons’ sad tiny kitchen and has Bobby swear he’ll give them something better in their new home. Eddie has the weirdest eating habits, he loves completely gross combinations like honeycombs in orange juice or chocolate with cheese. Antoni is slightly concerned but mostly impressed by his boldness. Eddie isn’t a bad cook per se, but he’s very experimental and completely unhinged in the kitchen, so Antoni tries teaching him some guest-friendly meal that won’t make anybody’s tastebuds implode. Eddie isn’t that into it but he tries his best to impress Antoni because, let’s be honest, Antoni is hot and exactly Eddie’s type.

Karamo teaches Eddie that he needs to heal on the inside as well as the outside. He takes him outside of Hawkins, to a Lord of the Rings convention in the city, somewhere he can be himself completely and leave the ugly comments he still has to deal with everyday behind him. Eddie doesn’t exactly like to talk about everything that happened to him, but Karamo takes his time to break him down and build him back up again. He also invites Eddie’s band/D&D friends to join them for a while, in order to make Eddie talk to them about his traumas, and to show him that his friends will always support him. It’s tough for Eddie, but in the end, it really helps him trust his friends and himself again.

At the house reveal, Eddie sees Wayne cry for the first time in his life. His uncle just BREAKS when he sees Eddie’s awestruck face; he can’t stop sobbing and he needs Bobby to hold him. Eddie himself can’t stop grinning the whole time. Everybody he cares about is there and the trailer park almost seems like a beautiful place.

#the crossover no one asked for #stranger things #queer eye #eddie munson #wayne munson #bobby berk #tan france #jonathan van ness #antoni porowski #karamo brown #fab5 #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #i'm sorry this became much longer than i wanted it to be #if anyone feels like adding anything or writing something about this: please do #this is the kind of healing content i crave tbh

[okletsgetnuts]

#millie bobby brown #actress #hot ones #YouTube channel #hot wings #celebrity #stranger things #celebrity culture #celebrity funny #funny reaction #reaction #drinking #ruined weeknd #photo #okletsgetnuts #dunkindonutz #pop culture #pop crave

[caswellseyes]

Hiiii! 12 from the autumn prompts for whatever found family group you want?

hi!! tysm for this one, it was so fun to write! i went with sunset curve + willie cause i thought they'd be both cute and chaotic, which is my favourite thing hehe. also i'm very european and don't celebrate thanksgiving so all the dishes etc are based on one google search and one google search only lmao. anyway this is set in some sort of modern day au wherein sunset curve rehearses in bobby’s garage and the molina’s don’t own that house. enjoy!

12. All of us have shitty families so we’re doing Friendsgiving instead

“Bobby, can we make cranberry sauce?”

Bobby turns around, bringing the shopping cart he’s pushing to a halt. Reggie stands in front of him, crouched near a few boxes of cranberries.

They’re in the supermarket, doing some last-minute Thanksgiving shopping. Honestly, Bobby hadn’t planned on celebrating this year - his parents are absent, as usual, so it’s not like he could’ve celebrated with them - but when all three of his best friends mentioned crashing in the garage over the holiday, those plans had changed.

“I don’t know,” Bobby says, frowning. “Are you supposed to make that or buy it in a can or something?”

Reggie shrugs his shoulders, already digging out his phone to look it up. Bobby takes a moment to check his own. He has three more texts from Luke requesting extra dinner rolls - he sends a picture of the two packs in the cart and immediately receives a bunch of exclamation points - and a voice message from Alex.

“Hey, Bobbers,” Alex says when Bobby presses play. “So, uh, I just took the turkey out of the oven to rub the spicy butter stuff on it, which was gross, and it was still kind of cold? But it’s been in there for ages, so I don’t think it should be cold anymore? And then I asked Luke and he said the oven might be broken but it doesn’t look broken so I just put the turkey back in there and turned the temperature up just in case. Don’t worry, I put the fire extinguisher in the kitchen in case anything goes wrong.”

Alex pauses for a second, listening to someone in the room. There’s a muffled conversation before Alex continues the recording.

“Oh, also,” he says, clearly aiming for casual but not quite succeeding, “uh, Willie might be here? If that’s cool? It’s just that they didn’t have plans either cause Caleb is only doing this super fancy adult dinner and that sounds terrible and also boring so Luke and I thought they could join us, but obviously if you and Reg don’t want that then that’s fine too, but. Yeah. I’m gonna check on the turkey again.”

Bobby smiles to himself as the recording ends. He quickly texts Alex back that yes, of course Willie can stay, and that the oven acts up a little sometimes but if the turkey doesn’t turn out, they’ll have plenty of other food. Then, for good measure, he texts Willie to let them know they’re welcome as well.

“I think we make it ourselves,” Reggie says, dropping the package of cranberries in the cart. “We just need some orange juice and sugar.”

Bobby nods and adds the ingredients to the grocery list on his phone.

“So that’s green beans, corn, pumpkin pie, sugar, and orange juice,” he says. He pushes the cart forward again, Reggie keeping pace next to him. “Also, Willie is joining us.”

“Nice,” Reggie says, beaming widely. “I’ve been meaning to talk to them about that raccoon dream I had so they can interpret it for me.”

Bobby mulls that statement over for a second and then decides he doesn’t need to know. Instead, he steers them toward the green beans and leaves Reggie to pick out some good ones while he gets the corn.

They rush through the rest of the list, both eager to get home. Thankfully, both the store and the streets are fairly empty and they make it back to Bobby’s place in no time.

“Hey, Alex,” Bobby says, dropping a heavy bag of groceries in the kitchen. “How’s the turkey?”

Alex groans from the floor. He’s sitting against the kitchen island, legs stretched out and touching the cabinets underneath the oven. He’s glaring at the oven and the turkey in it intensely.

“I’m pretty sure it’s still frozen,” he tells Bobby. “But the mashed potatoes are pretty good.”

“Nice.” Bobby tosses the green beans onto the counter and puts the orange juice in the fridge. “When’s Willie getting here?”

“In a little bit,” Alex says. He pushes himself upright and takes the corn from Bobby. “They said they had something to do first.”

Reggie barges into the kitchen with the rest of the groceries. The dinner rolls - three packs, since they now had an extra person coming - are balanced on top of the bag he’s carrying.

“Hey, ‘Lex, wanna help me make cranberry sauce?”

Alex turns to Bobby and pulls a face. Bobby shrugs. Clearly, they’re on the same end of the cranberry sauce-hating spectrum, but Bobby is fairly sure they’re also both committed to doing whatever their bandmates want to make this a good Thanksgiving, so he’s not at all surprised when Alex turns back to Reggie and helps him unload the groceries, already talking about the kitchen utensils they need.

Bobby sneaks a bite of mashed potatoes and rushes out of the kitchen before Alex can stop him. 

“These are really good,” he yells, already halfway out the door. Alex’s outraged cry follows him all the way to the garage.

“Bobby!” Luke calls out as soon as Bobby walks in. “Awesome, can you toss me those streamers?”

Luke is standing in the loft. Clearly, he’s trying to hang up streamers between the loft and the wall on the other side, but they keep falling down. 

Bobby obediently picks up the streamers and tosses one end to Luke. It falls down the first time, but the second time, Luke catches them. While he fastens them on the loft railing, Bobby climbs on a chair and ties the other end around a little hook in the wall.

He steps back to examine their work and frowns.

“Luke, these say ‘Happy Birthday’.”

Luke bounces up to him. He shrugs.

“Well, you said to decorate the garage, and we don’t really have any Thanksgiving decorations, so I figured I’d just use a bunch of other stuff.”

Bobby looks around. True to his word, Luke had indeed used a whole lot of decorations. There are Valentine's Day balloons everywhere and an Easter tablecloth covers the table they dragged out here. The centrepiece on the table is a plastic Halloween pumpkin filled with confetti and a snowflake curtain from last Christmas hangs in front of the door.

It’s a mess. Bobby loves it.

He tells Luke as much, clapping him on the shoulder. Luke beams with pride.

Together, they make quick work of setting everything else up. They bring plates and cutlery from the house into the garage and set the table, keeping plenty of space free for the dishes. Then, once Alex and Reggie deem the food ready, they carry those in.

By the time Willie skateboards up to the house, clutching a paper bag, the only thing that isn’t done yet is the turkey. All four members of Sunset Curve are leaning over it, examining it as if it’ll magically be cooked.

“I don’t get it,” Alex says for the fortieth time, “I followed all of the instructions, and I put the butter stuff on it so often even though it felt really gross, and it’s still cold.”

“Maybe it’s meant to be cold?” Reggie suggests. “I mean, it always looks cold in the movies. I’ve never had Thanksgiving turkey before.”

Luke reaches out and pokes the turkey. 

“No, I think this is just still a little frozen,” he says.

Bobby sighs. The turkey hadn’t defrosted for nearly as long as it should’ve. They’d all agreed initially that that shouldn’t matter too much, but combined with the shitty oven in Bobby’s kitchen, it had turned out to be a bit of an issue.

“I think we just waited too long to take it out of the freezer,” Bobby says. He nudges Alex’s shoulder. “Good thing we have those amazing mashed potatoes. We won’t even need turkey.”

“Oh, the potatoes,” Reggie says dreamily. “‘Lex, is Willie here yet? I really want to eat the potatoes.”

“I’m here,” Willie’s voice says from the doorway. As one, Sunset Curve turns around to face them. 

Willie waves awkwardly, one hand holding the paper bag.

“Hi,” they say. At Alex’s motion, they move into the kitchen, quickly kissing him before turning towards the turkey.

“That does look a little frozen,” they say. “It’s okay, though. I brought chicken nuggets.”

“You brought what?” Bobby asks, not sure if he heard that properly. When Willie puts the bag down and unpacks two large takeout containers, both filled to the brim with chicken nuggets, it turns out that he did.

“Well, Alex called me about the turkey,” Willie explains, “and that everyone was helping get stuff ready, so. This is my stuff. Oh, and the bottom box has veggie nuggets instead, for Bobby.”

“You brought backup poultry?” Alex asks, a little amazed, “and vegetarian stuff?”

“Yep.” Willie says with a grin.

Luke and Reggie eye each other. Slowly, both of their hands glide towards the nuggets. Bobby slaps both of them away.

“Not till we’re sitting down,” he says sternly. Next to him, Alex has drawn Willie into another kiss.

“Dudes,” Luke says, causing Willie and Alex to break apart, “let’s go eat!”

Together, they file into the garage, placing Willie’s chicken nuggets in the middle of the table.

They sit down, pouring drinks for each other and passing dishes around. Bobby fills his plate with a generous helping of mashed potatoes and a bunch of green beans. The first pack of dinner rolls is already empty, so he breaks into the second before pouring gravy onto his plate.

When he’s ready to eat, he looks around at his friends. Luke’s plate is piled high with dinner rolls and Reggie has half the bowl of cranberry sauce on his. Alex has a little bit of everything, while Willie seems focused on the corn. 

It’s not the lonely evening any of them thought this holiday would be. Instead, they’re all together, enjoying a good dinner with friends.

“Bobby, did you want to say something?” Alex asks. 

Bobby shakes his head.

“Nothing. Just - Happy Friendsgiving, everyone.”

Reggie raises his glass, the others quick to follow suit.

“Happy Friendsgiving,” they chorus, clinking their glasses together.

Yeah, Bobby hadn’t planned on celebrating Thanksgiving this year.

He’s really glad he did, though.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #bobby shaw #reggie peters #alex mercer #luke patterson #willie jatp #willex #michelle does things #michelle answers #things i learned for this: most cranberry sauce recipes use orange juice #i just #orange juice? really? #idk why that surprises me so much but wow i did not see that coming #am also very confused by people just. heating up corn? i only eat that cold and in salads? #food is weird #really craving some mashed potatoes now though #also chicken nuggets

[jocelynships]

Wow multiple interests bouncing around my brain and multiple F/Os are fighting for attention.

D.raxum is grumpy about it I’ll tell you that much

#then you got the turtles running around with Sonic and friends and then Bobby Kitty and Jubilee Craving Chaos #ALSO GREGORY TOO #THE LITTLE SIBLING FIGURES CRAVE CHAOS #no one let Huey Dewey Louie and Webby near them all-

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Day 189, and all that's left now is her scars! Also, can you tell that I made adjustments to Excited and Disgusted? I'm still less than thrilled with Disgusted in general, but I'm also kind of #done fucking with it. She looks more Concerned than Disgusted, but whatever.

So, since we're basically done, I'm calling it now! Results are in!!! Top five expressions on this sheet are (drumroll, please):

Fierce

Rage

Triumph

Ill/Nauseous

Bereft

Feel free to disagree with me, though :P

#the great artscapade of 2022 #bobbi's being weird again #art #my art #kingdom hearts fanart #kingdom hearts oc #oc: mizu #expression sheet #which ones are your top five? :D #also the cat is being Extra Squeaky tonight #and I'm IRRITATED but he's SO FREAKING CUTE that if I look at him when he squeaks I can't help giggling and petting him #it's not at all conducive to my trying to teach him to just get on the laps he wants to get on #he squeaks because he wants attention #I want him to just come get the attention he so craves #but he's SO DAMN CUTE I give him attention anyway #do you see my dilemma?!?!?

[seeyalaterinnovator]

Who are you going to the Navy Ball with and why?

Weeellllll, anyone who knows me knows I am a Bob girl through and through. So this is a pretty easy pick for me. Though I feel like both of our personalities could be the same In the fact that we probably would both assume neither of us want the other to go with them and it would lead to a WUT kind of moment haha.

But also the thought of him like all soft and cute picking you up, all puppy dog eyes like "you look so beautiful tonight, I mean you look beautiful every night, but you look especially beautiful"

He'd be a good dance partner I believe. Probably keep his hands at the respectable places, until you tell him it's okay to let them wander a little. SOFT LIL KISSES. Oh man. My heart. I am soft for soft Bob.

#I need more soft bob in my life #I crave that shit #Bobby #thank you for the asks

[flowers-that-sing]

i hunger.

#bobbi babbling #i crave FLESH and BLOOD #mostly blood but i am hungry so flesh would be nice too!!! #anyone willing to donate? #just a couple teaspoons and maybe a nibble

[age-of-moonknight]

“Buried Monsters!” West Coast Avengers (vol. 2/1985), #31.

Writer: Steve Englehart; Penciler: Al Milgrom; Inker: Tony DeZuniga; Colorist: Paul Becton; Letterer: Bill Oakley

#Marvel #Marvel comics #Marvel 616 #West Coast Avengers #Moon Knight comics #Moon Knight #Marc Spector #Mockingbird #Bobbi Morse #Khonshu #just stating for the record that Bobbi is actually right here that dude turns out to be shadey #but I can’t get over Khonshu craving violence and Marc encouraging…insurance fraud???

[bobgasm]

oral technique [part two] | b.f

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x f!reader word count: 2449 warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], oral sex [f & m receiving], reader rides bob’s face in a parking lot, a mind blowing blowjob, male moaning, whimpering, bob has a praise kink, bob gets head, bob’s a virgin in this, it’s pure filth

summary: in which you give bob head

author’s note: @attapullman convinced me to write this a while ago. everyone say “thank you morgan” 🤭

part one | oneshot | masterlist 

If there was one thing you knew for certain, it was that you never wanted to be “just friends” with Bob. You’d had feelings for him for a while, enjoying the time you spent together that made your feelings develop tenfold. 

He was smart, usually the smartest person in the room. His shyness and shy nature made it seem like whoever commandeered the conversation ruled him out of the running. But you knew – he’d mumble under his breath with correct facts, never needing anyone else to confirm for him. He didn’t want the recognition, or everyone’s attention on him. 

But you? He craved your attention. He enjoyed the smug grin you wore whenever he corrected someone. The look you shared with him whenever the person he was correcting was Hangman. You understood he didn’t like being the centre of attention, and so you basked in his victory quietly. 

A game of truth or drink brought forth your feelings for someone in the circle. While everyone tried to ask you questions about who it was, you’d always take a sip as you held Bob’s gaze. You understood how embarrassed he’d feel if the entire group knew; the merciless teasing and insistence on setting the two of you up. The way you viewed it, he’d act on it once he was ready to, once your hints and lingering touches became more obvious. 

You hadn’t been surprised to watch Bob drink when the question about virginities came into play one night. He was a private person, and if he didn’t want to talk about his experience – or lack thereof, – you’d do what you could to draw the attention away from him. Even if that meant over exaggerating your own experience, everyone was quick to move on and forget that Bob had drank instead of telling a story. 

It was how Bob decided to confide in you, and you soon learnt that he was still a virgin. He’d told you with his head hung in shame, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. You hadn’t made fun of him, no. Instead, you’d offered to teach him how to go down on a woman. 

By practicing on you. 

Sure, it was fuelling your own agenda, but Bob was eager to learn and you were more than willing. 

Your mind still spun in circles whenever you remembered that night. The way his hands and mouth felt on you, inside you. His lust-blown pupils and crooked glasses, hair a mess from your hands and your slick coating his chin when you finally let him up. 

“You taste so good,” he’d uttered, mouth barely an inch from your heat as he’d made the confession. You replayed it over and over again whenever your fingers expertly brought you over the edge. 

You wanted him again, of course you did. Your skin felt alive whenever you were in close proximity to him, his cheeks always rosy whenever you looked in his direction. Your little secret. 

He drove you wild. 

He’d told you about his crush, and you’d finally confessed to yours. He’d been bashful and shy, asking, “wait, really?” It made you chuckle as you tenderly cupped his face and said, “yeah, Bobby, really.”

Getting it out in the open had been the first step. Sure, you’d skipped a bunch by offering to teach him how to eat you out, but it had been more than worth it. Since then, he’d asked for more “tutoring sessions,” which you were more than happy to oblige with. 

It had reached the point where you’d catch him staring at you hungrily from across the room and you’d make an excuse about being tired. Bob would offer to drive you home, and he’d wind up with his mouth on your cunt, making you scream his name. 

Tonight was much the same, except Bob was feeling a lot more confident about himself around you. He’d softly kissed the skin behind your ear as he’d given you a hug. His fingers wandered dangerously high under your dress. But tonight you had a plan to pitch a new idea to him, something new you could show him instead. 

You wanted to switch places. You wanted to be the one on your knees, driving him wild with your mouth and hands. You wanted to make him come undone and listen to all the pretty noises he’d make. 

You announced you were feeling tired not too long after catching Bob ogling your chest. He was being discreet about it, to the point you knew all your friends were oblivious, but you caught him. He blushed something fierce before offering to drive you home. 

You had a routine down pat. No one questioned the two of you leaving together. No one questioned the blush on Bob’s cheeks. They all assumed he had a crush and would never act on it, but they underestimate you. Your own crush on Bob that only he knew about. 

Outside, you marched towards Bob’s car with purpose, but he was hot on your heels. 

“Eager, are we?” He asked cockily, catching your hand and spinning you around. Pressing his body against yours as he backed you up against the door, hands on your thighs under your dress. 

Your breath caught in your throat as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, giving you almost what you wanted. You let out a small whine, “Bob,” and he chuckled. 

“Here?” He teased, sliding his hands further under your dress. “Anyone could catch us.”

“Doesn’t it excite you just a little bit?” You countered, hands fisting his shirt as you cocked your head to the side. “The thought of me riding your face in a parking lot? On your knees, Lieutenant.”

Bob groaned as he sank to his knees on the gravel ground. He didn’t care about the large stone beneath his left kneecap. All he cared about was having you fuck his face and making you cum harder than you ever have before. 

He started with the soft kisses along your thighs, fingertips pushing up the material of your dress as he inched his way higher. His mouth was hot against your already warm skin, teeth nipping and tongue laving at your soft skin. Your thighs were covered in his little ministrations, marks of his time spent between your legs making you come undone over and over and over again. 

He kissed you over the material of your panties, taking a deep inhale of your delicious sex as he moved the material to the side. 

“Spread your legs a little more,” he instructed, shuffling himself forward a little more. He wanted you perched on his face properly.

You did as he said, leaning back against the side of the car. One hand tangled itself in his hair, the other lifted your dress so you could see him. Bob wasted no time licking a bold stripe up your centre, flattening his tongue so he could taste all of you. 

You whimpered as he found your swollen nub, his tongue dancing over it. Tasting, teasing. 

He’d become more bold in his actions since his initial first time eating you out. You’d taught him what you liked, the failsafe combination of his mouth on your clit and two fingers hooked inside your cunt, drawing out an orgasm time and time again. But he’d wanted to try more, make shared experiences. You’d been more than willing to let him practice. More than willing to accept any time he wanted to spend with his face buried in your cunt. 

You gasped as he stiffened his tongue and pressed into your tight entrance, arms hooked under your legs as you felt him bear your weight. The delicious squelching and slurping had your head falling back against the door with a soft ‘thunk’ that didn’t stop him. He moaned against you as you started bucking your hips, grinding your clit against his nose. 

The gates to heaven were at the apex between your thighs and Bob’s tongue held the key. 

“Bob,” you gasped, feeling the coil in your abdomen tighten. 

But he didn’t stop. He helped guide your hips when your thrusts grew weaker, your hand growing tighter in his hair to the point of pain, making him moan against you one more time. 

“‘m so close, baby,” you purred. “Fuck, just like that. Such a good boy.”

Bob’s groan was low and guttural, your words spurring him on. His cock strained against his pants almost painfully. His own hips bucking for any kind of friction as you used his face to come, body shuddering without any further warning and your slick gushing from your cunt with a vengeance. 

He slurped and gulped and moaned up a storm as your legs closed around his head, eyes blinking out spots in your vision. 

When he felt you gently stroking his hair, he helped you lower your legs to the ground before he gazed up at you. His glasses were askew, pupils lust-blown and and goofy, fucked out smile on his face. The lower half of his face was still covered with remnants of your orgasm, as well as spotted across the dark material of his shirt. 

“Such a good boy,” you repeated, just to watch his eyelids flutter close under the praise. “C’mon.”

You helped him stand, admiring the wet patch staining his jeans. The first time he’d cum while eating you out, he’d been embarrassed. Now he felt pride, that getting you off was enough to get him off. You never made him feel bad for it, but you were hoping he’d be ready to go again by the time you got home. 

Bob happily drove, holding your hand while you rested in the front seat. The silence was peaceful, and by the time you made it to Bob’s place, he kissed you hungrily. 

“Want you to ride my face properly,” he told you. “Straddling my face while you use me to get off.”

Your breath hitched at the idea, your hands tangled in his hair as you tasted yourself on his lips. You shared a moan as he pressed you up against the door of his apartment, fumbling to get the key in the lock so you could continue inside. 

“I have a better idea,” you told him, voice sultry as you kissed along his jaw, lips brushing against his air. “I want to reward you for being such a good boy.”

Bob whimpered as the key turned in the lock before the door opened. He held onto you as you stumbled a bit before kicking the door closed. 

“What’s that?” He asked, voice thick with desire. 

“Get on the couch, baby,” you instructed, watching him drunkenly stumble towards the couch and plop down. You slowly walked towards him, his eyes tracking you. His breath came out ragged as you reached for a decorative cushion and knelt on it in front of him. 

“Oh, I–you don’t,” he stammered, swallowing thickly as you ran your hands up and down his thighs, slowly parting his legs. 

“You’re always so good to me, baby. I wanna be good for you.”

Bob moaned as your hands reached for the button on his jeans. “Please. Please,” he begged. “Fuck, I don’t–I won’t last.”

His breath came in short pants as you peered up at him. 

“It’s not about lasting long, baby. It’s about getting you off. Enjoying the feeling of my mouth,” you assured him. “Please? Please can I suck your cock?”

He keened in response. “Yes, fuck. Please.”

You smiled sweetly, enjoying how wound up he already was at the prospect of your mouth on his cock. He lifted his hips without much prompting, helping you to remove his soiled pants and underwear. His cock sprang to life and rested heavy against his stomach. Thick and long with an angry red tip and droplets of cum streaking down his length. 

You rubbed your hands along his thighs, nails lightly raking down to just above his knees, still spotted with dents from the gravel. His cock twitched as you pressed a kiss to his pubic bone, a soft gasp falling past his lips. 

You lightly wrapped your hand around his cock, peering up at him through your lashes as you licked and sucked his balls. Bob’s hips bucked of their own accord as you started to stroke your hand up and down his shaft. Precum oozed from his slit with each stroke from base to tip. 

Taking a page from Bob’s own oral handbook, you licked him from base to tip, tongue delving into the puddle of precum. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he whined, doing his best to watch your delicious assault on his cock. 

You wrapped your lips around his tip and hummed, laying your tongue flat against the sensitive underside and gently sucking. Your mouth salivated as he groaned, hands fisting the couch cushion beneath him and you reached for one of them, bringing it up to your hair. 

“Guide me slowly,” you instructed. “Find my limits.”

You let your spit trickle down his length, saving more in your mouth before you took him in again. He gently urged your head further down, eyes widening as his cock slowly disappeared in your mouth. 

“Fuck, baby,” he panted. “Takin’ me so well.”

You moaned around him, watching his head fall back at the sensation. You wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, the other lightly playing with his balls. Working him into a state you’d only dreamed of. 

When you gagged around his cock, his eyes flew open and his grip lessened in your hair. You held his gaze even as your eyes watered and you worked to take him in further. 

When you slowly lifted your head, a large bridge of spit from your mouth to his cock had you grinning. You hands continue working his cock. 

“How you feeling, baby?” You asked him. 

“Good, so good,” he moaned, your thumb rubbing circles at the ridge under his cock. “Fuck, I need your mouth.”

You hummed as you obliged, sucking the tip of his cock while you continued to jerk him off. Slowly taking more of him into your mouth as he guided your head. Starting to quicken your motions as his hips bucked and his balls pulled in tight. 

“I’m close. I’m gonna–fuck,” he grunted, whining as you continued your blissful assault until his seed filled your mouth. Hand wound tightly in your hair as you pulled off him with a ‘pop’, mouth full of his salty cum as you swallowed his load. 

You hummed, swiping at the corner of your mouth before sucking it clean. 

“Good boys should always be rewarded,” you praised. 

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #robert bob floyd smut #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert bob floyd fanfic #robert bob floyd fanfiction

[cognacdelights]

play wicked games, win wicked prizes [1]

gif by @spacedean.

my supernatural masterlist

summary: she craves male validation. he's the best high she's ever gotten. now they're both stuck in a sick and twisted game of foreplay that neither are willing to lose.

warnings: daddy issues — daddy issues galore. self-esteem issues. i am well aware that this is not a healthy relationship and is for entertainment purposes only. sexual content and themes. swearing. alcohol use. religious undertones. small age gap romance.

author's note: this will be in two parts as it's looking like it's going to be around 15k words in total. second part will be released soon. minors have been warned. do not interact.

It was hard to define her relationship with The Winchester Brothers.

There was Sam; and he was just Sam. He was a year older than her, and the epitome of the dorky, older brother that she never had. He played board games with her and helped her with her Calculus homework. They shared book recommendations and did research together. She forced him to play Princesses with her and hold tea parties against his will.

But most importantly he was a friend. She’d never had a friend before. Not until the day that rusted, old Impala pulled up outside Bobby’s shop and John Winchester had all but begged Bobby to take his boys in for just a couple of nights. She remembered it like it was just yesterday — hiding behind the over stacked bookshelf, listening as the two older men argued back and forth. Bobby eventually gave in, as Bobby always did, and waved John off with a stern look and a handful of colourful curse words.

Up until that day, it had always been just her. And Bobby. Bobby did the best that he could, but he wasn’t her father, and he never got a break from the job. There was always a phone going off here, then a bloodied and injured hunter turning up at the door there, or the local Sherrif Department snooping around here, there, and everywhere.

Sam was shy at first. Quiet and introverted. He always had his head stuck in a book. She quickly learned that wasn’t entirely the case, he just took a little while to warm up to you. But once that match was lit, there was no stopping the fully-fledged campfire that burned. They were friends. Best friends, even, at times. They understood each other and found solace in knowing that they weren’t alone anymore. They were two peas in a pod.

Her relationship with Dean was far more complex.

He was older; five years older than her to be precise.

Dean didn’t pay her any attention at first. In fact, he barely even acknowledged her presence. He was hyper focused on Sam; always making sure that he ate his breakfast and brushed his teeth before bed. He was more of a parental figure to Sam than Bobby was. Between looking after Sam and helping Bobby research cases, he didn’t seem to have much time for her at all.

It wasn’t until the day of her eighth birthday that she really seemed to turn a corner with Dean. She spent the day sat on the windowsill, peering longingly out and waiting for her father to arrive. She was dressed head to toe in her best outfit; a white, frilly dress with a matching silk ribbon, tied around her plaited ponytail. Her perfectly polished shoes swung back and forth in anticipation as her chestnut eyes lit up with a hopeful glint at every swoosh of the trees and roar of an engine. She was so damned sure that he would come. Why wouldn’t he? He was her father. It was her birthday.

Dean knew that he wasn’t coming. He’d been around the block enough times to know how this played out, and it was never a happy ending. When the sky began to darken, he eventually sat beside her on the old, flattened cushions — a slice of cherry pie, topped with a singular lit candle, in his hand. He caught the saddened look that dimmed her eyes as the realisation began to set in.

Her father didn’t come that day, or the next day, or even the day after that. There wasn’t even so much as a phone call. He pulled up six weeks later with a broken arm and unrecognisable letters etched into a torn and bloodied piece of paper. The only reason Andrew Lawson had returned was to seek out Bobby’s help in translating the words. There was no big, shiny make-up gift, no birthday card, no apology. Just yet another rejection; he shooed her away so the adults could talk.

Dean, once again, saw the flash of hurt that glazed over her eyes. It pained him, because he saw so much of himself in her. He too had forgotten birthdays, and excitedly watched out of windows for his father to never arrive and had been banished from rooms so that the adults could talk. He too had been shoved to the very bottom of the priority list, and the knew the weight of the anguish that came along with that. He knew what that did to a child’s self-esteem.

As they grew older, they became closer.

Dean was a big part of her life. He taught her how to play soccer, including all the dirty plays to win the ball without the referee noticing. He taught her how to fight, and how to shoot a gun. He taught her how to drive — albeit illegally in a stolen, clapped-out banger that they joy rode around the backroads of Souix Falls. He gave the Lawson girl her first cigarette when she was just fifteen, much to Bobby’s dismay. He smoked up her first joint with her on the hood of The Impala. He bought her a four-pack of beer to take to her first high school party and drove her home, so she was safe. He took her to her first bar. He took her on her first hunt. He patched up her wounds. He bailed her out of jail after her first arrest.

They fought like cat and dog, and as only they could. Over anything and everything; the TV remote, supernatural lore, the rules of Monopoly. Whether she was ready for The Hunt. They used to drive Bobby insane with their bickering — with all the door slamming, and flipping off, and the countless “Son of a Bitch” curses that would echo through the house.

As she’d reached her twenties, they’d become the epitome of comfortable with each other. Perhaps too comfortable at times. They’d shared beds together and slept beside each other in the backseat of The Impala. She’d wear his clothes — his flannel shirts as jackets to keep herself warm, or his old, logo-printed t-shirts to bed. She was open about her sex life, as he was too. She’d brush her teeth whilst he was in the shower, and vice versa. She’d flitter through their motel rooms in nothing but a skimpy towel. She’d sit in his lap if there wasn’t a seat, or sometimes even if there was, and lay her head on his shoulder when she needed some soft, human contact. He’d run his fingers through her hair. He’d tug her jeans up by the belt loops, over the strings of her thong, and pull the hem of her skirt down as she drifted past him.

Somewhere — somehow — along the line, they had found themselves locked in this sick and twisted game of foreplay. Teasing. Taunting. Toying. It never went further than some light touching, but their mouths were nasty, and their thoughts were downright vulgar. They got a perverse kick out of it, especially her. In all the rejection from her father, she had turned to seeking out male validation to fill the void and Dean Winchester was the ultimate high; the random, slick-jawed man at a bar would give her a five-minute high at most before the shame would set in, but Dean would have her orbital for days. One look, one touch, one quick-witted comment would have her floating amongst the constellations.

And then, he died. Well, so she had assumed. Sam had explained that he was gone. Just gone. Nobody knew where, or how. He was just: gone.

Her world turned upside down. There were no more Orion-level highs, just five-minute boosts to her ego before the guilt-ridden shame would drag her back down into a pit of self-loathing. She swept her way through The South — hitting bar after bar, bedding man after man, destroying monster after monster. She drank and she smoked until she didn’t even recognise herself in the mirror anymore.

Until her phone rang — a number that had once been disconnected flashing across the screen. Sam Winchester.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Maggie May’s Flower Shop. How may we help you today?” she put on her best Southern Belle accent. Even though she knew damned well who was on the other end of the phone, she still turned out her spiel. She would be damned to the darkest corners of Hell if she didn’t put him through the ringer after almost a year of no contact.

“Maggie—” a timid voice sounded throughout the speaker, “—it’s Sam.” He waited anxiously for her to respond but when she remained silent, he was forced to continue. “We need your help.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know a Sam. Have you placed an order with us?” Maggie shot back with a sickly sweetness to her tone.

There was a heavy breath on the opposite end of the phone. “Come on, Mags. We’re working a case, and we could really use your help… It’s rough out here.”

“May I suggest our apology bouquets,” she continued, standing her ground, “they’re just divine. Will smooth over almost any of your wrongdoings.”

“Apology bouquets—” a deeper, gruffer voice chuckled, “—what did you do?”

Maggie instantly dropped the Southern Belle façade. “Dean?” she questioned, voice dripping with surprise.

An uncouth melody of noises permeated from the phone. A whack. A loud groan. A grumble of curse words. “You didn’t tell her, Dumbass?”. Followed by rustling and shuffling. Then mumbling. They were arguing. Maggie couldn’t comprehend exactly what they were arguing over — the line was too crackly, and she was too hungover to concentrate — but they were most certainly at each other’s throats.

“Hello?” she huffed impatiently.

“Maggie May,” Dean’s husky voice filled her ears, “how you been?”

“Uh—” she didn’t know how to answer that question. The honest answer was far too much more than she was willing to give away to anyone, but to say that she had been just peachy would have been a downright lie. Both Dean and Sam would have seen right through it. “I’ve been more Sober in my life—” she bit her lip, despite the two brothers being unable to see, “—and I don’t remember getting back to my motel room. But I’m alone, so I think that counts for something.”

“How quickly can you get to Stillwater, Oklahoma? We’re working a job and could use you right about now.”

She rolled herself over under the quilted comforter until she teetered on the very edge of the bed, her dark locks falling into her face. “I don’t think I should be driving right now,” she admitted, vision blurry as she peeled herself out of the warmth and stumbled her way towards the bathroom. She pulled on the string for the light and was immediately met with harsh, white lighting. Her head throbbed as she let out an involuntary groan.

“Jesus, girl, how much did you drink?” he asked — his face scrunching up at the lethargic pads of her feet and the uncomfortable groans that echoed through the speaker.

“Enough to drown a fish,” Maggie mumbled back.

She stared at herself in the mirror; her eyes were bloodshot, and a dark, mauve bruise painted her cheek an unsightly manner. She hissed quietly as she ever so gently reached her fingers up to touch it. Bad idea. It pulsed with pain. On further inspection, she had a busted lip — dried blood coating the thin cut.

“Atta girl, I suppose.”

“I can be in Oklahoma in a day—” she answered, running the tap, “—but you’re gonna have to give me a few hours before the single vision kicks back in.” She splashed the cool water over her face and instantly regretted it. “What’s the case?” she asked.

“Two deaths at an all-girls Catholic boarding school,” Sam cut in.

“We can’t get close enough to figure out what’s going on,” Dean added.

“I guess I’ll start practicing my Hail Marys then.” Swiping the towel over her freckled features, she left the phone balancing on the edge of the porcelain sink.

“No amount of Hail Marys are gonna save you.”

She spat a response, “bite me, Winchester.”

“I’m sure you’d love that, sweetheart—” Dean chuckled, “—but we’ve got a couple of civvy deaths to deal with first.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

It had been a long twelve hours on the road, and by the time Maggie’s old, beat-up pick-up truck pulled into the motel parking lot it was pushing midnight. The red, neon light of the sign cast down onto the black asphalt, dimly lighting up a path to the several motel room doors, and the few wall lamps flickered every couple of seconds. The walls were peeling their beige paint — as if shedding all their unspoken sins away — and rusted, metal chairs lined the tiled walkway. It couldn’t have looked any shadier if it had tried.

Maggie killed the engine, watching as the warm lamps of her headlights faded into the darkness. She stepped out, the thick soles of her boots hitting solid ground for the first time in what felt like forever. The midnight air ran bitter, but it was a welcomed reprieve from the humid temperatures of New Orleans. A chill crept along her spine like two gentle fingertips — however, not a patch on Dean’s. She tugged the sleeves of her over-sized flannel over her fingers and proceeded down the walkway, leather duffle bag in hand.

If she hadn’t had it drilled into her that you always pick the motel room closest to the exit — in case the need for a quick getaway ever arose — the sleek, black Chevrolet Impala parked outside would have given which room they were staying in away. Well, that and the gruff sounds of their arguing. The curtains were pushed closed, but there was a light on in the room; two tall silhouettes appeared in front of the window as what she could only assume was the TV flashed advertisement after advertisement in the background.

“I’m not a child anymore, Dean—” Sam’s husky tone echoed through the courtyard, “—you don’t get to make decisions for me. If I say I’m good, then I’m good.”

Maggie stuffed a hand into the pocket of her flannel and retrieved a credit card; it was and old one in an alias that she no longer went by — most likely maxed out and with a red flag marked against it on the system.

“No, you don’t get to make these kinds of decisions when you take a year out,” Dean shot back. His voice was deep and gravelly, a sure sign that he’d been drinking. “You’re out of practice.”

She slid the credit card between the mouldy, wooden door and its frame and pressed her weight against it.

“This isn’t about me being ‘out of practice’,” Sam deduced — his words turning more accusatory than defensive, “why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Get it all out in the damn open.”

It was a tough lock, which was surprising for such a run-down, old motel; they were usually a lot easier than this to crack open. Maggie persevered, forcing the credit card into the gap with a masterful wiggle.

Dean argued back, “you’re slow, and you’re weak, and you’re not thinking ten steps ahead. You’re a freaking liability right now and I don’t have the time to be playing search and rescue every time something goes down.”

She found the sweet spot, and with a glorious click, the motel room door opened. She stepped inside, a satisfied grin curling the corners of her full lips upwards. Who needed a key card?

Within a matter of milliseconds, Maggie was staring down the barrels of two handguns — locked and loaded with two ring-cladded fingers hovering over the triggers. Two mean glares stared her down. Sam and Dean. She merely cocked her head to the side as a lopsided smirk swept across her fair features. She teased, “don’t you boys know it’s rude to point your gun at a lady?”

“Yeah?” Dean shot back with a surly attitude, “let me know when you find one.” He stood down, easily slipping the gun back into the waistband of his scuffed-up jeans.

She pouted playfully in response.

“Maggie,” Sam addressed her. His voice was significantly softer, almost breath-like, as he raked over her with guilt-ridden eyes. He followed suit and stood down. He nonchalantly threw his loaded weapon onto the half-made bed before looking back at the petite brunette before him. Sam wasn’t sure what else to say; in fact, he wasn’t sure that there was anything he could say to make the tension dissipate. Maggie May was going to hold a grudge for as long as Maggie May pleased.

“Sam.” Her chestnut eyes scoured over him in return. They started at the very top — taking in his long, mahogany locks. They were longer, but more kempt. He was wearing a new flannel shirt; she’d never seen him in a flannel of that colour. He still wore the worn, leather watch that his dad had given him, but it was set ever so slightly fast. The jeans were new too. There were no scuffs or rips, but the boots were worn in and old. She returned her gaze upwards and met his eyes for a brief second.

Then, she looked away. Her eyes caught the elder Winchester brother and immediately illuminated with a spark of relief. She let go of the leather handles and let her duffle bag drop to the floor with a soft thud. She took a step towards him, and then another, before wrapping her arms around his neck. Maggie held him tight, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck as she stood on the tips of her toes.

“Dean.” His name was quiet and mumbled, almost as if she didn’t quite believe that he was there. She took a long breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his deep amber cologne. God, she had missed that smell.

A reticent laugh slipped from between his chapped lips. He placed a gentle kiss into her messy wisps and mumbled — the words quiet, as if they were ever only meant for her to hear, “Maggie Mayhem.” His burly arms wrapped around her slender figure and held her into his body just as tight. The palm of his hand laid flat against the bottom of her back, slipped beneath the hem of her leather jacket, and the pad of his thumb carefully stroked back and forth.

Realising the vulnerability that had clouded her voice, she steeled herself and mocked, “when are you finally going to stay dead? This is what— the third time now? Obituaries are expensive, you know.”

“I’ll write you a cheque for your losses,” another husky chuckle rumbled through his chest, unphased by her teasing.

Maggie felt Dean’s grip loosen around her and him begin to pull away. She wasn’t quite ready to let him go just yet, and instinctively held him tighter. She’d missed him — she’d missed that orbital high that came with his attention, his touch; and her damaged soul most definitely needed the recharge. It had been a long, emotional rollercoaster of a year without him. A few more seconds wouldn’t hurt. “Not yet,” she told him.

Dean simply relaxed — resting his chin atop her head and allowing her to melt into the warmth of their embrace. His hand dropped to her hip and leisurely hooked itself into the beltloop of her fitted jeans. He gave it a tender tug, covering the black string of her thong. He felt the tickling brushes of her eyelashes against his neck as she rolled her eyes in typical Maggie May fashion.

Sam merely watched on awkwardly. Him and Maggie were as close as two best friends could be, but they never quite reached the level that Maggie and Dean had; they were something different. What, he had no idea. It wasn’t his business, and neither of them were vulnerable enough to divulge anything like that to him. He’d never expected to receive the same greeting as Dean, but the frost-like look and the forced out of the weird uncomfortableness that hung over their friendship half-smiles made him feel a thousand miles away. He felt defeated, and tired.

Eventually, she retreated from his embrace feeling suitably secure. She left a small gap between their bodies and peered up at him, taking him in. His features were ever so slightly more weathered — framed by a dark but well-kept stubble. His lips were still full but dehydrated and his eyebrows untamed.

Dean frowned as he finally noticed the bruise that painted her cheek an unsightly shade of plum. “What happened to your face?” he questioned — his finger propping her chin upwards for him to gage a better look, and his thumb securing her in place.

Maggie rolled her eyes once more at the protective undertones, pulling out of his grip and turning her back to him. “It was just some stupid girl whose boyfriend couldn’t control his wandering eye, that’s all,” she shrugged her shoulders at the half-truth and retrieved her duffle bag from the floor, “she caught me off guard.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in response — not entirely believing her; Maggie May had a knack for finding trouble.

“So, uh—” Sam shoved a hand into the depths of his jean pockets, “—the case?”

Maggie stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, her chestnut eyes settling on her bare features. Her eyes were tired and heavy after the long drive to Oklahoma, and surrounded by two cushions of dark circles. Her skin was dull and fair, more than likely from the lack of natural sunlight that she had seen in the last God-knows-how-many months of crawling through bars and spending her days sleeping off hangovers in shady motel rooms. The mauve bruise that tarnished her cheek looked angry and painful — deepening as the blood settled and the tissue began to repair. Her busted lip was sore, aggravated by every slight movement she made. She looked like a ghost — physically and metaphorically; her vessel was very much present but there was no light behind her eyes, and no spark in her soul.

She continued to stare into her own reflection, meeting her own gaze in an intense battle under the harsh bathroom light; she was a mess, in every sense of the word. If she were to stand before her younger self, she wouldn’t have the slightest indication of who she was. Hell, she wouldn’t even recognise herself if she bumped into her from a year ago. All the years of being on the road, all the losses that she had felt, and all the rejection that she had faced had finally caught up to her — and it wasn’t a pretty sight, to say the least.

There came the ever-familiar waves of no self-worth again, hitting the solitude rocks of her self-esteem at full force.

She pulled a tube of antiseptic cream from the makeshift first aid kit. Squeezing a small dot onto her finger, she then dabbed it against the crusty cut on her lip, careful and tender with her touches. A quiet hiss involuntarily slipped between her lips as her dark eyebrows furrowed into a frown. The ointment burned as it seeped deeper into the cut.

Maggie turned her head and peered out of the open bathroom door. Dean was sat in the leather armchair — jean-clad legs manspread, a police report in one hand and a freshly-cracked bottle of beer in the other.  There was a pensive aura that surrounded him. His fingers gripped the beer bottle with a tightened grasp, and his jaw had locked, almost as if it was holding back a barrage of thoughts. He stared intently at the words printed on the page, yet never turned to the next. There was something on his mind.

She saw it as an in. A reason. An excuse.

Letting the half-used tube of ointment fall into the sink, Maggie wandered back into the bedroom space. She was quiet and soft in her movements — almost timid — until she reached Dean. His eyes remained fixed on the police report, and a pang of upset coursed through her; Maggie was used to commanding his attention — his heavy-lidded eyes falling naturally on her and feeling the heat of his stare.

Her bare knees fell either side of his body as she straddled his lap, the hem of the over-sized t-shirt exposing the glorious lengths of her thighs. With one swift motion, she’d stolen the freshly cracked bottle of beer from his grasp. Her lips twitched upwards into a smug, but angelic, smile as Dean raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. The bottle ghosted her full lips — the very tip of her tongue tracing the rim in an enticing circle as her chestnut eyes locked with his, before taking a long swing.

Dean watched attentively as Maggie had her fun, his eyes glued to her. She was so effortlessly seductive; everything about her — from the way her delectable thighs spread open in his lap, to the way her tongue ever so slowly traced around the bottle rim, and the way the thin fabric settled over her taut nipples and the piercing bars — exuded lust. Piercings? That was new.

His tongue dragged along his bottom lip in an effort to quench the thirst that had been awakened in him. Although, it barely scratched the surface. It had been a hell of a long time since his engines had been roaring, nevertheless had been taken for a test drive; he’d spent the last year wandering purgatory in survival mode, where he rarely ever found a second to breathe. Maggie May was well and truly testing his patience in that moment. And boy, did she know it…

He reached for the bottle, but it was promptly moved from his grasp.

Maggie stretched upwards, holding the half-empty bottle above her head, and peered down at him with a taunting glint in her eye. He reached once more — shifting himself into the most compromising position. He reached upwards once more, unintentionally pushing his crotch further against Maggie. Big mistake. She rolled her hips in a flirtatious retaliation, arching her back and pressing her clothed pussy against his lap.

It took every ounce of strength not to give in to her, but he did it. Dean remained steeled — the deep, husky groans that begged to be released begrudgingly shoved down into the very pit of his stomach, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He was semi-hard beneath her, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, as he placed his firm hand on her thigh. It was a gentle but commanding hold as his ring-cladded fingers slipped beneath the over-sized t-shirt and gripped the skin, his thumb rubbing tender back and forth patterns against the inside of her thigh.

“Maggie May,” he warned.

“Yes?” she cocked her head to the side innocently.

“Don’t start something we can’t finish.”

“Aw, cute—” she taunted with another leisurely roll of her hips, “—you don’t think you can make me cum.”

A fervent groan slipped from between his lips as his dick grew harder against the constraints of his jeans. His jaw tightened as his fingernails pressed crescent shapes into her skin, forcing her to be still. Choosing to ignore her teasing, he sent her a deathly glare — one that dared her to try that move again; it appeared to have worked as she relaxed her posture, sitting herself innocently on his erection and keeping still.

Placing the police report down on the wooden table, he gestured with his finger for her to return his beer.

Reluctantly, she handed it back, but not before she took another large gulp.

Dean took a swig of the now half-empty beer and allowed his fingertips to wander. His hand moved further up her thigh, his fingers catching and tangling themselves in the string of her thong. His thumb dragged ever so tenderly over the crease in her hips where legs bent, tracing back and forth motions. It was so instinctual, as though his hand gravitated towards there — like the soft dips in her skin were made for the palms of his hands.

Maggie stared down at him with sensual, umber eyes. Heavy-lidded and burning with a heat fuelled by the dopamine that coursed through her veins. This was it. This was Maggie in her element; enriched by the power of holding every last drop of his attention, alive and awakened by the electricity of his touch, and riding a high so orbital that her soul was one with the solar flares of the sun. She felt like herself again — full of confidence, and full of life.

“You finally got ‘em pierced then?” Dean mused with a questioning raise of his eyebrows and his gaze trained on her taut nipples. They pressed against the thin fabric of her over-sized t-shirt, practically on show for the whole world to see.

For a brief second, her eyes dropped to her breasts — following his. Then, she responded with an audacious smirk. “I sure did,” a low laugh slipped from between her lips, “wanna see?”

Dean tilted his head backwards as he repositioned himself in the chair. His hips shifted forwards and his shoulders slouched into the cushioned back of his chair. He tipped the bottle downwards and emptied it’s remaining contents in a slow and tactical swig. Of course he wanted to see. He was steeling himself; it truly had been a long time since he’d had any sexual gratification and the immediate flashes of her naked body above him — pierced tits bouncing playfully as she rode him under the warm, orange glows of the motel sconces — had sent him into an oblivion. Maggie May was becoming harder and harder to resist.

He somehow managed to remain calm, dowsing the fire in the pit of his stomach with his beer and plastering an unfaltering poker face across his features. That was until he felt his dick harden and strain against his zipper, giving him away.

Maggie felt it too and responded with another leisurely roll of her hips. A devilish glint occupied her eyes as her smirk grew wider. Damn, that girl would be the death of him one way or another.

“Those daddy issues got you well and good, haven’t they?” Dean retorted. He placed the empty beer bottle on the table.

“Uh huh—” she agreed with a sardonic grit to her words, “—my daddy didn’t love me enough so now I need men twice my age to tell me how good my tits look to get me through the day.” She leant forwards, back arched, and pouted her full lips. “Either tell me how good my tits look or take it up with Andrew. If you can find him.”

Hooking his finger beneath the hem of her shirt, his beer-soaked breath fanned against her face. “You’re every therapist’s wet dream.”

“Glass houses, Winchester.” She paused for a second as the pad of her finger traced his jawline. The coarse hairs of his stubble sent a shiver running down her spine. “I’ll book a couples session—” she dropped her hand, “—and we can both hash out our Daddy demons. Maybe then we’ll finally stop playing this silly, little game with each other and fuck for real.”

She wasn’t far wrong. In fact, she’d hit the nail flat on its head. Whilst Maggie’s father was an absentee who had rejected her in every possible way that he could find, Dean’s father had placed unrealistic expectations and responsibilities on him from a young age. Both carried the burdens of their father’s parenting styles, or lack thereof; both would very much benefit from a professional listening ear and some advice on how to form healthy adult relationships. But, alas, they were here.

“Now, hold up—” Dean’s tone was thick and gravelly as he began lifting the hem of her shirt with his finger, “—let’s not fix what ain’t broke. Show me them pretty, pierced titties.”

Maggie pulled her t-shirt up, holding it in place and revealing her bare breasts. Her nipples were a delicious rose colour and tightened into little buds as the silver bars pierced between them.

He dragged his tongue along the length of his bottom lip again, admiring the sight before him. And what a sight she was. His finger ran slowly underneath the waistband of her baby pink thong. Yes, baby pink thong with a sweet, satin bow in the very middle of the waistband. That had surprised him; Dean had never pinned her down as being a pink and frilly bows type of woman. He’d always thought of her as red and black lace. Nevertheless, the way the fabric fit her body so perfectly still made his skin burn and his mouth run dry.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the string up over her hipbone and let it sit. He then traced her skin upwards — lackadaisical with his movements. The calloused pad of his finger brushed over a scar that tainted her stomach. An old, healed over stab wound. His touch was tender as he sketched the outline of her silhouette, until eventually landing on her breasts. He cupped her boob with his warm palm and allowed his thumb to ghost over her poised nipple.

She let out a jagged breath at the contact.

Dean found his rhythm, circling his thumb over her sensitive bud and rolling it between his fingers.

“Ohhhh.” Maggie let out a breathy moan as she rolled her head backwards. It was an involuntary reaction that she couldn’t stop even when channelling every ounce of might that she had; it was carnal and deep-rooted within her. As was rocking her hips back and forth in a slow and salacious cadence. She was acting on pure instinct and throwing absolute caution to the wind — acutely aware that neither had dared to venture this far with one another.

Dean sat forwards, his now moist lips almost instantly finding her other nipple. His tongue traced a slow circuit around her sensitive bud before his teeth nibbled ever so gently. He sucked, and licked, and nipped to his heart’s content — spurred on by the lustful whines and breathy moans that spilled, one after the other, from between her lips.

She reached her hands between them, her voluptuous hips coming to a gradual stop, and fiddled with the button of his jeans. It was hard to undo them one-handed — the angle was awkward and the old, metal button was stiff — but she managed. Her dainty fingers slipped inside, palming his erection through his boxers until his rugged breaths didn’t send shivers jolting down her spine. She wanted more; she wanted to hear the strangled, husky moans that crawled from the very depths of his throat as they made skin on skin contact.

Maggie pulled his hardened dick from the constraints of his boxers and curled her fingers around his length. She pumped him up and down, revelling in his grunts and groans. They vibrated against her delicate skin and sent shockwaves of electricity through her body — right down to the very tips of her fingers and toes. This was it. This was Maggie at the very peak of her orbital high; she was sat atop the world, spinning aimlessly with the constellations and soaking in the vibrant solar flares of the sun. She was as high as she had ever been, and she wasn’t sure she was ever going to come down from this point. She was lost to the cosmos.

She peeled back the fabric of her damp thong and positioned herself above him. The tip of his dick leaked with pre-cum as it ghosted over her folds — coating himself in her slick.

Then, as he found her entrance, the unmistakable roar of his 1967 Chevy Impala engine sounded throughout the motel room. Maggie whipped her head towards the window — the blaring headlights blinding her, even through the old, dust-covered curtains. It was Sam. With almighty impeccable timing.

She swiftly turned back to face Dean, who had begrudgingly detached himself from her breasts, and looked down at him. A pained expression contorted her blush-tinged features as she let her panties go and stood from the chair. She took a step backwards, then another, and another, until she found the cheap quilt of the bed. She sat down and clamped her thighs together — eyes dazed and her core utterly aching for the man before her.

Dean stood from the chair and tucked himself back into his boxers. His jeans remained unbuttoned and loose around his hips. He dragged a hand through his dishevelled hair as his chest heaved up and down. “I’m gonna…” he nodded towards the bathroom as his words fizzled out, his sentence incomplete.

All Maggie could do was nod in understanding and watch as he disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing swiftly behind him. Her breaths remained heavy as she struggled to calm herself down — her cheeks still stained vermillion and her temperature almost feverous. The sound of the water running flooded the motel room.

Shit. There came that rapid descent back down to Earth.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen ackles

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 6

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,000 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort

Part 6: “Just Casual”

A few days after the house fire that claimed the life of Paul Richardson, father of two, Chief Bobby Singer was joined in his office by Detectives Winchester and Novak, along with his resident Squad Captain and Truck Lieutenant, Benny and Dean.

“The Richardson fire has officially been determined an arson,” Bobby revealed.

“They found a time-delay incendiary device hidden in the attic. No fingerprints. But that’s not even the odd thing,” he said. “The medical examiner found a brand mark on his wrist that was inconsistent with his other burns. Which is why you’re here, I reckon.”

Bobby directed his gaze at both John and Cas, who didn’t look surprised to hear this news.

Dean raised a brow. His gaze shifted to his father, but John only met his stare for a moment before he answered Bobby’s unspoken question.

“We’ve been investigating a series of murders in the area over the past six months,” John said. “Each victim died in their home, with the same brand somewhere on their body. Typically the wrist, or the back of the neck.”

“So we officially have a serial killer turned arsonist on our hands,” Bobby concluded. His attention shifted to Benny and Dean. “Keep this close to the vest, but keep your eyes open.”

“Arsonists are hard to catch,” Dean said, looking to the detectives. “What do you know about this guy?”

Cas glanced at John. The older man could feel his stare, but had to ignore it for now.

“Not much as of yet,” John said. “Right now he’s a coil of smoke, if you’ll pardon the phrase. Our psychologist says he’s most likely a white male, statistically speaking. College educated, or at the very least intelligent, efficient, and so far, he thinks every step through. Like he said, no prints. But the brand is a message.”

“To who, and why, is what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Cas added. “We think that’s the key to pinpointing a suspect.”

“Really,” Dean said. He raised a brow and crossed his arms. “Six months, and that’s all you’ve got?”

“Dean,” John started, but the Lieutenant shook his head.

“Come on, Dad. I know you. Who is this guy?”

“Dean, this is the best I can give you right now, but believe me, we’re working on it,” John said, that tone that boded no further argument.

Bullshit, Dean wanted to shoot back. But he held his tongue for now. He knew that John wouldn’t budge. Instinct still told Dean that his father was holding something back though.

As the men filtered out of Bobby’s office, Dean held Cas back for a moment.

“Watch the old man’s back, all right,” Dean said. “He’s got a penchant for being reckless.”

Cas gave him a wry, pointed look. “I’m doing my best. Winchesters are a stubborn lot.” 

Dean smirked and walked out with him. Meg was headed inside, having just come in from an ambulance call. She smiled when she saw her boyfriend.

“Hey, lover,” she greeted. And she smacked his ass in front of God and the entire Rescue Squad, who liked to sit outside the firehouse and play cards at their table.

Ramirez and the others smirked and called out their customary whoops and cat calls. Dean smirked at the actual blushing discomfort that tightened up Cas’s face and shoulders.

“Dinner tonight at Casablanca’s, right?” Meg asked, unfazed by the catcalling peanut gallery.

“Right,” Cas said stiffly. But he still brushed her cheek with his thumb in affection. “See you later.”

“Yep,” she nodded, though she shot Dean a wry brow. “What? I stole your boyfriend. Get over it.”

She continued on her path back inside the firehouse, leaving Dean and Cas to stare after her in annoyance and begrudging fondness, respectively.

Dean turned to his friend and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good luck and Godspeed, my friend. That woman’s fuckin’ terrifying.” 

Cas gave him a lazy salute as he walked away. He found that John had already started up their police car. He was in the driver’s seat, as always, with a hand resting casually on the steering wheel.

Dean typically sat in much the same way. Cas thought both men were more comfortable in a car than anywhere else in life. Except, maybe, the precinct and the firehouse.

Cas slid into the passenger seat and gave his partner a knowing look.

“I still think you should tell Sam and Dean what’s really happening here,” he said.

John looked over at him with an almost unreadable expression. But they had been partners for a few years now; long enough for Cas to get a read on the older veteran.

“I understand why you want to keep them out of this, but now this guy is starting fires. Here, in Dean’s district,” Cas pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be safer for him if he had clearer eyes walking into the next one?”

If, God forbid, something should go wrong on the next call Dean responded to, John would never forgive himself. Both he and Cas knew this, but John never answered his partner’s question. He didn’t want his sons getting their noses in this just yet, even if it meant the worry he saw in Dean’s eyes.

So he put the car in “drive” and peeled away from the firehouse.

Trying to match your schedule with Dean’s was a challenge you two were trying to figure out. Though you’d fallen into a pattern of talking on the phone to fill the void when you two couldn’t meet.

Even after almost two more weeks and a third date, you were pleasantly surprised that you and Dean still had plenty to talk about. You told him more about your childhood with your grandparents, while he told you funny stories about him and Sam growing up with their dad, though he was often gone while working on cases.

It was family friend and Fire Chief, Bobby Singer who looked after them whenever John couldn’t, or his old partner Jody Mills, or even Ellen Harvelle, owner of the Roadhouse.

The more you learned about Dean, the more invested you became. And he listened to you when you went on tangents about new recipes you wanted to try out (as long as he got to be your official Taste Tester).

You two argued, playfully and fervently, about music. And you’d been creating a list of old shows the other hadn’t seen, but absolutely needed to.

Dean had suggested Dukes of Hazzard, for example, while you suggested Smallville. You each only agreed to put up with this list if you two watched it together. (Needless to say, there would be some marathon binge watching in your future.)

You particularly took notice though, when Dean invited you to join him at the Roadhouse to meet Cas, one of his best friends, and his girlfriend Meg. You’d invited Andréa to come along, and even Dean’s friend Benny, who she’d also been seeing ever since that night at the Roadhouse.

Apparently, the couple had their own plans.

You tried not to feel some type of way about her brush-off, but your friend had been increasingly distant since she met Benny Lafitte. However, you supposed you couldn’t judge. You hadn’t been calling her as much either, ever since you met Dean.

You knew that if you kept dating him, some adjustments would have to come in your life. You also promised yourself that you’d never be someone who forgot your friends for a man…even for a man like Dean Winchester.

Tonight, however, you’d come directly from work to meet him at the bar. It made more sense than to make him come pick you up from your house, so you sat with a ginger ale while you waited. He’d promised you via text that he was on the way, just stuck in traffic.

Okay, drive safe. 😘 Don’t speed, please.

You knew how he liked floor the Impala with that damn lead foot of his.

No promises. 🏎️

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you were smiling unconsciously as you read his reply.

You were soon knocked out of your thoughts when a smooth voice said your name. You looked up and to your right, and there stood a familiar face. The man greeted you with an easy smile as he sat down next to you.

“I thought that was you,” he said. He reached out his hand and re-introduced himself. “Gordon Walker. Not sure if you remember me.”

“Oh, yes! Of course I do, Gordon,” you smiled and shook his hand.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said. His dark eyes subtly took you in from head to toe in your skirt, heels, and blouse. “Though I’ve gotta admit, I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Ah, right,” you said. “Well—”

Before you could explain, Gordon held up a finger as he noticed your drink of choice.

“Oh, wait a sec. Let me get you something stronger than soda,” he said. He started to flag down Jo, but you shook your head and made a cutting motion with your hand.

“Uh, no, that’s okay,” you said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“What?” Gordon asked.

It was getting busy in the bar, making it loud enough that you could understand why he hadn’t heard you. You leaned over towards his ear.

“I’m good for now, thanks,” you said, raising your voice a bit. Gordon leaned in even closer and chanced resting a hand above your knee.

“You sure?” he asked. He gave you a smile that was all smooth sex appeal and confidence, without being arrogant.

It was undoubtedly attractive, but you were more shocked than charmed in your blush. You instinctively leaned back when you felt his hand on your thigh. Your hand clenched on the counter.

While your brain scrambled to figure out a response that would successfully remove it (without snapping rudely like you were itching to), a hand slipped along your lower back.

You jolted a bit in your seat with a flare of unease, until you turned your head and found Dean.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, and dropped a kiss at your hairline. He also clapped a heavy hand on Gordon’s shoulder and squeezed. The other man graciously got the hint and leaned back, withdrawing his hand from your thigh.

“Hi,” you said, finally able to breathe a bit easier. You gave Dean a smile, and he returned it.

He looked over at his friend with a sharper smile. “Hey, Gord. How’s your night goin’?”

“Good.” Gordon nodded, now with a knowing gleam in his eye. “Though I’m sure your night’s gonna go better.”

You weren’t sure how to take that remark, considering the way Dean reacted with a tighter expression and pursed lips. Then, they flickered at a smile.

“Well, we’re meeting up with Meg and Cas in a minute. You should join us,” Dean said. Even though his tone wasn’t so very inviting. The two men seemed to have a wordless conversation between the lines that you couldn’t decipher.

Gordon shook his head, but raised his drink. “No worries, you guys hang. I’m leaving in a few.”

“All right. Let us know if you change your mind,” Dean said. He thumped Gordon once more on the back, more friendly this time.

Dean’s other hand slipped around your waist. He tapped you on the side.

“Come on, I’ve got us a table. It’s quieter,” he said.

You nodded and slid out of your seat. You offered Gordon a polite smile, even if you’d rather not.

“Have a good night,” you said.

The other man’s smile was less flirtatious and more polite this time as well.

“You too,” he said. 

Dean helped you onto your feet, like the gentleman he was, and he continued to lead you away from the bar with a hand on the small of your back. You instinctively pressed against his side to squeeze past the throng of patrons.

When you reached a high-top table in the corner, he pulled out your chair and held your hand as you climbed up in your skirt. You thanked him with a more genuine smile. Though once he was seated next to you, you leaned towards him and laid a hand on his arm, which rested on the table.

“I tried to tell him I was waiting for you. He took me by surprise,” you whispered.

Dean’s brows rose, but his face soon evened out with a smile. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t worry about it. He didn’t know about us,” he said. “He was shootin’ his shot…a bit aggressively. Sorry about that.”

“Oh…it’s okay. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” you replied. Though butterflies ran through your belly when you considered what us meant.

You noted his frown at what you’d said though, and so you aimed to change the subject.

“But Cas and Meg know, right?” you asked.

Dean nodded. His frown started to lift. “Yeah. Cas is one of my best friends. Meg is…well. She’s the little sister I wish I didn’t have.”

You shook your head in amusement. Then you let out a squeal as Dean hooked a foot around the leg of your chair and brought you closer. He stopped you from becoming too unbalanced by wrapping an arm around your waist. You clenched your hands into the open panels of his plaid shirt, and his charming smile greeted you.

“Hi,” he said.

You laughed. “Yeah, you mentioned that earlier.”

“Well, I’m doing it right this time,” he said. And he dipped down for a lingering kiss.

Across the bar was Jo Harvelle, doing her job behind the counter. She poured five shots in succession and doled them out to a party of frat bros without even looking.

Her eyes were drawn to the back corner of the bar, where you and Dean sat closely together, exchanging whispers and the occasional steamy kiss.

“Mind your business,” came Ellen’s whisper in her ear.

Jo whipped her head to glare softly at her mother, but she saw Ellen’s point. It was both obvious and pathetic of her to stare.

Despite the unease making her feel a bit sick to her stomach, Jo went over to Gordon down at the end. His sympathetic smile bothered her; she knew then she hadn’t just been caught by her mother.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” he remarked.

“What?” Jo said. She began wiping down his area of the counter. “Would it kill you to keep it in the glass?”

Gordon gave her an amused look as he sat back in his seat. His tumbler of whiskey was drained.

“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” he said.

Both of them knew he wasn’t apologizing for the spill.

Jo’s brows knitted together, mostly in annoyance. “Again, for what?”

“I know it’s gotta be hard to see him actually moving on,” he replied.

Her lips pursed, and her eyes darted to the back of the room again. She stared for a moment at the side of your face.

“Knowing him, whatever it is won’t last,” she muttered.

Gordon hissed at the "burn," with a deep chuckle. She knew her words weren’t kind, but it was how she felt.

“That may be,” he allowed. “But he’s not just chasing tail anymore. That’s what scares you.” 

Gordon dropped a nice tip for her next to his glass. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and left Jo with the churning in her gut.

Cas and Meg finally arrived a few minutes later.

Dean knew you’d been to the Roadhouse before, but this was different. You were meeting some of his friends, and he realized how much he wanted you to. He felt…comfortable around you. And he wanted his friends to know you, and to like you.

“As you know, Meg’s our Paramedic in Charge over at 25,” he began, gesturing at the woman as she got settled in her seat.

You admired her long brown hair, tall boots, and black leather jacket. She seemed to ooze confidence and dark charisma as she tossed you a smirk.

“Guilty,” she said.

You smiled back. Dean gestured at her boyfriend next, clad in a beige trench coat, slacks, and blazer.

“And Cas, who bravely suffers being my dad’s partner on the job.”

Cas nodded wryly at the introduction. His dark hair and blue eyes were striking, you could admit. His tie was loose and slightly rumpled. Along with the stubble coating his face, he was handsome, if a bit scruffy. It was hard for you to believe he’d earned the top scores his year in the Police Academy, but you supposed that looks could be deceiving.

“What’s that like?” you asked with a smirk. “From what I’ve heard about John Winchester, he sounds like he’s a bit of a hard-ass.”

Dean barked with a dry laugh. “An understatement.”

“He has a crab-like shell,” Cas agreed. “But he has a soft center where it counts, not unlike his sons.”

You turned to Dean with a more teasing smile. “Aww…”

He rolled his eyes, even though his arm, which had been draped across the back your chair, now dropped to curl around your waist.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Columbo,” he remarked at his blue-eyed friend.

Always had to get the last dig in, it seemed, but you couldn’t help but laugh a little along with Meg at Cas’s expense.

“You guys all seem really close,” you said. It was nice for you to see.

Dean shrugged like it was no big deal. Or rather, like it was commonplace.

“Well, maybe family ain’t just about blood,” he said.

Meg rolled her eyes. “Ugh. What a friggin’ sap.”

“You love it,” Dean grinned. She smiled, begrudgingly.

Family ain’t just about blood.

You liked that sentiment as well. It seemed to be true here. 

Even Ellen Harvelle treated Dean like a son when she came over to greet your table. She kissed his cheek and gave Meg and Cas’s shoulders a squeeze. Even you got a warm hand on your shoulder when she introduced herself.

“Welcome, hun. I understand it’s not your first time here, but if you got any questions on the menu, you let me know,” she said.

Dean shot you a conspiratorial smile, and it got you wondering what he was about to do.

“I mean, I don’t know why you don’t put the order in for chili fries the second you see me come through the door,” he teased. “Come on, Ellen. How long’ve I been coming here? Since before I had a license?”

Ellen narrowed her eyes and flicked the side of Dean’s head, regardless of his flinching protest.

“Don’t you go sayin’ that so damn loud,” she reproached. “You never drank underage at my bar.”

His eyes averted with a smile, in a way that told you Ellen was a damn liar. You bit your lip to try and hide your smile.

“Anyway, I’ll get your damn fries—”

“And a beer,” Dean interjected. She rolled her eyes.

“And a beer. Four?” she pointed at the rest of you, and you, Cas, and Meg nodded in agreement.

“All right, four beers. Anything else, darlin’?” She looked at you with a mother’s charm.

You looked up from the menu and unconsciously smiled.

“Um, sure. Can I get the chicken sandwich?”

She patted your shoulder. “You sure can.”

Ellen then took the rest of their orders without writing a thing down. You were impressed by her memory. At the end though, Dean didn’t let her go without a hand on her arm.

“Thanks, Ellen,” he said with a more sincere smile.

“A-huh,” she replied, with all due sarcasm. But there was a fondness in her eyes that was hard to miss when she playfully grabbed the back of his neck. “Knucklehead.”

A giggle escaped you, and Ellen tossed you a wink before she went to put in the orders and get the drinks.

Conversation flowed easier when the alcohol came. One beer became two, and even three (four, for Meg). By then, you were sure it was one beer too many for yourself, but you didn’t want to be the odd one out. You were mostly listening to the three of them bounce back and forth between reminiscing with old stories and roasting one another mercilessly.

It was hilarious and entertaining, but you were trying not to get caught in the crosshairs of the volleying. Inevitably though, Meg’s attention turned to you with a certain sly smile.

“You must be real special,” she remarked, gesturing at Dean. “He usually doesn’t bring his girls around here, where he actually likes to hang out. Guess that’d mean he’d have to see ‘em again with the lights on.”

You blinked in surprise.

“Meg,” Dean’s voice cut like a warning.

Your eyes widened as you took in the change, his deeper voice, his more serious gaze, versus Meg’s nonchalance. Even Cas gave her a chiding look.

“Not sure I want to know what that means,” you tried to joke.

But you could guess. It was fairly obvious.

You glanced over at Dean, whose lips pursed. Before either of you could say anything more, Meg chimed in.

“Oooh, is this gonna be your first fight?” she teased.

Dean’s brows furrowed with a glare. “That’s enough.”

“And that’s our cue,” Cas nodded. He’d already slipped out his wallet as soon as his girlfriend started talking. He left a generous few bills to cover their half of the night, plus tip, and got up out of his seat. He claimed his coat and then encouraged Meg off her chair.

“What? I’m not done with my beer,” she protested.

“I think you are,” Cas said.

Meg scoffed, but she allowed his manhandling as he wrapped a supportive arm around her waist.

“You’re not the boss of me, Clarence,” she snipped.

“Certainly not,” he agreed. “But you’re a lightweight. Time to go home, before you insult the entire bar.”

“You’re no fucking fair,” she groused, hitting his chest over his jacket. Cas leveled you and Dean with a long-suffering look of apology.

Dean waved him off with a “no sweat it” look and a shake of his head. Meg annoyed the shit out of him sometimes, especially when she was drunk. He turned to you with a sigh.

“Again, sorry about that. I didn’t think I’d have to apologize for my friends more than once tonight,” he said.

You shook your head. “It’s...okay. Overall, they were really fun.”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t think Cas has been called fun even once in his life.”

You smiled in amusement, but Meg’s words still swirled around in your head like heady wine.

“Dean,” you began, but your attempt to broach the issue was cut off by his cell phone ringing. He gave you an apologetic look and fished in his pocket for his phone. His brows rose when he saw the caller ID.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I gotta take this,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay—” You’d barely nodded when Dean was up and out of his chair, heading out of the bar. You could still see him through one of the faded glass doors as he held the phone up to his ear.

It was late, and quieter now. A blonde server came to take your plates, and you actually remembered her.

“Oh, hi! Jo, right?” you asked. She hesitated when you spoke, but she bobbed her head.

“That’s me,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks,” you said with a smile. “I met your mom. She’s really nice.”

Jo uttered a wry laugh as she stacked the plates and silverware. You helped her collect the silverware and empty beer bottles.

“Yeah, when you get her good side,” she replied. 

You smirked at that, remembering how Ellen snapped back and forth with Dean. You had no doubt that woman could be a pistol if you pissed her off.

“Well, it's nice here,” you admitted, once again taking stock of the décor. The music, the warm lighting, the good food… “It’s cozy.”

Jo’s smile quirked to one side as she paused.

“Well, it’s been in my family for three generations of Harvelles,” she said. “This was my father’s favorite place in the world.”

You caught the note of melancholy in her words, in her eyes.

“Was?” you echoed. She met your gaze and nodded.

“He was a firefighter,” she said. “He died on the job.”

You dimmed considerably. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Jo only nodded.

“How did he…” Your curiosity got the best of you, but you soon shook your head and backtracked. “Never mind, you don’t have to explain.”

“It was a fire that wasn’t properly vented,” Jo answered your half-spoken question. Her blue eyes were heavier. “He got caught in an updraft…but he actually worked at Firehouse 25. He was their brother. That’s why this’ll always be their place.”

You processed that with a slow nod of wonder.

“It’s good that you and your mom will always have that support,” you said eventually. “Even though…it might be hard too, to always be reminded.”

Jo’s lips quirked again. “It’s more the first one, but…sometimes the second one. A lot of these guys have known me since I had braces. It’s hard to shake that perpetual little sister thing.”

You smiled at that. “Yeah, I’d imagine that gets old real quick. A bunch of over-protective older brothers.”

“Overbearing, more like,” she scoffed. You laughed.

Unconsciously, you glanced over to the front of the bar, where you saw Dean still on the phone. You remembered the second date you were meant to have, when he was late due to a five-car pileup his team responded to.

You remembered that night he called you for the first time, after a long day he didn’t want to tell you about. He’d let you distract him instead. All the while, it had you wondering what he’d seen. What he’d responded to that day.

Had it been another car accident? A fire? What made someone as upbeat and funny and smooth as Dean seem to lose all the life in his voice?

Though while you were lost in your thoughts, Jo was watching you.

Jealousy roiled inside her, unbidden. She didn’t want to hate you, because unlike the girls Dean usually messed around with, you had some self-respect. Jo heard Meg’s snide clips at you earlier, and no one could fake the surprise in your eyes. Unless you were just that good a damn actor…

But no, she didn’t get that vibe from you.

It didn’t mean she had to like you though. 

“You’re right to think twice,” Jo said, earning your attention back with a swivel of your head. “What Meg said…she wasn’t wrong. Dean’s broken a few hearts, if you catch my drift.”

Just a few well-placed words, Jo thought. She realized then that she had the power to twist the wrench here, widening the gap between you and Dean. Feed your doubts.

She didn’t have to feel bad about it if it was the truth.

And yet…she saw the way your gaze fell. The disappointment setting in, the anxious clench of your hands on the table. You glanced over at Dean again out of the corner of your eye.

Jo realized then just what she was doing, not just to Dean, but to herself.

You’re not some petty bitch, she dully reminded herself.

“But,” she found herself adding. You raised your gaze back to her. Jo let out a subtle breath.

“It’s not always his fault,” she admitted. And maybe she was speaking a bit too much from experience. “The job demands a lot from him.”

Slowly, you nodded. You looked pensive, but not like you’d made up your mind.

Fine, Jo thought, as she collected the dishes and left your table.

She didn’t know if she wanted to sway you one way or the other on taking a chance on Dean Winchester.   

While you were talking to Jo, Dean was taking his father’s unexpected call.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” he said.

“Hey, son. How are ya?” John’s voice was gruff and tired. Dean frowned to hear it.

“I’m good. I’m out right now, but did you need something?”

“Have you responded to any fires lately?”

“You mean like the Richardson fire?” Dean asked pointedly. “No, haven’t had one since. And no cattle prod brandings either.”

“All right, good. Just checking in.”

Good? Dean thought. John would be chomping at the bit for a new arson. If he was “just checking in,” then he was worried about something. Is he worried about me?

“What’s going on? Is there something I need to know?” Dean asked in suspicion. This was why he had taken the call. “Seriously, you can tell me. I’m not even gonna bitch at you like Sam does.”

John chuckled. But then he hesitated. Dean knew he’d hit on something.

“Dad?” he pressed.

John’s sigh was a heavy one. “Okay. What I’m about to tell you, you don’t fucking repeat. Not to anyone, you understand me? Not even your brother.”

Dean’s brows furrowed in trepidation. “Okay, fine. What the hell is it?”

“Richardson, the father of two?” John reminded. “He was a lawyer, linked to a money laundering scheme through a company called Stull Storage. It’s an old company, dates back to the seventies.”

“Okay…” 

As John continued to explain, the more confused Dean became… 

About 30 years ago, John Winchester had been a young, but promising officer in the Narcotics division. He’d married young, and by then was just barely clearing the five-year mark. Already he had the house he’d inherited from his wife’s parents, a four-year-old son, and a newborn.

Stull Storage’s units were used by a drug ring that John had been trying to infiltrate, undercover. Those units had stored cocaine, illegal weapons, and other flavors of contraband, mostly from South America (and back).

“We got close to breaking that case, once, but after the fire…I transferred out of Narcotics, as you know,” John said.

Dean knew the real story there. After his mom died, his father went into a spiral, trying to find whoever set that fire—even after the Fire Department found no evidence of arson. John had eventually been forced out of Narcotics. He requested Homicide.

As he’d told Dean once when he was extremely drunk: I seem to do better at my job when the bodies are already dead.

“Now I know that I was right about your mother’s death,” John said.

Dean released a shaky sigh. “Aw, man. Not this again, Dad. For Christ’s sake.”

“There was something wrong about that fire, Dean,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over Dean’s objections. “I just didn’t find the connection…until now.”

Dean muttered a curse under his breath. His gaze fell to the ground. Sam was usually the one who drew a hard line at hearing any more about their mom’s supposed murder, but now Dean had reached the end of his tether. It was too much.

He glanced back through the glass doors to make sure you were okay. He saw you talking to Jo, and he frowned at himself.

Here you were, waiting on him back in the bar, and his dad was calling him in the middle of the night, chasing ghosts again.

“Look…it’s been my whole damn life with this.” Dean held the phone to his ear with one hand, and rubbed at his forehead with the other. “I just can’t do this with you anymore.”    

“Dean, listen,” John urged. “You wanna know what I’m digging into, this is it. I got Mary’s file unsealed.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “What? Thought you couldn’t do that without new evidence and a court order.”

“Well, I’ve got the evidence…maybe I was a bit impatient with the court order.”

Dean rolled his eyes. His father liked to play a little fast and loose with the rules.

“At the time, the medical examiner dismissed it. She’d been burned…” John paused on a deeper breath. “But I saw it. Mary had a burn on her wrist. It was the same brand found on Richardson. On Jerry Stillwell, CPA. Amanda Waller, journalist. It’s all connected, Dean. How they’re connected to one another, I’m not sure yet. We’re still digging…but I do know this. Richardson was a message.”

Dean’s back hit the wall of the Roadhouse. His brows furrowed as he struggled to digest everything John was saying.

“A message?” he asked. “To who?”

“To me, I think. Those kids, and their mother…you got ‘em out alive, but they weren’t meant to,” John said, his voice sounding heavy. "The wife told me her husband was erratic when he got home, holding his wrist. He'd been burned before the fire. He wouldn't say what happened...then they smelled the goddamn smoke."

"Shit," Dean replied. He leaned heavily against the wall, pressing a hand to his forehead. There was an ache starting between his eyes.

“Yeah," John agreed. "The drug ring I was investigating, when I was in Narcotics. I was getting close. And I mean close. I was about to get the Big Kahuna. The kingpin of the whole operation…and then the house fire.”

Fuck. Dean wiped at his mouth anxiously as he realized what John was saying. Fuck.

“He burned me, Dean. He must have,” John said. Meaning, the drug lord he was trying to pin down somehow discovered his identity. “Your mom paid the price of that.”

“Who is this guy?” Dean asked. His hand holding the phone was starting to tremble.

“I still don’t know his real name. Workin’ on that one too,” John said. “But they called him Azazel.”

When Dean eventually hung up with his father and returned to you at the bar, he saw you brighten. But you soon dimmed with a tinge of worry. Something of his thoughts must’ve shown on his face.

Shit. He tried his best to school his features.

“Hey, sorry about that,” he said, grasping your shoulder. “I’ll take you home.”

“I met you here, remember?” you asked.

Dean paused, then shook his head. Get it together, asshole.

“Right," he said. "Well, I’ll walk you to your car. Let me just pay real quick.”

After he sorted out the bill (he didn’t know that you’d slipped in an extra $30 in Cas’s stack for your part), he led you out, saying goodbye to Ellen and Jo while you went.

You hesitated when the two of you got to the car. Something wasn’t right with him. And both Jo and Meg’s words still rolled back and forth through your head.

“Dean, are you okay? Who was it on the phone?” you asked.

“I’m fine. It was just my dad, called to have me take a look at his car. We were just arguing about our schedules…I’m sure you can relate,” he replied, trying at a smile.

You weren’t sure if you believed him. Though he was nearly convincing, he was also shifting on his feet, hands in his pockets. His gaze roamed away from yours, above your head and over your shoulder.

“Um, I might’ve had a beer too many,” you said with a half-chuckle. “Could you walk with me for a bit? Just until my head clears enough to drive.”

“I could take you home,” Dean offered.

“And leave my car here?” you asked. In a public parking lot behind a bar?

You shook your head and pointed down the road.

“Just there and back��but if you need to go, I guess I could just sit in my car for a while.”

Dean shook his head with a frown. He couldn’t tell you that a damn serial killer was on the loose.

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “It’s a relatively safe neighborhood, but not so much at night. Not by yourself.”

He laid a hand on your back to start walking with you, but his hand soon fell back to his side. You glanced at him, but he looked straight ahead, unusually quiet and reserved.

It felt like he was checking out of this night with you. Like he just wanted to usher you into the car and leave. Did he just not want to deal with what Meg said?

“You must be real special,” she remarked, gesturing at Dean. “He usually doesn’t bring his girls around here, where he actually likes to hang out. Guess that’d mean he’d have to see ‘em again with the lights on.”

Letting out a breath, you tried to see if you could broach the subject.

“It was nice to meet some more of your friends,” you said, and with a nervous laugh, “even if it did get awkward there at the end.”

Dean finally looked over at you.

“We never exactly talked about what each of us was looking for,” you said. “What we were really doing here.” 

You stood your ground, but you tried not to look censuring. Just open to whatever he might have to say. Even so, unease churned inside you.

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Look, she wasn’t exactly wrong about me.”

You considered that with a nod, biting the inside of your lip.

“When was the last time you were in a relationship?” you asked. Dean gave a humorless huff of a laugh. This really was the last thing he wanted to get into tonight, but he had a feeling he had no choice.

“A few months ago, for about a minute,” he said. “But uh, before then…never.”

Together, you began to cross the street while the cars on either side waited at the red light. Pedestrians had the right of way for the next 30 seconds. You looked over at him and steeled yourself.

“Dean, is this is something casual for you?”

“Define casual,” he attempted to joke (or to deflect). Though the bravado fell the moment he saw that look on your face: tight and disappointed…and hurt.  

He reached for your hand, but you weren’t having it. You slipped away from him and continued walking at a more brusque clip, even in those platform heels.  

“Okay, hold on.” He quickly followed after you and tugged you back by the hand. It had you both stopping in the middle of the crosswalk.  

Dean squeezed your hand and peered into your eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry. Don’t close up on me,” he implored. “…Please.”

Despite your better judgment, and your pursed lips, you waited. Something told you this man didn’t often say please.

“The truth is, I’m trying to do something different here with you. I don’t think we would’ve made it to date #4 if we were just casual,” he said. “I’m not playing games either.”

You wanted to trust that he was serious. Once again, your mind and your heart were at odds; the former told you to be wary, while the latter told you to trust the earnestness in his eyes.

Your heart won. “Okay, Dean.”

“Yeah?” he asked, with hopeful brows raised.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

You finally smiled. And you leaned up, resting a hand against his chest, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His stubble was coarse, but familiar against your lips.

Dean turned his head and leaned in for a proper kiss. His hands found the curve of your waist and brought you closer against his chest. You both sunk deeper into it, your lips gliding as your head tilted into the kiss…

Until a horn honked loudly, making you both jolt at the sound.

The streetlight was green, and several cars were waiting for you to cross. You snorted in amusement, leading Dean to grin down at you. He tugged you back into step with him across the street.

Again, you hesitated at your car. Dean was more himself as he’d held your hand all the way back.

He now held your car door open while you threw in your purse. But when you turned back to him, you still saw something brooding behind his eyes.

You drew near and grasped the open edges of his shirt. This man wore a lot of plaid when he was out of uniform, always with an undershirt. Tonight it was green plaid on gray, complete with some faded jeans and a pair of boots. This was the only “casual” way in which you wanted Dean.  

“Hey,” you started.

“Hmm?” he replied, holding you by your arms.

“I get that we haven’t known each other all that long. So you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you said. “But did something happen when you stepped out? When you talked to your dad?”

Dean paused. His eyes, a pale green under the streetlamp, flicked to yours.

“I just want to know that you’re okay,” you said. “And if you’re not, that’s okay too.”

After a moment to blink in surprise, your earnestness got to him. His grip moved down your arms, and he took one of your hands. His dad’s warning echoed through his mind.

What I’m about to tell you, you don’t fucking repeat. Not to anyone, you understand me? Not even your brother.

Dean knew his dad didn’t make demands without a reason, even if he wasn’t typically so forthcoming with them. But Dean drew enough courage to be as honest as he could be. You deserved that much, after everything you'd put up with tonight.

“My mom died...when I was about four,” he said. “It was a house fire.”

Your eyes widened. All this time, you’d assumed his mother had passed away. You hadn’t expected that, though. You squeezed his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, and you meant it. Dean just shook his head.

“It was ruled an accident. Really they just didn’t have much evidence either way,” he continued. “But uh, my dad’s been obsessed with the idea that it wasn’t. That someone started the fire on purpose… Well, today, he might’ve found his proof.”

He held your gaze for as long as he could, but in the end, he just couldn’t. His chest was tight. Saying those words out loud made them real, and he wasn’t sure of how to handle it.  

“Oh, Dean,” you said, starting and stopping, as you struggled to formulate a response that wasn’t just “I’m sorry,” or “Are you okay?” 

He clearly wasn’t. You also didn’t want to give him platitudes like, “That’s crazy,” or the ever-inspired: “Wow.” 

Or some other variation of what you’re supposed to say. You wanted to give him something honest. Something real. 

So you curled your hands around his arms, earning his gaze.

“You must be reeling right now,” you said. “Do you think he’s onto something this time?”  

“I don’t know what to think,” said Dean. “I’ve been pressing him for answers, but…honestly? I wish he hadn’t told me a damn thing.” 

You didn’t know what to say to that. You were surprised that he actually confided in you with this. But the only thing you could think to do was lean up on your toes and slip your arms around his neck. You hugged him, warm and tight. 

You couldn’t even imagine what he was feeling, but you just wanted him to know that someone was there for him. You were there for him. 

Dean eventually hugged you back. He held you, reassuring you as well as himself. He blew out a cathartic breath, and his hand came up to cup the back of your head. His lips tugged upwards.

“You’re a sweetheart, you know that?” he said. 

A smile spread across your face. Your fingers soothed through his hair gently. You pressed your lips into his neck.

“I aim to please,” you said against his skin.

Dean smiled more fully at that. The new warmth in his chest warred against the roiling in his stomach. Despite his best efforts, his smile faded.

His mom’s killer was still out there.

The thought was haunting his mind, and he knew it probably would for many nights to come.

So for now, he’d just hold you a bit tighter.

AN: 🥲 I honestly didn't mean it to end so angsty, but Dean finally got some much-needed hurt/comfort there! What did you think of how Jo handled her jealous side? And Gordon "shooting his shot" lol.

Coming soon in Part 7, we finally get to a huge milestone between these two lovebirds, with a side helping of baking shenanigans. 😏❤️‍🔥

Next Time:

“Ey, ey!” he raised a warning finger with his free hand. “You’re about to take this to a new level.”

You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. “So?”

Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.

He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.

Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.

Keep Reading: PART 7

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#Just Casual #Smoke Eater #Part 6 #dean winchester #Firefighter!Dean Winchester #dean winchester x reader #Dean Winchester x female reader #firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester x you #firefighter AU #dean winchester AU #spn #supernatural #zepskies writes

[houseofevanbuckley]

Craving Tommy as their son’s coach for Little League

Wearing some tight pants and a hoodie with Coach Kinard on it

And Buck just on the stands watching his husband and son having their fun while he pull homemade snacks out of a cooler for their break

Taking pictures and videos to send to Bobby and Maddie

And he’s also watching moms ogling his husband and trying to get his attention

Just a soft moment of their life every Saturday

#tommy kinard #bucktommy #evan buckley #evan buck buckely #buck x tommy #tommy x buck #911 abc #tevan #evan buck buckley #buck and tommy #evan x tommy #tommybuck #soft husbands

[littlemelaninfics]

Surprise, Surprise

a/n: I had this mostly written in my drafts before Bi!Buck actually became canon and wanted to finish it, so enjoy <3 (18+ ONLY)

Warnings: pregnant reader, fluff (whoa! Cali writes fluff? Don’t get used to it 😉)

“Is y/n feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Because she looks - Well she looks a little-“

“Hot.” Maddie said.

“Yeah that,” Chim agreed while pointing to Maddie.

“Hot?” Buck asked furrowing his brow.

“As in sexy. Foxy. Hot!” Maddie said very bluntly that even had her husband looking at her. Athena and Hen scurried to the three at the kitchen island to join in,

“You guys talking about Y/n?” Hen asked.

“I don’t mean to be suggestive as I am a woman of class, but whatever you’re doing Buck, keep doing it,” Athena nodded as she raised her glass to the gals.

“It’s not that she wasn’t THAT before now, but we haven’t seen her in a while and she looks and even feels different. I can feel her vibe from here,” Hen said as she playfully grasped at the air in your direction.

“Uh, heh, yeah. I guess things are a little different,” Buck said while looking back at you sweetly,

“Uh, I mean, things are good! Great even! That’s why you guys are here. We wanted to see everyone in one room for once,” Buck smiled, “so glad you’re all here.” Buck sipped on his beer before his foot got stuck any further down his throat.

The get together was in full swing when you went and grabbed the extra bag of ice from the freezer. Buck saw you out of the corner of his eye and practically flew out of his pants rushing over to you. Eddie saw the interaction from across the room and squinted his eyebrows in his chismoso ways. He migrated to the group by the counter with a full on detective look on his face,

“Y’all saw that, right?”

“You mean the way Buck Scooby-Doo’ed his way out of his seat to help a grown woman carry 10 pounds of ice? Yeah.” Hen confirmed. All heads turned to Eddie waiting for an explanation.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“You’re his best friend,” Maddie said matter of factly.

“You’re his sister,” Eddie mocked back.

“I mean it would explain the changes we all see,” Hen shrugged her shoulders.

“The glowing skin, thicker hair, filled out in the appropriate places…” Athena drifted off.

“The cravings, the mood swings, the crying…” Chimney chimed in. Now all heads swifted his way,

“I saw her last Thursday-

“Chimney!”

“Dude!”

“What!? I wasn’t paying attention to anything except the safety and well being of my Jiyung. But it does make a little more sense now…”

They stared on as Buck kissed you on your forehead and took the ice to the cooler. Bobby rounded the corner in the backyard and made his way over to you, giving you the biggest hug. The group realizes he’s pointing to Buck a lot and using grand gestures,

“Think he knows something?” Hen asked Athena who just looked on. Bobby went to head inside when he spotted the gathering at the counter and immediately stopped in his tracks to turn the other way.

“He knows!” Eddie said has he raced around the counter, beating Bobby to bathroom,

“Hey Cap! What’s up?”

“What’s up, Eddie?”

“Nothin. Just hangin out, you know,” he said with a big smile and deep eye contact trying to read his Captain.

Feeling awkward,

“Alright well, I’m gonna..” Bobby said as he motioned to the bathroom.

“Yeah, man! For sure! We’ll be right out here!” Eddie walked back to the island.

“He’s not coming out,” Chimney said, “Do you think that’s why everyone’s here? So they can tell us all?”

“I guess we’ll find out, but we can’t in good conscience harass Bobby into telling us,” Athena said as she was the first to walk off.

The party went on for another hour or so when Buck called the attention of everyone,

“Y/N and I would first like to start off by thanking you all for being here. It means a lot to us that we can see the people we love and care about all together and creating memories. That’s why today is so special. Uh, it has come to my attention that some of you may be guessing…” he said as he turned his attention to his family and they turned to Bobby who kept his eyes wide and trained forward,

“My wife and I have created our true dream life and forever team. We’ve been through so much together and have been privileged to have had all of you by our side along the way. Which is why we are-words can’t even describe this feeling, but we are beyond blessed to announce that we are expecting our first child-”

The party erupted in cheer and Bobby let out a sigh of relief before joining in on the applause. Buck never got to finish his speech before parents were coming up to you both and giving hugs.

“You knew?” Athena asked Bobby.

“For 3 weeks now. He said he needed to tell someone but knew it was too early to tell everyone.”

“Ohh, so in the end you just respecting Buck’s wishes?” She delivered with a playful side eye.

“Exactly,” he said leaning down to kiss her forehead and pull her in.

#evan buckley x black!reader #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley #buck 911 #eddie 911 #911 on abc #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley fluff #911 imagine #eddie diaz 911 #eddie diaz #gay firefighter show #bi!buck

[theotherbuckley]

Evan 'Buck' Buckley - Achilles Come Down by Gang of Youths (Part 3 version 1)

Achilles, Achilles, Achilles, jump now You are absent of cause or excuse So self-indulgent and self-referential No audience could ever want you You crave the applause yet hate the attention Then miss it, your act is a ruse It is empty, Achilles, so end it all now It's a pointless resistance for you

Bobby - Part one here Eddie - Part two here

#911 abc #911 fandom #evan buck buckley #911 edit #evan buckley edit #911edit #achilles come down #purple edit

[incorrect911argoship]

Buck: You look pale. Are you sick?

Eddie: I've been nauseous for a couple of days.

Buck: Maybe you have food poisoning.

Eddie: Don't think so. I've been having mood changes and food cravings as well. There is only one explanation for this.

Hen: And that would be what, exactly?

Eddie: I can no longer deny it.

Albert: Eddie, you're scaring us. What's going on?

Eddie: I am with a child.

Ravi: You are what?

Eddie: I am pregnant.

Chim, gasping: Yes! You’re gonna get so fat.

Eddie: What? No, I won't!

Chim: Oh yes, you are, and I will be the sexiest man in the station. Mr April will reign this firehouse.

Eddie, tearing up: Buck, tell them I'll still be hot.

Buck: Are you kidding me? If anything, you're gonna get even hotter. Which I didn't think it was possible.

Hen: You're his babydaddy, your opinion is compromised.

Chim: OMG Eddie is crying.

Eddie, crying: It’s the hormones.

Bobby: Actually, you can’t get preg-

Hen: Let him have this, cap.

#incorrect 911 quotes #incorrect buddie #buddie #911 #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #chimney han #ravi panikkar #hen wilson #bobby nash #albert han #pregnant eddie #buck's lighting powers working overtime

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Day 216, the base expression sketches are done! Now we're tying them down and unifying the design across the expressions. Work on the Dozen Years Late Christmas Present will resume tomorrow, barring disaster or grocery shopping.

#the great artscapade of 2022 #bobbi's being weird again #art #my art #gundam oc #gundam fanart #untitled gunpla comic #gunpla oc #gunpla fanart #friend oc #roommate oc #guuuuuuuyyyyyyysssssss I forgot Applebees existed and served salmon #and I've been craving a good salmon that isn't drowning in sauce #(I love you Hunan Fusion but I don't want to drink my salmon atm) #so I ordered it via GrubHub and y'all #it was exactly what I wanted #I'm so happy TuT #ALSO #I saw my roommate for the first time since Monday! #so I told him my good news which means now I can tell you #my employers are so bad at keeping employees that the Powers That Control the Budget passed a thing #called a ''retention stipend'' #where they're giving us an extra $4500/year for the next two years #the first stipend check hits on Sept 1st and will be $1500 before taxes #taxes are like 44% though so I'll only be getting $800 total #but part of that 44% is pension so I'll still get it eventually #but yeah I'm getting free money for not being an employee the school district hemmorhaged due to shady/shitty business practices #not to mention their apparent allergy to paying their employees proper wages #but we can approve $72.9 million dollars to go ''please don't leave us ToT'' ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #anyway I CAN GET NEW GLASSES IN SEPTEMBER NOW WOOO!!!! *celebratory kazoo noises*